Chapter Text
The VLD tournament takes place over six weekends, starting with the opener today and ending with the grand finale, the championship. The opener is the celebration day, a chance for surfers to hone their rates before the following weekend when the ratings count for who goes to the next round - aka, when it starts getting competitive, when people would start getting eliminated. Rates of 6 or lower were immediately gone, but as is with most cases they have to narrow it down to less as the weeks progress, to get down to the Championship heat with a handful of surfers, never more than nine, never less than three.
And now, tomorrow’s the day. His day. And he is terrified.
Tonight, the night before it all goes down, the whole gang (minus Keith) is at Lance’s apartment eating in together, conversation mostly consists of Veronica going on about the party she wants to throw tomorrow night. Lance thinks it’s mostly for his benefit, to keep him distracted and de-stressed - a party that’s for him but not tied to him, it exists on its own so he has something to do tomorrow to either distract him or make his night as good as his day.
He appreciates it, especially because he’s fucking nervous as fuck.
“Can I invite some of my friends?” Veronica asks him as she twists some Japanese ramen into her mouth with the chopsticks in one hand, her phone in the other. “Liven up the place with some bodies?”
Lance looks up from his own noodles, pulled out of his head by the question, “Oh? Uh… yeah, yeah sure.”
Pidge raises an eyebrow from where they sit on the coffee table like a cat, eating their ramen with a fork because they’re a heathen , “Oh shit, does that mean can I bring Matt to the competition and the party tomorrow? I’m sure he’d love to see you.” They say this with a thrown look over at Lance, who is sitting on the stool pulled into the living room from the counter bar in the kitchen.
Lance nods with a wicked grin, “Hell yeah of course Matt can come! I love that memelord." Pidge snickers to themself as he glances back over at Veronica, who is deeply in tune to her phone, “Which friends were you thinking?”
“Jonah, Lily, Mohammad, Nadia, Seth.” She answers as she types with one hand, the texts reflected in her rectangular glasses, “Todd, Randall, Jenny, Fran, Sophia-”
“My God, is that enough people?” Allura jokes, shaking her head at her with a note of exhaustion. Romelle rubs her shoulders fondly with a single hand before getting back to eating her own ramen, her legs crossed and resting in her girlfriend’s lap.
Veronica gives Allura a deadpan, exasperated look as she elaborates, “I want this party to be boppin’. That means people. I’m only asking Lance because it’s for him.”
Lance rolls his eyes at this and snorts, “Do whatever you want, Vero; that’s what you’re gonna do anyway.”
Veronica winks and blows him a kiss with her chopsticks, “I knew you’d have a coherent thought one of these days, mijo. ”
Hunk raises an eyebrow as he glances over at Lance beside him where he sits on the floor, his ramen held in one great hand and the delicate chopsticks deftly used with the other, “Did you invite Keith?”
Lance almost immediately flushes down his face, huffing a bit as he grumbles, “Of course I invited Keith, I have to, he’s my… trainer! Trainer.” Lance isn’t sure what he was going to call Keith at first, all he knows is that ‘trainer’ was not the original choice but the choice he ended up going with. “He said he’d think about it. And he still hasn’t answered me about it and I’m too nervous to ask him again, so probably no. Not like- he’d probably be a party pooper anyway… With his dumb… brooding...” His attempts to keep his face from telling the story on his tongue is pretty pathetic, even he can see that, so he just shuts up to eat his ramen instead and tries not to think about how much he'd like to see Keith letting loose for once.
“I honestly can’t tell where the rivalry ends and the homoeroticism begins.” Pidge huffs as they lean their chin in their hand, slurping on their ramen like the torrential noisemaking is their job.
The room silences, and Lance immediately flares up like gas getting dumped on a campfire, “Oh hell no! I’ve told you this a hundred- I have not caught feels for Keith!” He looks around the room for support, dodges Allura and Veronica’s knowing smirks before he fixes his gaze on Hunk’s neutral expression, “Help me out here!”
Hunk looks to the left, then to the right, before he smiles sheepishly, “I dunno man, seems kinda gay to me.”
Lance groans and mashes his chopsticks into his ramen with more malicious intent than before, his face blooming in roses, “Well, even if I were having gay feels, which I’m not … it doesn’t matter. He’s my trainer. And he definitely isn’t interested in me. So. There.” He concludes, a tad awkwardly. It’s been a conversation that he’s sort of had with the group, at around this time there would be a casual interruption like food coming to the table at Rita’s or something of that ilk, something Lance could throw himself into to distract himself from his own growing melancholy. Definitely not interested.
He has evidence, or so he thinks. Well… nothing concrete… but a theory. Getting to know Keith has given him some insight into his character, and Lance is fairly certain that if Keith was interested in him then he would say something. Or at least hint at it. Or… something. Because from what Lance has been able to glean from Keith, if he wants something, he goes and he gets it. That's one of the things that Lance not-so secretly admires about him is how independent and self-sufficient he is, how he isn't afraid to speak up when he's got something on his mind.
So if he hasn’t said anything to Lance to signal that he wants him, especially after how Lance has kinda been laying it on thick that yeah, he likes him… then that’s it, then.
Pidge’s fork clangs in their bowl, drawing Lance’s boiling gaze to their choked expression. They look at him with wide eyes and a barely contained smirk before they burst with a short, hard laugh, “You’re kidding , right?”
Before Lance can say anything Allura waves a hand and shushes them, “He’ll figure it out eventually, leave him be.”
Lance blinks once. Twice. Pidge returns to their ramen, scrunching their nose to push their glasses up their nose. Three times. He breathes in. “Excuse me, figure out what exactly?”
Silence greets him from his friends, who all suddenly become so absorbed with their ramen that it’s almost robotic, even Romelle isn’t meeting his demanding gaze. “Guys what the fuck?” Lance proclaims loudly, waving his chopsticks threateningly at each of them.
Hunk meets his gaze and sheepishly smiles at Allura, “I’m sorry, this is too painful.” He faces Lance with a serious expression, alight with amusement, “Dude, Keith likes you, too.”
Lance blinks once. Twice.
“What?”
Veronica groans loudly and dramatically, rolling her head in his direction, “Come on, don’t act so shocked, It’s so obvious . He never stops making moony faces at you, it’s frankly painful to watch.”
Lance’s face flushes, his heart unfairly clambers into his throat as he regards the group seriously, “Did he tell you guys anything?”
Pidge sets down their food on the coffee table with a clang, turning towards Lance with a confrontational furrow in their brow, “No, but you’d have to be a complete idiot to think he’s not into you. Seriously, it’s like watching two blind chickens trying to find each other in a barrel.”
Hunk furrows his brow. "Is that a real saying or something Matt brought over.."
Lance furrows his eyebrows. Despite how excited he kind of wants to become at the prospect of Keith liking him back… he doesn’t want to just take his friends’ words for it. They're his friends, they're practically contractually obligated to hype him up in situations like this.
And besides… He doesn’t wanna act differently around Keith and get shut down. Especially now with the VLD starting, the last thing he needs is for his trainer to up and quit on him because he freaked him out by… well, coming onto him even stronger than before. If Keith really wanted me like that, he would’ve done something. Said something. “No offense, but unless he said something to you guys then forgive me for not believing you.” Lance ultimately decides after several seconds of mental deliberation.
The entire room groans as all of his friends collectively sigh, Lance blinks with wide eyes as they share momentary, exhausted glances with each other before they resume eating. Allura flickers her gaze over to Lance once she feels him looking and gestures towards him with chopsticks, “... Whatever you say. But if he comes onto you, don’t say we didn’t try to tell you.”
Lance almost immediately flushes at the prospect. The conversation shifts and changes, but Lance’s thoughts hitch on the thought, or rather what his imagination does with that thought. If he comes onto you.
Lance has a hard time imagining Keith flirting. Being flirty. He’s just so… quiet. Reserved. And more than that, socially anxious and awkward. Having him around his friend group now more permanently for the past few weeks has shown him a lot, mostly the latter part of his personality. Lance isn’t sure if Keith has had a lot of friends in the past because he still acts very much like a fish-out-of-water when it came to some social stuff, but then again Lance was blessed with amazing friends and a healthy group dynamic pretty early on and perhaps that's also been a factor. On the bright side, Lance has been able to start picking up on his little queues now, like when he starts getting freaked out by an overstimulating environment, a topic of conversation, a situation; the first happens quite a lot, especially when they went out as a larger group. Lance would try to make sure he was alright, checking in with him and giving him an out if he needed it, and he thinks Keith appreciates it. After all the bullshit Lance did pushing his boundaries in the first place, it’s really the least he could do.
These are things about Keith Lance can conceptualize and handle. But a flirty Keith? Downright laughable. The closest thing Lance can imagine is Keith pulling the whole, smooth, aloof, bad boy thing, chewing on a toothpick in that leather jacket of his that hugs his shoulders so well.
That’s… a mental image.
Lance shakes his head and sighs, pushing the thought out of his mind as he tries to think about something other than that, because he really shouldn’t be thinking about his trainer like that.
Right. His trainer.
And that brings him to the prospect of tomorrow. Tomorrow. The VLD tournament opener. Fuck. How did I almost forget…
At around nine the Pidge and Hunk start to head home, and the remaining wlws that Lance rooms with start getting ready for bed. After all, the gang has an early morning tomorrow, because "of course we're coming tomorrow dumbass, this is your big debut!" So said Vero. It wasn't for lack of trying on Lance's part, telling them it's just the opener etc. but they wouldn't hear a lick of it. Pidge is even taking PTO from their internship and Romelle scheduled her dance classes to be in the mid afternoon so she doesn't miss Lance's heat.
Lance always knew he had the best friends in the world, but he really has the best friends in the world.
Lance is given a Gatorade and told to go to bed, so sequestered to his room he sips his drink and watches some YouTube videos and texts Keith, his usual nightly ritual. “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Keith had asked about a half hour ago.
Lance tries not to let the anxiety of his thoughts make his hands shake too much as he texts his reply, “As ready as a baby is to be born i guess.”
“You’re going to be fine. You’ve been working really hard. And besides, it’s just the opener.”
Suddenly seized with a need to vent, Lance responds with surprising verity, “It’s still in front of a buncha people. I only did it once, back with you. I just can't help but wonder like, what if I freeze up, you know? What if I let the competition get into my head and I mess up again? Do u know what it’s like?"
Keith responds to him relatively immediately, “I do.” There’s a pause as the three dots hover for several minutes, Lance stares at them the whole time until they disappear. After what feels like years, a gray message appears. “But you can’t let it get to you. Submit to the pressure and then overcome it. It’s about you and the water and no one else… and you in the water is a beautiful thing.”
Lance blinks in surprise. A few seconds later another message is tacked onto the last, “At least, only if you warm up properly.”
Lance cracks into a wide grin as he texts back, “aww u really have warmed up to me! I knew i could get u to love me eventually.”
“Yes. You grew on me. Like mold.” Lance snorts at this as he receives another message, “You should get some rest, soon. I want you on the beach at 6:30 sharp before the 7:30 heats.”
Lance chuckles as he texts him back, “yessir coach lmao, always so demanding. ill see u tmrw”
With that, he turns onto his side, plugs his phone in and makes sure his alarm is set for 5:50 - ten minutes negotiable, just in case - before he tries to do what everyone has been telling him to.
…
Lance doesn’t sleep a wink all night long, too busy tossing and turning in anxiety. He got some sleep, enough that he doesn’t think he’s gonna pass out at the tournament, but it makes his first hour of consciousness a little groggy.
His first sentient moment at the ass crack of dawn is when he holds his surfing suit before him. His mom had brought it to him a week ago, after she'd checked storage. He isn’t sure where she found it he doesn’t remember where he ended up tossing it when he moved out, but he’s immensely grateful because she also happened to find his “team shirt”... the legendary one Pidge and Hunk got him, with the caricature of his face on a flag planted on a moon and his last name on the back. It’s been two years since he last wore it, and although he ran it through the wash already he’s positive it’s going to smell musty up until the ocean can claim it with its own scent.
It still fits, too, by some miracle, though it’s tighter around his chest, biceps, and thighs than he remembers it being. He’s probably gonna have to get another one before next Saturday, but for the opener… it seems only fitting for making new memories.
Lance stumbles into the living room and is almost immediately accosted by Veronica, shoving eggs and bacon into his face to eat. “ Dios mío , Vero, give me a second!”
“You have fifteen minutes before Hunk and the Holts get here.” She counters expertly, quick as a drill sergeant and a no nonsense look behind her square glasses. She’s wearing a black swimsuit with a long sleeved, semi-see-through military green coverup that reaches her mid-thighs, sunglasses are hitched onto the front string of the suit and a wide-brimmed sunhat covers her head and shoulder length brown hair. She insistently pushes him into sitting at the counter in the kitchen, physically putting the fork in his hand as she pushes the plate in front of him, “Don’t make me force-feed you.”
Lance’s mind slowly starts to kick in gear, at least enough that he’s able to feed himself, but he’s also extremely tired. He hasn’t felt this tired since getting up in the morning for high school. By the time his food is almost gone he actually begins to taste it, and wonders at how Veronica managed to make breakfast food that was actually tolerable.
A chiming voice comes from an opened doorway on the other side of the suite, “Is he awake?”
“He’s eating breakfast now.” Veronica answers faithfully in a softer voice, coming from the doorway and out of Lance's line of sight, making him double take because he swears he just saw her… Oh man, I really need to wake up. Lance can hear her walk to the front door with the slap of her flip flops being slipped into, she speaks louder so that he can hear her, “Anyone know how far away Pidge is?”
“They just texted the groupchat, five minutes.” Allura responds from the door, the sound of a scuffle. Lance now has a cup of coffee in his hand, and takes a big gulp even though the beans are burnt around the edges of his tongue. He typically isn't a coffee person, with his hyperactivity caffeine doesn't really give him much or it gives him too much, but given how he almost convinced himself Veronica teleported, he'll take the risk.
Lance starts a little when he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders and he turns to meet bright, sapphire eyes bearing into his, “I can’t believe you still have this shirt.” Allura giggles, her smile brilliant like starlight in deep night. Lance snorts and grins back in response as she continues with a more serious hum, “You feeling ready?”
“Ready as ever!” Lance waves the mug of coffee in the air a tad deliriously, suddenly fighting back a powerful yawn before he shakes his head like a dog, “... as ever.”
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Allura asks with a concerned frown, her fingers threading through his hair, still curled with sleep.
Lance snickers a little as he stands upright from his seat, putting his bare plate in the dishwasher, “Sleep? I don’t know her.”
Veronica appears then as he comes about, her hands perched on her hips, “He’s lucid enough to crack jokes, he’ll be fine once we get there. Wait a second-” Veronica's eyes widen before her brows really furrow, so much like their mom's that Lance almost has to doubletake, "- is that coffee? Who gave you coffee?"
"Me, myself, and I." Lance retorts with a wave of his hand, "Trust me, I need it, it'll be fine." He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and as he pulls it out he sees a series of messages in the groupchat
Pidgeon: There are 2 spots in the car, @Princess @Useless Lesbian fight to the death over the open seat
The Dancing Queen: I’m on my way in a minute!! No Hunger Games necessary!
Gordon Ramsey: As a dutiful passenger to a safe(ish) driver I must inform you that Pidge says that you’re harshing their vibe and they don’t appreciate it.
The Dancing Queen: I’m just happy that they’re not texting and driving :0
Pidgeon: WE SUMMON THE GREAT OLD ONE TO THE FRONT . CTUTHULU HEAR OUR CRY
Lance snorts and holds up his phone as he heads towards his room, “They’re here!” He hears Allura say something to Veronica as he ducks into his room, looping one arm overtop his longboard and then bearing his shortboard under the other. As he comes out with the two boards he catches the tail end of Allura’s words, “-wouldn’t mind!”
Veronica shakes her head slightly, “I’ll go with Lance. We’ll catch up with you two later.” She turns and regards Lance as he makes his way into the entrance hall, “You got that, mijo ?”
“Yeah!” Lance calls an affirmation, slipping into his sandals at the door before he shoots a grin over his shoulder, “Though I’d love a hand with the door.”
Veronica chuckles and helps him out, waving over her shoulder to Allura as she walks out in front of Lance, “See you soon!”
Lance nods his chin over his head as he strikes out the door, “Catch you on the sand, princess!”
Allura chuckles and shakes her head, turning from the door towards her room, presumably to get ready, as the siblings head downstairs.
“She’s coming with Romelle later.” Veronica murmurs once they’re in the stairwell, making their way down.
"Makes sense. You didn't want the extra minutes of sleep to ride with them?" Lance asks with a raised eyebrow, his head tilted slightly over at his sister as she takes his short board from under his arm. He lets her - she knows how to handle them, after she was the one who cared for them while he was on hiatus.
"Nah, someone had to make sure you were up and fed." Veronica retorts with a half smile out of the corner of her mouth, her blue eyes sparkling like the sea.
"You woke up Allura didn't you?"
"Well I didn't want you to wake up to the goddamn fire alarm." Veronica grumbles, rolling her eyes and dodging when Lance goes to smack the lip of her sunhat playfully. "But for the record she woke up herself and did it, I just packed the cooler."
"She's bringing the alcohol bag then?" Lance snickers, because he knows what sort of things Veronica would pack for a beach trip, even if it is for the VLD festival.
"There's a water in there. For Pidge." She replies with a gremlin smirk, making Lance snort as they make their way to the ground floor of the apartment complex and to the street.
When they make it to the street corner, Pidge’s station wagon is already sitting on the curb, still cranked and parked with the lights cutting into the dawning light of the morning, casting the shrinking shadows in hues of gold as the skies burn with the color of rose petals. The three people in the car get out when Lance and Veronica come out, Hunk from the backseat, Pidge from the driver’s, and Matt from the passenger.
He’s grown out his hair a bit more since Lance last saw him, which he thinks was around Christmas last year, but his wicked smirk is still just as sharp as usual. He has a scar over his left eyebrow from a particularly cutthroat Nerf fight between Pidge, Hunk, and Lance five Christmases ago, giving him an unduly rugged look, (only slightly diminished when the origin of the scar is known). He’s in a tank top with a pug in sunglasses on the front and cargo shorts, his longer auburn hair tied back with a yellow scrunchie at the nape of his neck.
As soon as he lays eyes on Lance he beams with a crooked smile, “‘Sup man! Congrats on the big day!”
“Hey Matt!” Lance greets, and gives him a warm hug and a clap on the shoulder once he manages to set the nose of his longboard gently on the concrete. With his help, Hunk’s, and Pidge’s, they strap Lance’s two boards to the roof of Pidge’s car.
Once his arms are free, or, free-er, Lance gives Matt a better hug, “Thanks for coming, dude, especially so early in the morning. It means a lot.” He adds once he pulls away, smiling big at him.
Matt waves a hand at him dismissively, “It’s a big deal for you, ‘course I wanna see it. Besides, how the Man's been working me, I'm used to seeing the sunrise."
"You didn't sleep, did you?" Veronica asks with a teasing quirk. Matt's cheeks turn red and he doesn't answer, only making her laugh.
The passengers load back into the car, Lance slides into the backseat, squeezing between Hunk and Veronica as Pidge drives off away the dawn of the day, towards the ocean.
Matt twists a bit in his seat so he can look back at Lance with that same crooked grin, his hazel gaze that he shares with Pidge glimmers in the rising sun as he gives him a thumbs up, “So, you feeling ready?
The coffee and breakfast is kicking in, so when Lance shrugs a bit before he beams at him in response, he means what he says 90% more than he would have ten minutes before, “Born ready, baby!”
Matt raises an eyebrow towards Hunk beside him as he replies snidely, “Still as cocky as ever.”
Hunk snorts and nods as Lance sits back in his seat, Pidge makes an understated, snide aside that prompts their brother to smack them on the shoulder. Lance pulls out his phone, his thumbs dancing across its surface as he pulls up Keith’s DMs, “im on my way there now! See u soon!”
He gets a text back almost immediately, “I just got here, got your packet and spot.”
Lance lifts his head slightly and reports to the car, “Keith’s already there with my packet.”
Hunk whistles softly, “Damn. Did he sleep? How'd he get there so fast?"
"How did he park so fast? Festival parkings a shithole." Pidge grumbles with amped up animosity in preparation for the sort of traffic they're about to face.
Matt raises an eyebrow over at Pidge beside him, who gives him a barely seen nod and a look in the rearview mirror that’s strangely targeting Lance. Matt nods slightly in understanding, some nonverbal communication between them that Lance doesn't trust as he twists back to face the trio in the back, “Can’t wait to finally meet this infamous Keith figure.”
Lance shakes his head with a soft laugh, “He isn’t very people-friendly, fair warning.”
Matt smirks again with a laugh, “Consider me warned!”
It’s been so long since Lance last saw Matt. Excited to speak to him, and even more excited for a chance to not think about where they're going, Lance leans forward in his seat and raises an eyebrow at him, “So dude, what brought you back home? Things been treating you alright?”
Matt nods enthusiastically while waving a hand dismissively out the window, “Yeah, yeah, just needed a bit of a break from work. Nothing like a change of scenery, you know?” He glances over knowingly at Pidge as they take a turn toward the beaches of Hermosa, “Especially familiar scenery.”
On the way to the competition Lance takes the opportunity to chat with Matt, ask him more about what he does at his tech job in Silicon Valley. If he’s being honest, it’s not really because he cares about what he does - and the thousands of terms that Matt’s throwing at him that sail straight over his head - but rather he hoped it would be a distraction from the building anxiety in his sternum. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect; talking to Matt always makes Lance feel pretty stupid, so listening to him go on about development software or whatever the fuck makes Lance’s head spin and before long his fingers are worming into the edges of his team shirt to settle the nerves of his own making.
The banners of the VLD, the winged symbol fluttering in the breeze, start to flicker by as they make it to the beach. Lance watches them tick by and times his breaths between them, his fingertips tapping on his thigh as he does. It takes them a long time to actually get into the parking lot because of the sheer influx of people - plenty of time to think, over think, and triple think. Lance swallows as he starts to count the bodies walking by, he loses count after fifty and that does nothing but make his stomach twist into tighter knots. Once the car comes to a parking slot Lance takes a settling breath while he gets out of the car with the others, forcing himself not to think about the number of people already buzzing around them, or the pressure coming from outside and within him, or the pounding sound of the morning surf-
“Let’s get you to your spot!” Hunk’s words pull Lance out of his head, his large hand clapping him in the middle of the back and nearly throwing Lance's consciousness into the stratosphere, “You ready?”
Lance swallows before pulling a smile from his pocket, “I was born ready, baby!” He twists about to grab his boards from the roof, carrying both short and longboards once he gets them down while the others pull out a series of supplies from the trunk of Pidge’s car; umbrellas, foldable chairs, and a cooler, the contents Lance aren’t sure of. The perks of Pidge's (ugly but don't tell them that) Subaru is the clown-car like effect it has with stuff, fitting five people and all the supplies needed for the day like it’s nothing, it’s one of the reasons why Pidge loves their car so much.
With their stuff gathered the group head to the mouth of the beach in search for their team spot.
Lance spots Keith first, standing like a dark, shrouded sentinel upon the sands with his arms crossed while facing the waters. He’s donned in a maroon t-shirt with what he recognizes the black, winged symbol of VLD on the front, cuffed black jeans and sandals, discarded off to the side, with his bangs pushed out of his face by a pair of familiar red sunglasses. It’s so ridiculously on brand that he’d wear black jeans to a fucking surfing competition that Lance can’t help but snort. He approaches him from behind and sets his boards down gently in the sand, hoping to surprise him with his voice, “What’s up, mullet?” He greets gleefully.
Keith turns to face him with a raised eyebrow, unamused. Lance has to settle his racing heart with a thick swallow as the other’s gaze rakes across his form with a slowly dawning expression, like the opening of a present his eyes widen and his ears appear to turn bright pink. Oh damn, he better have brought some sunscreen. Lance thinks with a worried look at the guy's pale complexion. Keith's diligent about it on his own but Lance can't help but feel nervous seeing his pallor in direct sunlight like this. Though his skin does look soft, smooth like the underside of a seashell..
Pidge sets down an umbrella next to Keifh with a sudden flourish, smirking with a strangely wicked and mischievous expression that Lance doesn’t understand as they poke cloyingly at the dark, slightly overdressed other, “Better be careful with that perplexion of yours, Keith, you’re already turning red.”
Keith blinks over at Pidge with wide eyes for a moment before he suddenly clears his throat, the strange look he had earlier gone entirely with a wipe of his features as he faces Lance with a newly crafted serious expression, holding out a brochure to him with a stiff elbow, “Erm… Lance, you’re heat group 3. You should check the rotation for yourself and keep an ear out for the announcer."
Lance nods seriously as he takes the brochure, his friends setting up their spot around him, but before he can start to look at the words he’s drawn to the present when Matt sidles up next to him, “So you’re the infamous Keith, huh? Nice to meet you, I’m Matt, Pidge’s brother.” He holds out his hand to Keith with a crooked, charming grin.
Keith blinks at him with a slightly surprised expression before he shakes his hand in a professional manner, like he would at a business meeting, “... Are you here to support Lance, too?” He asks curiously, flickering his gaze to the others behind Lance with what Lance can guess is a slightly concerned expression. Concerned on Lance’s behalf or out of his own awkwardness Lance isn’t sure.
Matt nods enthusiastically, clapping his hand on Lance’s shoulder so crisply Lance jumps, “Hell yeah! Wouldn’t miss it! Lance has been talking about becoming the next surfing legend since he was a tyke, now I wanna see it in action!”
Keith furrows his brow but otherwise doesn’t say anything, so Matt melts back to help Veronica and Hunk set up the umbrellas. Keith's gaze is like that, his slanted eyes are so dark and penetrating it's easy for someone to cow beneath them, Lance included, though he's started to learn that most of the time it's not Keith's intention, he just has an intense thinking face. It's kind of cute, really. Pidge already sits in one of the four chairs they brought with a Coke in their hand and their phone in the other while Hunk and Matt are busy messing with the umbrella, grumbling about jam.
Lance clears his throat and refocuses on the task at hand, literally, to the brochure. First thing he notes is the sheer number of surfers as he glances over the page, then at the lineup; as per usual it’s the juniors first, then men’s longboard, women’s longboard, men’s shortboard, women’s shortboard. He then checks out the heat groups, just to see who he's with and if he recognizes anyone. In his own he doesn’t recognize the pair of names along his, Alex Strasza and Ryan Kinkade. Three per heat, just like last time. I’ll probably get to know them well enough once we’re out there, Lance thinks to himself. He sees another familiar name pretty quick, leaping off the page in heat 7: Lotor Zarkon. Lance finds his jaw gritting to know that somewhere on this beach, that guy's got his gang all squared away with their boards more expensive than a college education and those penetrating silver eyes on the sea..
But what Lance notices is that there's more names here than he remembers there being before, two years ago. So, out of curiosity, he starts to count up the names. He blinks, recounts when he gets the result, but that just can’t be right- he turns to Pidge, “How many people do you count, here?”
Pidge’s eyebrows furrow as they take the brochure from him, as their green and gold-hued gaze rake across the page, Keith growls under his breath from next to Lance, “What’s it matter how many people there are?”
Pidge ignores him as they whistle lowly, turning over the page of the packet, “ Damn, 54? This is insane! This has gotta be some kind of record.”
Lance swallows on a knot welling in his throat, shaking his thoughts from his mind right as an airhorn sounds through the air. A voice over a megaphone echoes across the beach, silencing the thunderous collection of people on the sand, “Welcome to the 55th annual VLD Tournament! Juniors to the water, Men’s longboard is on the docket.”
Two hands clap on Lance’s shoulders from behind him as a cacophony of applause follows, Hunk’s excited voice warms his neck as he jumps up and down behind him, “Dude, this is gonna be so awesome! You’re gonna do great, dude, I believe in you! You got this! Wooo Lance!! "
Lance smiles over his shoulder at his best friend before Keith’s husky voice reaches him, almost drowned out in the bustle of the crowd as people start to make their way towards the water, “Lance.”
He blinks at his trainer with wide eyes, giving him his undivided attention as he regards him with a deadly serious expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest; the sun has fully risen above the horizon and now seems to halo Keith’s shoulders, turning his skin to ivory and his hair to raven wings cast upon the shadow of asphalt, “You need to warm up.”
Lance blinks once, twice, before he realizes that he was being spoken to. “Oh! Yeah! Good idea.” He clears his throat and nods briskly, holding out two sets of thumb’s up as he starts to squat right there on the ground.
But Keith's hand grabs his shoulder, and as Lance looks up at him in confusion he jerks his chin to his left, "No. You need more space. Get out of the section and find a clear spot to do your dynamics"
"..okay, if you say so." Lance mumbles in answer, a bit incredulous but nonetheless does as Keith asks and makes his way to the back of the beach. There he finds a large space of sand between the food trucks on the road and the designated plots for the surfers, along the way he shouts so Keith and all can hear him, “Warming up! Yep, warming up, I’m going!” He vaguely hears what sounds like Veronica wolf whistle at him as he goes, but then again, it's very loud and crowded today, could've been anyone.
When he gets to the spot, mostly abandoned in comparison to the rest of the beach because most of the surfers and fans are on the waterline now, he starts doing the dynamic stretches Keith had him do before every session, like muscular clockwork his body begins to loosen. But now, alone with nothing but the sound of the not-so-distant crowd, Lance’s thoughts begin to churn. 54 surfers. 53 competitors, since I'm assuming one of those is me. And one of them, somewhere our there, is Lotor. Somewhere on this beach today, that rich asshole is getting set up with his excessive tents and boards with his excessive posse of rich assholes doing rich asshole things-
He nearly jumps out of his skin when a husky voice speaks over his shoulder, “Straighten your back.”
Lance looks over his shoulder with a condescending look at Keith, who stands a few feet away with crossed arms, before doing as he asks, “If this is what being haunted is like, then horror movies just got a whole lot lamer.”
Keith ignores his sass, rounding to face him as Lance stretches his arms from his place in the sand, “How do you feel?”
Lance pushes into his stretch, letting out a hard breath through his nose, “I was born ready.” He repeats.
“I’m not asking if you’re ready, I’m asking how you feel.” Keith counters with a no-nonsense tone, dragging Lance’s gaze from his fingertips where he was stretching his biceps up to Keith’s, a deep, steely gray like smog over Seattle. When Lance is looking at him Keith raises an eyebrow questioningly, his arms kept crossed stoically over his chest.
Lance sighs, glancing over his shoulder, back at where he came from, before he answers with a low rumble, “I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night ‘cause I’m… I'm nervous, okay? I'm nervous as fuck.”
Much to Lance’s surprise, Keith nods with an approving hum, “Good.”
Lance blinks stupidly for several seconds before he stumbles verbally, “... Good? How is that good? I thought you'd yell at me for sure about not sleeping-”
“A good night sleep's important, yes, but it's good to be a little nervous. That means you care.” Keith replies with a surprisingly soft tone, one that makes Lance stop his stretches to look at him with wide eyes. Keith approaches him and gently sets his hands on his shoulders, enrapturing Lance’s attention fully. Keith glances at his hands on his shoulders and seems to think twice about it, as he lets them fall back to his sides after a moment’s thought. “... A little bit of nervousness is good. It’ll keep you sharp and on your toes, in the moment…” Keith crosses his arms again as Lance looks at him like he’s giving him the answers to the universe, after a moment he adds on with a harder edge to his voice, “But too much will fuck with your game. So feel it, but don't let it rule you. Got it?”
Lance gulps on saltwater in his throat. “... Yeah.” He mutters, nodding more as he settles his breath and his shoulders into a resting position. Takes a few deep breaths to calm his fraying nerves. “Yeah, I got it.” He repeats, with more certainty this time.
Keith nods with satisfaction, “Are you done warming up?” When Lance nods he snaps his fingers towards the water with a commanding tone, “Alright, come on, let’s go check out the water to see what you’ve got to work with before your heat.”
With that he marches off into the crowded area down by the beach, and only with a second’s hesitation does Lance follow him.
Down on the water, Keith wedges himself and Lance enough room by the ropes to get a clean and clear view of the water. The first junior heat is in full swing so in gauging the water Lance watches them go - they have pretty good moves for middle schoolers, though he notices they stick to the waves produced by the sandbar, not the ones further out. The ones that Keith is looking at with an intense gaze. So Lance follows his eyes to the water, to the waves.
“What do you see?”
Lance glances over at Keith and starts when he finds his eyes on his, for a few seconds he balks because for a brief moment he forgot how to act like he isn’t attracted to his trainer. He quickly turns to look out on the water with scrutiny instead, clearing his throat once he’s able to get a handle on himself.
“Big waves, good for tunnelling, but it looks like they crash early if the crest hits the sandbar first.” Lance murmurs in response with a pensive tone, his arms crossed over his team shirt.
“Exactly.” Keith points a pale hand, glistening like porcelain in the morning sun, towards the breaking point on the sandbar, “That means you have to catch the waves that develop sooner rather than later so you can take advantage of their full width. And look at the wave size… they aren’t consistent.” He gestures to a wave that’s cresting now, one that looks like Lance could barely squeeze through; earlier Lance saw a wave that could easily fit five surfers in its curl. Inconsistent indeed.
“Got it, coach.” Lance reports with a teasing tone, tossing a lilting smirk over at the man beside him, “Got anything else for me?”
Keith meets Lance’s gaze and for a moment Lance swears he sees him freeze, his eyes widen a little and his shoulders stiffen; Lance wonders if he said something wrong, or if there’s something in his hair, but before he can say anything the differences are gone as Keith merely nods with a stoic look, “Yeah… Don’t let the pressure get to you.”
Lance can’t help but stiffen a bit at this, he crosses his arms as he gives Keith a stink-eye, “Who says it is?”
Keith’s gaze, now dripping with indigo paint next to the ocean, flickers across Lance’s form with a touch of incredulousness before he continues in a low murmur, barely audible over the jumbled noise of people around them, “I’m just reminding you that you have no one to hold yourself accountable to today except for yourself. Win or lose, today is about what you are capable of, not what other people expect of you. Do you understand?"
The voice with the megaphone sounds across the beach, dismissing the juniors and summoning the men’s longboard to the water, heat wave 1 first. Men on the brochure were the odd numbered heats, so that means Lance is on deck.
“Best get back and get your board.” Keith mutters to him as the transition causes the beach to bustle with fresh movement. Together they make their way back to Lance’s beach slot, all the while the white noise of the ocean stuffs Lance's ears with cotton.
When they arrive back Lance notices a new umbrella and a new duo of chairs had joined the rest, and as soon as they’re in sight the two new members to their little party leap up with excited smiles, “Lance!” Romelle calls, waving enthusiastically as she and Allura rush him in a hug, “I’m so glad we didn’t miss you go out!”
Lance smiles warmly at her as they withdraw, “Don’t worry, you made it just in time: I’m heat 3.”
Allura rests a hand on his shoulder, rubbing her thumb across the breadth of the bone beneath it as she regards him with light seriousness, “Good luck out there. I know you’ll do great.”
Hunk appears from behind him, clapping his hands on his shoulders as he whoops across the jabbering stretch of beach, “Heck yeah he will! McClain, McClain, McClain-!”
Lance laughs, shaking him off with a smile even as his stomach starts to tie up into a few more knots, strangling the butterflies within. Keith gives him a look where he hovers next to the stand for his boards, gesturing towards them with his chin insistently. Lance approaches and picks up his longboard, smooth from care from the afternoon prior, and tucks it under his arm, but not before he strips out of his “team shirt” and tosses it onto the back of the chair Pidge is sitting in. Pidge picks it up once its there, blinks and looks at it before they grin suddenly, flashing Lance a look as they tug it on overtop of their light green shirt, with some finagling that shirt comes up from the mouth of Lance’s team shirt and replaces it on the back of their chair. Lance can't help but smile.
“Wear it with pride.” Lance laughs.
Pidge nods solemnly and salutes him with a matching smirk before they too leap up and wrap their arms tightly around him, “Be careful out there, man!”
“Oh no, don’t go worrying him!” Hunk gasps dramatically, patting Pidge on the top of their head as he looks at Lance with sudden, rearing anxiety reflected in the umber of his eyes, “Then I’ll have to worry!”
“Guys, there’s nothing to worry about.” Matt comes in with his hands raised appeasingly, pulling Pidge off of Lance as he smiles over at the surfer in question, “He’s got this in the bag."
Lance swallows on his own tongue before he plasters another one of his pocketed smiles, “Absolutely!”
Right on cue the horn blasts, signaling the start of the next heat. His heat. His second ever competitive heat.
Oh boy.
“Go get ‘em, sharpshooter!” Allura calls over all the rest as his friends cheer him on, following him to the roped end of the line where the spectators end and the surfers begin. Though as Lance does a quick last glance over his shoulder once he hops the rope, he sees that Keith is not among the cheerers. He merely watches with his arms crossed and his expression muted, revealing nothing but that his eyes are on Lance.
Oh boy.
Lance makes his way to the waters, so caught up in his own head he forgets what he’s heading out to do until the chill of the water strikes him. It’s absolutely frigid , which is weird for this time of year, but it does Lance the benefit of waking him up and forcing him in the moment. The sun has risen fully, about a fourth of the way up to height in the sky, not a cloud marring its blue expanse with the deep blue mediterranean hues of the ocean beneath it, broken occasionally with kisses of white froth in milky swathes outward and onward towards the horizon.
“Good luck.” Lance blinks over to his left and beholds a rather handsome man in a dark gray and orange surf suit, a traditional board tucked under a muscular arm. He has deep chocolate skin and black hair in a short cropping of dreadlock waves over deep set brows. Lance wonders whether this is Ryan Kinkade or Alex Strasza.
“Uh, right back at you, dude!” Lance smiles at him amicably as he waves, “I’m Lance, by the way!”
The man doesn’t answer, he merely gives Lance a once over before he forges further into the water.
“Oh, he’s friendly. I like it.” Lance looks to the right and meets the gaze of another surfer, so stereotypically does their expression scream surfer dude that Lance wonders at how his name isn’t Chad. He has rugged blond locks that cut about to his shoulders and wicked, almost unnaturally blue eyes as bright as the sky itself and a black surf-suit with gold highlights. He has a crooked smile and an equally crooked demeanor as he claps a hand on Lance’s shoulder, “Heya Lance! I’m Alex. Try not to cry too hard when I wipe the floor with you, yeah?"
Strangely enough, the stranger's egging doesn't really do anything but make Lance rolls his eyes as he forges through the waves, towards where he sees the jetskis of the VLD officials that will take them deeper into the waters, But, never one to back down from some smack talk, Lance's retorts, “Dream on.”
“Maybe I will!” Alex counters before he falters, looking off into space with confusion before he murmurs something to himself but Lance doesn’t stop and wait for him to figure himself out as makes his way out onto the water. He gets on the back of the official’s jetski and hangs on tightly as he’s carried out, past the waves by the sandbar and into the great in between.
As Lance gets off the jetski he struggles a bit to stay on his board, sliding off the side and into the water as smoothly as he can but it’s a little awkward, he ends up capsizing and falling off his board as the jetski drives off. He twists and grumbles as he gets back onto his board. Wish that was a part of training Lance thinks with an internal grumble.
Immediately his face heats up when he hears a snickering laugh from behind him, “Oooh, smooth moves, McClain!”
Lance shoots a glare over his shoulder at Alex right as he attempts to get off his own jetski. He looks at the water, looks at the jetski VLD official, before he promptly jumps off like he’s a kid at a waterpark. The water ripples as he plops down and twists, his eyes widen as he’s dropped into the water from off the side of his board.
Lance can’t help but laugh with a bit of vindication at him, “Right back at you.” He counters.
The other guy in their heat is already out and waiting on them, Lance can deduce that this must be Ryan Kinkade. He looks at the two of them as they arrive and merely sighs, shaking his head with a bit of an exhausted expression like a parent at a disappointing parent-teacher conference before he turns his attention to the waves rolling beneath them, cresting and getting bigger just after where they’d been dropped off. Lance can barely see the shoreline, the collection of fans and other surfers is just a jumble of movement on the slate of sand from here and for a moment it gives Lance some reprieve. They’re close enough that they can see them, but far away enough that they’re easier to ignore.
The airhorn signaling the beginning of the heat goes off, resounding through time and space itself and Lance starts. He stares at the waves, his muscles tensing as the sudden feeling of being watched makes his skin crawl and his hands shake, and not from the chill of the water.
Suddenly a streak of blond rushes past Lance as the crest of wave begins to climb beneath them, he watches as Alex rushes forward and into the wave to catch it for his first round of moves. Lance can’t see most of them on this side of the wave, just when he goes aerial in a 360, but from what he can tell Alex isn’t a competitor to sneeze at, though a bit reckless.
By the time his wave is over, Ryan beside him disappears with the arrival of a new wave, Lance lets himself roll over it as he finds himself inspecting Ryan’s form. He’s much more conservative in his movements than Alex is, which isn’t exactly a detriment because the moves that Ryan does do are impressive, and Lance means real impressive.
Fuck. He thinks to himself, swallowing on the bundle of nerves that rise to his throat. They’re gonna be hard to beat. And what about the other surfers?
A wave curls beneath him, pulling him back to the present moment as sudden fire ignites in his veins. No. This isn’t about them. Keith’s words come to him as he inspects the waves, “Win or lose this is about what you are capable of, not what other people expect of you.”
Lance opens his eyes with a settling breath, focusing on the waves with renewed, laser focus. He sees one that looks like it will be a decent size, but it starts to rise late, Lance worries that it might break early on the sandbar if he were to take it so he waits, and watches for a wave coming in from further out.
Finally he spots one and his gut surges, he knows that this is the wave for him. He snags his way onto it right as Alex returns from his wave, he calls something that Lance can’t hear over the roar of the water and the blood in his ears as the wave starts to rise, rise, crest, and right as it begins to crash Lance leaps to his feet and glides across the glassy surface with ease. It’s tall, it gives him a lot of momentum to work with, so with a wicked, confident smirk Lance cuts back, climbs up, and executes a solid tail slide, one that’s so good that Lance can’t help but hope that Keith saw it. Speaking of Keith… Lance smirks, setting his brow as a devilish idea forms in his brain. He carves his way through the wave, ducking down to gain momentum before he soars upward and into the air, with some grace he slides his board from his feet and into his hands in a Superman. Hope he sees this.
He gets the board back beneath him just as he’s coming back down, and with the last of his momentum he does a roundhouse cutback, rounding off the lip of the water with a swirl of water, splattering seadrops through the morning air before his wave ends.
Then, and only then, does Lance hear the audience; thunderous applause, cheers, and whoops are heard from the shoreline, Lance looks over to see the sheer number of people on the sidelines, a sudden lump appears in his throat. Oh. Right. People.
An VLD official on a jetski comes to collect him before bringing him back to the start point, just enough time for Lance to remember his mission and forget about the crowds.
Alex is gone on a fresh wave but Ryan is there when Lance arrives. “Good wave.” He grunts, his gaze never leaving the waters as Lance disembarks with some issues from the jetski. He doesn’t fall off this time, though.
“Thanks. You, too.” Lance replies amicably. Least he's polite.
They sit in silence for a long while as Lance’s mind churns, the fire burning in his heart doesn’t shiver or diminish as time passes, which is fortunate because suddenly he spots a new wave starting early on and he knows that his time has come, he starts to paddle into it with long strides digging into the chilly waters.
But the cold never really bothered Lance, anyway. The water's just cool, like him. Insert sunglasses emoji.
The wave rises slowly, surprisingly slowly, Lance eyes the sandbar doubtfully as it crests. He leaps to his feet once the froth starts to simmer and dives into the wave, immediately carving in wide arcs to gain momentum and speed through the wave. Once he has the speed, with a twist he rides upwards and hits a rodeo, his favorite, and slips back across the cresting wave with ease. Okay, solid. He gains more speed with some off the tails on the lip, and though it's nothing fancy it's well done. It’s nothing but him and the water. God I hope Keith is watching.
Until he looks ahead and sees the other end of the wave has started to break. Shit, the sandbar! Lance does one last tail rise to escape the foam just as it is about to crash onto him, sliding through the water until he drops to the surface of his board. It was still a rather solid wave, but it ended sooner than Lance expected, before he could really get much more than two moves. Time’s gotta be up pretty soon, Lance thinks to himself as he paddles over to an VLD official on a jetski, I should try to catch one last wave, hike up my score as much as possible.
Once he situates himself on the jetski the official takes off, bringing Lance back to the starting point. Ryan is gone on another wave so Lance has the joy of joys of being received by Alex when he arrives. “Solid stuff, bro!” He says with a broad grin and a hand up in the air in expectation for a high five. “Not bad at all! I’d give you like, an 8!”
Once off the jetski, thankfully much easier this time around, Lance reluctantly gives him a high five, mostly for Alex’s benefit, as he grumbles, “Thanks.”
“No prob, bro.” Alex replies with a smile that’s a little too broad for Lance’s comfort. “You been doing this a long time?”
Lance glances over at Alex with a slight frown, letting out a sigh as he resigns to the idle chatter while he waits on an early-forming wave to appear, “No. Only my second ever heat.”
“Dude, whaaaat? That’s insane! And you decided to go to the VLD for that? What are your balls made of?” Alex’s voice drops and rises with sudden movements of his hands, Lance wonders if he’s being genuine or if Alex has the thickest sarcasm he’s ever seen.
“Well how long have you been doing this?” Lance counters with a huff as another wave goes by, one that isn’t quite right, internally he wishes Alex would pick up one of them so they could stop talking. Or for a wave to emerge further out so he could have an excuse to leave.
“Oh, ten years.”
Lance blinks in shock and looks back over at Alex with wide eyes. He’d nailed his age to be no more than a few years older than him, especially because of his… well, maturity… but ten years? That means he’s gotta be pushing his thirties, maybe even climbing to forty.
Alex continues on without a pause with an amiable wave of his hands, “Didn’t do the VLD until last year, though, because they had a bunch of openings after… ya know, the year prior.” He sucks in breath uncomfortably as another wave rolls by, “You heard about that right, the shark attack? That poor bastard… Bad luck.”
Lance’s fingers seize as his hands clench into fists on the surface of the board. He wants to scream shut the fuck up but at the last minute his mother’s words come to him, if you haven’t anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. So he keeps his mouth shut. Because he’s got nothing but swear word jar worthy things to say to this guy at the moment when he's just trying to focus.
Alex takes his silence as ignorance apparently, as he looks over at Lance with a frowning expression, “Oh, come on you had to have heard about it, it was all over the news! Real famous guy got attacked by a shark and lost his whole arm. Seriously! It was a downright mess. It’s for the best though, Nobody wanted to compete the next year because people were calling it all bad luck. I don’t believe none of that jive, which worked out great for me ‘cause I got into the final round last year… Not to flex, but I’m flexin-”
Lance snaps. “Could you shut up? ”
Alex blinks at him like he just cracked a backhand across his face, “Damn, okay, sorry. And here I thought you were at least nicer than Rudeness McGee over there.” He gestures towards the shore offhandedly. “Wanted some nice chitchat while I dragged y’alls asses up and down this beach-”
Lance growls under his breath as a wave begins to form before him. As soon as it’s close he starts to paddle into it, he doesn’t give half a damn that it started even later than his last wave, he needs to get the fuck away from that dude, get away from the memory of the day. 6.00 even. 6.00 even. Nothing better than a 6.00 even.
Shut up. Shut up. I’ll show you, I’ll show you all, I’m not a 6.00 even, I’m better, I’m better now- The wave begins to crest and Lance immediately launches to his feet, gritting his teeth as he takes a second to keep his balance. He knows this wave will be shorter, so he’ll have to stuff as many moves into it as possible to raise his score’s average.
He goes off the lip immediately and tumbles down the side of the wave so fast that he nearly slides off his board, but he manages to stay low enough that he only slips a little. With the sudden speed he soars back up and tries to do a 360 but his board starts to slip from under his feet, in a last ditch effort to save the move and himself Lance kicks out his heel to morph the move into a kickflip at the last second. By some miracle he finds himself back on his feet, ripping down the side of the wave. Quickly he rises back up to execute another rodeo but he was going too fast, he soars a little too high and when he comes back down its all he can do to stay on the board. Ahead he can see the froth start to bubble as the wave hits the sandbar but Lance isn’t done yet, he can’t be done yet, so he quickly goes off the lip one more time, just one more move-
The water breaks right as he lands. His board gets caught in the pull and slips out from under him, next thing Lance knows his face hits the water with the tug of the leash on his ankle and the icy waves envelope him.
He holds his breath, salt burns his nose and eyes as he claws his way upward, quickly he follows the pull of the wave to find air until with a gasp he breaks the surface, his hand catching right on the edge of the VLD official’s jetski.
“You alright?!” The woman calls, holding out a hand to help Lance onto the back.
Quickly Lance waves her off, “Good! I’m good!”
As soon as Lance gets himself onto the back of the jetski the airhorn sounds, signaling the end of the heat. A roar erupts from the audience as the next heat is announced, and the official brings Lance back to shore.
Once the water is shallow enough Lance hops off and returns to the beach on foot, his head is foggy and his lips feel blue and rimmed like a margarita glass.
As soon as he spots his friends, they spot him, they bounce up and down, chanting his name as he ducks beneath the ropes to rejoin them, as soon as he’s close Hunk wraps him in such a tight hug that Lance swears he feels a rib crack, all the while he shouts, “That was so awessoooooome!!!! ”
Lance coughs and pats his arm, “Hunk- gh- air .”
Hunk releases him with a sheepish smile in response right as Allura and Romelle flank him, none of them seeming to care that Lance is dripping wet from the sea, Romelle’s hands clasp his still dripping cheeks as her wide, bright periwinkle eyes glimmer like Easter eggs as she examines him closely, “Are you okay? You took a nasty fall there at the end!”
“He’s fine, he’s fine, he got up, didn’t he?” Pidge waves Allura's hand off of him dismissively, “That wave was a bit of bad luck, that’s all.”
Allura nods in agreement as Lance’s stomach begins to sink in a horribly familiar way, “Agreed. Your two waves prior were excellent , I’m certain that your score will reflect that.”
“Speaking of, Pidge, come on, lets go camp out at the judge’s table to grab Lance’s score.” Veronica pipes up suddenly, waving a hand as she looks over her glasses to their sibling, “Coming, Matt?”
Matt blinks at her with wide eyes for a brief moment before he nods enthusiastically, “Yeah! … How do they score these, exactly?”
As the trio stride away, Pidge quietly explains to him how the scoring works while Hunk suddenly scoops Lance’s board out from under his arm, “I’ll take this back to our spot! You should come sit and rest, dude, you’ve earned it!”
Lance blinks in surprise, still reeling a little as he shuffles in the sand to follow, tugging off his leash, “O-oh uh… okay-” He glances off to the side as he begins to focus, and that’s when he realizes that Keith is nowhere to be seen. Frowning Lance turns in circles, surveying the crowd in search for a crest of curling black hair but it’s impossible to tell with all the moving bodies swirling around him, eventually Lance realizes that he’s gonna lose Hunk if he loiters any longer so he hurries after him, continuing to scan the area around him in search for his trainer.
Back at their little camp Allura thrusts a Gatorade into Lance’s hands as Romelle drapes a towel around his shoulders. Touched, Lance grins at the pair of them with a raise of his drink, “Careful, a man could get used to this!”
Allura rolls her eyes and snorts, pushing him down into a seat under the umbrella with a bit of a flare to establish dominance, “Oh hush.” It works quite effectively as Lance immediately looks at her with wide eyes before he sips his Gatorade to escape the power of her gaze. There is a reason that he nicknamed her Princess after all, and it’s not because she needs to be pampered. Instead Lance scans the faces that pass, on the lookout for Keith.
After a few minutes of sitting he comes, much to Lance’s enthusiasm, accompanied by Veronica, Matt, and Pidge. In their hand is a familiar slip of paper, a mixture of excitement and dread swarms Lance’s being as he stands up from his seat, his eyes flying wide, “Well? What’s the verdict?”
Pidge grins at him, making his core tremble as she hands him the slip of paper, “It’s an improvement!”
Improvement? What the hell does that mean?
Lance opens the paper with shaking hands, everything shakes, his eyes, his stomach, his heart, his very soul in his throat as the numbers leap off the page. Three simple numbers. 7.95.
Over his shoulder Hunk gasps in excitement, “Wait, this is better than last time, right?” When Pidge nods in front of Lance’s blind eyes Hunk claps Lance on the shoulder with a laugh of enthusiasm, “Fucking awesome, dude! I knew you’d nail it!”
7.95.
So. Fucking.
Close.
“I know it isn’t exactly a 10 but that doesn’t mean that wasn’t a solid performance!” Pidge encourages, gripping his shoulder in an attempt to pull Lance’s gaze to theirs. He does meet their golden eyes in the blazing sunlight but he doesn’t truly see, he sees nothing but three numbers imprinted on his eyelids.
“And you’ve gotta remember that this is only your second competition ever.” Veronica adds with a reasonable nod, her hands resting on her waist as she waves a finger, “And you’ve still got shortboards coming up.”
“Yeah, exactly!” Romelle claps excitedly, beaming at Lance with enthusiasm dripping from her gaze and onto her hands as they clasp his, encompassing the slip of paper totally, “This is only half. You got this in the bag!”
Silence persists, as the others wait for him to say something but he hasn’t got anything to say. He just feels so… broken.
He tried. He tried so fucking hard but where did that land him? A fucking 7.95. Not even a full 8, just short. Just short.
Just like everything I’ll amount to be.
But Lance realizes that his friends are looking to him, expecting him to react to their motivational speeches. He fumbles for one of his stored smiles and beams at the group collected before him, “Yeah, you’re right! Competition’s not over yet.”
Hunk squeezes a shoulder with a matching smile, “That’s right! You did amazing dude, we're so proud of you.” With the tension in everyone’s shoulders gone, Hunk makes a gesture towards the parking lot, “Now I don’t know about you guys, but those taco trucks are calling my name right now. Anyone down for a little lunch break before shortboards?”
There’s a chorus of agreement from the collective party, but one voice speaks then, one that had been silent up until now, “You guys go ahead, Lance and I will catch up.”
The others look at Keith with curious expressions, but Keith’s face is completely unreadable, and unquestionable in his words. Lance blinks owlishly, wondering what earned him a private audience as his Lance’s friends nod in turn, Veronica declaring "Whatever you sat, coach" After a couple moments they head up the beach, leaving Keith and Lance alone in their spot.
With the solitude, Keith’s pale hand grabs the flexible material of Lance’s surf suit and tugs him off to the side, leading him toward the emptier space beyond the crowd bustling around them during the transition. Lance nearly trips and falls as he tries to get his feet to follow the direction of the pull, his gaze glides up Keith’s arm, cool as steel, until it meets Keith’s where he looks over his shoulder at him. His gaze is so full of fierce fire that Lance can suddenly feel it, as real as the heat of the sun beating on his shoulders, yet somehow it makes him shiver all the same.
Keith looks at him seriously once that they’re relatively alone off to the side of the beach, giving him a no nonsense look that makes Lance straighten up like a soldier at attention, “What happened?” He asks simply.
Lance blinks a little dumbly, “... Huh?”
“You were distracted.” He replies tersely, obviously not buying his lackadaisical demeanor.
Lance’s gaze averts to the side, awkwardly he rubs the back of his neck as he starts to stammer, “I dunno, I mean, it wasn’t anything-”
Lance starts when Keith suddenly snaps at him, pulling his gaze away from the sands instead to the swirling violets of his stormy gaze, “Don’t bullshit me, Lance.”
Now, with his undivided attention, Keith lets his hands drop from where his arms were crossed over his chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “You started out strong. Real strong. But after your second wave…” Keith’s frown deepens, and Lance feels his throat hollow, “Your first wave and third wave were like they were done by two different surfers. Guess which one was worse?”
Lance huffs with a tinge of fire burning across his face, he swallows the licking flames of shame as he waves a hand, “Okay, okay, I get it.”
Keith stares at Lance with crossed arms, not speaking for a moment as he instead examines him with a slowly softening expression, “So what happened? Talk it out, what were you thinking, what were you feeling? Was it the crowd?”
Lance frowns. He mirrors Keith’s pose and crosses his arms, wishing he was wearing a jacket so he could stuff his hands in his pockets, but the silence is so permeating that Lance can almost feel it clawing at his throat and ripping out his esophagus until finally Lance can’t take it anymore. He throws his hands in the air with a dramatic sigh as he finally finds the courage to meet Keith’s impenetrable gaze, “I don’t know what you want me to say!”
“I don’t want you to say anything but the truth.” Keith counters calmly, his gaze like steel beams bathed in the light of stars.
Lance huffs and worms his fingers around the strip of paper in his hands, rolling it back and forth, its numbers burned into his mind as he speaks with growling words, “It wasn’t anything! It was stupid, I just got upset for no good reason-”
“Lance.”
Lance cuts himself off, his jaw firming into a hard line as his gaze moves to the ocean just behind him. The pounding of the surf suddenly overwhelms him, drowns him, as if the draw of the tide is pulling his heart and lungs down under in order to keep him there. He crinkles the strip of paper unknowingly. “... Just some guy in my heat. Talked a load of shit and other stuff. I was running out of time, I needed to get one more wave to improve my score..!”
Cool hands touch his chin and drag Lance’s gaze away from the water, pulling him instead into the depths of Keith’s eyes as they flicker between his, the indigo waves digging deep into his soul as Keith speaks with a surprisingly soft and tender tone, “Believe me when I say I know what you’re talking about.” He lets his hand drop but his expression doesn’t falter in its dead seriousness as he closely examines Lance with a shrouded look, “What did I tell you just before you went out there?”
Lance furrows his eyebrows, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he answers, “... Not to worry about other people.”
“Exactly.” Keith nods, his hands dropping to his sides as his eyes, those damn eyes bore into Lance’s very soul, “And while I did only mean the crowds before, I really do mean everyone. Don’t worry about that guy.” Keith’s gaze flickers back towards where they came from briefly before his eyes return to Lance’s, “And don’t worry about what your friends think either. Whatever you think they expect of you… ball it up inside you and throw that all away.” Keith’s gaze briefly flickers to Lance’s hands, hovering, worrying, and he murmurs rather softly, “Pay no attention to the crowds, to that guy, to your friends. That includes the judges, too.” Suddenly he snatches the now-worn strip of paper from Lance and tosses it into the sand.
Lance blinks and makes a noise like he just got punched, he moves towards the paper but Keith moves in his way, planting a hand on his chest as he fixes him with a stern look. Lance looks at him, the paper, then him again as he blabbers, “Du- wh- what was that for?!”
Keith’s eyes suddenly narrow, a soft gray light burning in the depths as he speaks in a low voice, “Who are you?”
Lance looks at Keith like he just grew three heads. “... Is that a trick question?”
“No.” Keith takes another step forward, almost challengingly so, as he gets close to Lance with a dead-serious light in his eyes, “Who are you?”
Lance blinks, once, twice, opens his mouth, closes it, his gaze drops to the side with confusion as he stammers, “I-I don’t-”
“Are you 7.95?” Lance’s gaze snaps to Keith’s and for a moment there’s a spark, a resurgence of flame bursts in Lance’s chest as Keith stares him down, “... Well? Are you?”
Lance sets his jaw and slowly he growls, “... No.”
Keith grunts in affirmation with a dangerous light reflecting in the blacks of his gaze, “That’s right. You’re not. So who are you? ”
Lance frowns, his gaze flickering to the sand as he speaks with little conviction in his tone, “... A 10.”
Keith shakes his head, snapping his fingers in front of Lance’s eyes to draw his attention back to him, “No, no, no. You’re not a number. You’re a surfer. A damn fine one, too. But most importantly, you’re Lance. That’s who you are… you’re Lance McClain.” Slowly Lance’s gaze begins to dawn in hues of cobalt as Keith continues with the same burning fire in his voice, “You’re not a number, Lance. You can’t be defined by them, not the judges, your friends, your competitors… you are defined by nothing except what you do.”
A sudden calm grips the pair as they stare at each other with fresh understanding and something stirs in Lance’s chest. A tremor, a pulse, a flutter of wings as he finds his gaze flickering across Keith’s expression, which has softened to sanded down edges and a raise in his brows. Indigo eyes flicker downwards at someplace between them as Keith’s husky voice drops to something above a whisper, “... Do you get it now?”
Lance swallows on a sudden bundle of roses in the back of his throat. “... Yeah.” He murmurs like a secret, “I think I get it.”
There’s a tense silence between them, and slowly Lance realizes how close they’re standing.
Keith seems to realize this at the same time, as he suddenly takes a step back and clears his throat, his gaze shifting for the first time away from Lance’s as he rubs the back of his neck, “... You uh… We should catch up with the others. You need some lunch before the shortboard heats.”
“Oh! Yeah!” Lance pipes up in response, his eyes flying wide. He swallows again but the stubborn bunch of flowers in his mouth refuses to go anywhere, he regards the beautiful man before him with a sudden bout of helplessness in the face of everything as he turns away to head towards the road where the food trucks are camped. Rose petals fall from his lips as he exhales and thorns prick his tongue with missing words. A part of him wants to grab his wrist and drag him back, but Lance can’t even begin to imagine what would happen if he did that. Well… He’s willing to bet at least $5 that Keith would sock him, and that’s what stops him from doing it. The last thing Lance wants to do is push his boundaries again.
So instead he follows.
They catch up with the group at one of the food trucks. Hunk had gotten Lance and Keith pork carnitas, and once the pair are there the group of friends amicably toss banter back and forth while they eat.
Though Lance can’t help but eye Keith as he does, protected by the conversation humming around him.
…
After lounging with his friends and then stretching during the women’s longboard heats, the second half of the competition commences and so do the shortboard heats with the sound of a loud airhorn across the beach. Lance stares at the waters on the horizon as he stretches intently, refocusing his thoughts as the fire that Keith sparked in his chest begins to light up, flare, and then settle into a low, dangerous burn in the pit of his stomach. The bustle of the crowd around him doesn’t seem to bother him as much anymore, the sound is drowned out by the matching rate of the thunder of the pounding waves in sync with his heartbeat in his ears. It’s like the first heat never happened, Lance feels settled, renewed, and never before has he felt so ready.
He and his friends collect by the rope as the end of the first heat draws close, his shortboard perched with its nose in the sand beside him. Surfing on a shortboard is a little different than a longboard because they’re easier to maneuver, so Lance is hoping that this time around he’ll be able to do more, trickier tricks than he could with his longboard, and hopefully increase his net score. His friends give him one last round of pep-talks by the ropes, each of them bearing proud smiles as they speak in turn.
“You got this man!” Matt proclaims, ruffling Lance’s hair with an enthusiastic smile.
Hunk nods seriously and squeezes him in a hug around his middle, “Be careful out there! Own those waves!”
Allura smiles at Lance with an encouraging light igniting in her gaze, “We believe in you.”
Veronica smirks as Lance looks to her, “Try not to wipe out, alright? Leave it to the competition to make me laugh.”
Pidge blinks at Veronica then at Lance before they jut a thumb at his sister, “What she said!”
Lance expectantly turns to Keith, who stands with his arms crossed resolutely as he scans the other. With a coy raise of his brow Lance tilts his head to the side with his hand perched on his hip, “Any last minute advice, oh wise trainer?”
Keith pauses, his gaze flickering to the side for a long moments before he speaks with a muted expression. "Patience yields focus.”
Lance raises an eyebrow but doesn’t have the time to question it as the horn blasts for heat 3. So, smiling at his friends encouragingly, Lance turns to the water. He hears them cheering behind him as he forges into the waves, now that the day has gone past afternoon the waters are far warmer than they were this morning, though still enough to make Lance start with a slight shiver. He spots Ryan and Alex boarding jetskis ahead of him, his initial reaction is to hang back to let them go on first but he realizes pretty quickly that he can’t avoid them. Well, Alex specifically. Ryan seems like a perfectly nice guy, if reserved. But not like a Keith kind of reserved, more like… the eye of a tempest kind of reserved. Keith himself is more like the tempest is buried beneath the mask of calm.
But Lance has to face this, face Alex, face the crowds, the judges, all head on. He can’t run, can't hide; he's here, and he's gonna get it done. So he sloshes through the ebbing waves to board the back of an official jetski to take him out past the waters.
Now with the day’s practice Lance slides off the jetski without much problem, perching on his board with his palms pressed flat against the smoothed, well loved surface. Alex waves at him amicably as Ryan carefully examines the waves roiling beneath them, no sooner are they in position does the airhorn sound to signal the start of the heat.
And it’s on.
The three bob in the passing waves for a few minutes, each wave forming too early for Lance to feel comfortable taking them, until Alex gasps excitedly and calls out, “Mine! Mine!” He zips by like a seal as a wave begins to form, Ryan and Lance roll over with ease as they wait for Alex and his wave to pass. Lance initially watches his wave, spotting his dirty blond hair overtop the waters before he remembers Keith’s words and instead reaffixes his attention to finding that next wave. It’s about you and what you do. Don’t worry about anyone else.
He spots a wave forming, starting farther out, and Lance knows it’s his, he makes a gesture that he’s going to claim this wave towards Ryan before he starts to paddle, riding towards the shore as he hitches onto the wave. As soon as it starts to crest Lance leaps to his feet with ease, hyperfocusing upon nothing but the feeling of his board beneath his bare feet and the powerful pull of the waves beneath him.
It feels like he’s in a dream as he rides the wave, carving up and down, building speed, and he knows exactly what to do once he’s settled in a rhythm. He stays ahead of the crash behind him, rising into a wide tail slide that sends water through the air in a rainbow spray, he maintains his balance with a steady hand outstretched before he ducks and rises again to a backwards aerial rotation - Ed an alley-oop. Perfectly buffeting to the surface of the curling wave. Lance feels a smirk rising to his face as he rises and falls like the chest of a sleeping giant before he grows a little daring and flips his board through the air, touching down again with grace. As easy as breathing.
Lance is able to surf one more, extremely solid wave like the first before he gets caught up to by Alex. He had hoped he would be lucky and miss him throughout the heat but as soon as Lance finds himself alone with him dread clambers into his throat.
The blond grins toothily, “You’re on fire, bro! Way to go!”
Lance nods politely, “Yeah, thanks, you too.”
Alex leans forward on his board with a wild smirk as he cocks an eyebrow, “You sure this is only your second tournament? You ain’t just pulling my leg, are ya?” When Lance shakes his head Alex makes a loud tch noise, leaning back on his board with his palms flat as he speaks, “Well damn, color me impressed. Who taught you?”
Lance merely shrugs, attempting to discourage conversation as he keeps his attention fixed on the waves, but it does nothing as Alex continues to talk anyway, “That move you did last heat, the kickflip into a 360? Pretty sick. I saw that one guy, the one in heat group 1, do that move. Take some notes from his book?”
Lance shoots a look over at Alex’s expression but finds that he doesn’t look accusatory, but rather genuinely curious. Or Alex just looks like that. Honestly, it’s a possibility, considering how he’s been acting. “No, I haven’t been watching the first group, I was stretching to get ready for this.”
“Oh, too bad. You should, it’s important to get a survey of the competition, you know.” Alex helpfully informs him with a raise of his finger. Lance doesn’t hear him when he speaks more because he sees a wave starting to form farther out and decides to commit, he claims it with a call as he starts to paddle into it. It rises, crests, he leaps to his feet, and everything seems to drown out, nothing but the sound of moving water, his heartbeat, and his deep, regular breaths.
It’s like the water where he plans to guide his board is illuminated in a trail of turquoise light, he can see the path before him as clear as day and he follows it to the t, first an aerial to gain speed, curving up, gliding fall like a push and pull, I hope Keith is watching. Off the tail into a rodeo because he can’t not do a rodeo, that’s his move , an idea strikes him again: the aerial kickflip combo he accidentally did last heat, that Alex also pointed out and asked him about. Fuck it, why not? He settles his breath and sets his brow, staying low to the board with his knees bent he uses the water to launch himself into the air and he strikes the wood with a precise knock, it spins as he twirls with it through the air and as soon as he lands he can’t help but let out a wild whoop, simply from the fact that he was able to do it again , and on purpose. The froth starts to arise on the end of the wave, and for a moment Lance considers squeezing in one last move but he remembers the last heat and decides against it; one less move will affect his average, but one extra, rushed move will affect it worse.
So he eases out of the wave, waiting until the wave passes to takes the jetski back to the starting place. However, while he’s on the ride there, the airhorn sounds the end of the heat and as if answering the roar of the crowd the official whirls back towards shore to take Lance back to the beach.
The whole while, Lance can’t help but grin with giddy excitement. He can’t help himself, not after that. Regardless of whatever score the judges give him, Lance knows that he will still feel warm and fulfilled looking back at the waves after a heat like that.
That was a heat worthy of him.
When Lance is back on land, it’s not hard for him to make his way back to his friends. They’re the loudest people on the beach, screeching his name like rabid sports fans. As soon as he’s close Hunk single handedly scoops him up in his arms and hugs him with a rallying roar, “That’s what I’m talking about! That’s my boy right here!”
Veronica snorts and smacks Hunk’s massive bicep as Lance chokes on air, “Let him down, he needs to breathe!”
Sheepishly Hunk sets Lance down, much to his relief as he immediately sucks in breath like a drowning man as Hunk taps his fingertips together, “Sorry! I got a little excited.” The front of his orange t-shirt with some graphic design on the front is now imprinted with moisture from Lance’s surf suit, but he doesn’t seem to care, as he smiles at him brightly nonetheless.
“You have every reason to! That was awesome!” Pidge says with a broad smile, they raise a hand and Lance gleefully highfives them before they turn to Veronica and Matt, “Now come on, to the judge’s table!” They start to move in that direction before suddenly pausing, glancing to look over Lance’s shoulder, “Coming, coach? ” They say with a jesting tone.
Lance turns around to see Keith, wearing the exact same expression as when Lance left for the heat, standing just behind him with his hands hung at his sides. “Go ahead.” He replies simply, meeting their gaze head on.
Pidge shrugs nonchalantly and escorts the other two away as Allura, Romelle, and Hunk rope onto Lance, Hunk once again stealing his board from him to guide him back to their spot. Romelle hands him his Gatorade when he gets there and Allura his towel, quickly he dries himself off as he flickers his cerulean gaze between his friends, “How’d it look?”
“It doesn’t matter what we think.” Lance blinks in surprise as Keith answers him, his gaze digs deep into his as he stands with his arms crossed beneath the protection of the umbrellas, “How do you feel it went?”
They all turn and look at him with expectant eyes and for a moment Lance balks, until he considers the question. He thinks about his moves, his landings, his in and outs, and a small smile stretches across his face, “Went much better. I feel… good. Like, really good about it.”
The corners of Keith’s lips quirk slightly upwards, sending an arrow through Lance’s chest as he hums, “It shows.”
Lance waits anxiously for Pidge and Co. to return from the judge’s table. He can’t help it, he knows Keith told him not to worry about it but now that the heat is over he wants to know what the judges decree. He wants to know if it was actually good or if he’s kidding himself. A high number from the judges… that would be like the affirmation to how he already feels. If it comes across how he feels, then… then maybe he can actually do this.
Before long he spots them approaching, weaving through the crowd of people. Lance leaps to his feet in anticipation, his eyes flying wide when he sees the sparkle in his friends’ eyes. A slip of paper appears in his hands as Pidge shouts, “Drumroll, please!”
Hunk and Romelle enthusiastically slap their knees like drummers in a marching band as Lance unfolds the paper with shaky hands. As soon as he does, his jaw drops.
“9.55?!” He shrieks, his eyes flying wide as he looks up at his friends for confirmation. Allura and Romelle both gasp dramatically and swipe the number from him as he looks at Pidge with a stunned look, “You… you got the right slip of paper, right?”
“Hell yeah they did, dude!” Matt says with a bright smile, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing, “You got a 9.55! Which Pidge says is a pretty good thing!"
Lance’s ears ring. He can’t believe it. He honest to God can’t believe it. Even as his friends cheer around him, slap him on the back with congratulatory shouts, he phases a little out of reality as he pulls himself back into the water, rethinking about the moves.
This is beyond even his wildest dreams. He was .45 away from a solid perfect score with those waves. He was hoping for at least an 8.50, but a 9.55? This exceeds all expectations.
He did it. He got a 9.55 on a heat. His third ever heat!
Suddenly Hunk’s large arm wraps Lance around his waist and hoists him into the air, perching him on his shoulder as he starts to chant, “Lance! Lance! Lance! Lance!”
Soon enough the others start to join in, attracting eyes from the people surrounding them, “Lance! Lance! Lance!”
Lance’s gaze flits across his friends’ faces, mostly in embarrassment, until it falls onto a familiar set of violet eyes, peering up at him. Keith isn’t chanting his name like the others, his arms are crossed and for all intents and purposes he looks no different than when Lance came out of the water, but now there’s a sparkling light there that makes Lance have to take a second breath. He’s smiling a little and looks… proud.
Lance’s heart leaps into his throat. He couldn’t have done this without Keith. He almost cracked under the pressure… but Keith snapped him out of it. Reinforced his mind. Patience yields focus he’d said. That’s what pushed him to the 9.55. Sure he surfed the wave… but Keith was the one who centered him to be able to do it on his own.
Lance smiles at him with all the light trapped in his own chest projected into his teeth like a beacon. I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.
Keith seems to nod in a minute of understanding flashing between their furtive glances, though Lance does notice his gaze flickers downwards for a moment before he turns away. Something stirs in Lance’s heart, and it isn’t fear of getting dropped by Hunk from his place on his shoulder. It’s something far gayer than that, unfortunately.
Far, far gayer.
…
When all the heats have concluded, there’s a small awards ceremony with top competitors in each division. For longboards Lance is not mentioned, but in the shortboards division his name is called as second place behind Ryan Kinkade. He gets a small medal for it, but in all honesty Lance was completely out of it during the whole event. He was thinking about the feeling of the water moving beneath him, and how that heat was worth a 9.55 and a silver medal in the fucking VLD tournament. Though again, it doesn't count for the overall competition just yet, but still, he's got a silver medal with the VLD winged symbol on it that's his. He earned it.
Fucking unreal.
Once it’s over the group starts to pack up their stuff, and almost immediately Veronica starts talking about the party and the preparations needed for it.
“I’m gonna have to make a liquor run after we get all your stuff back to the apartment. Oh, Hunk, I would love love love it if you would make those amazing brownie cookies you make, if I could recruit you to do that?” She asks with her phone at hand, the group finishing up packing up their slot on the beachside, knocking off sand as much as they can from the chairs and the towels. She glances up at him minutely after a beat and adds with a sheepish, apologetic smile, “Unless you’re busy, which I totally get.”
Hunk shrugs with a smile, “Sure, I’m down! I’ll come by about an hour before the party, that way they’ll be fresh.”
Veronica grins wickedly and gives him a high five as she glances over at her brother, “Got a preference for different kinds of drinks? Seems only fitting our champion picks.” She pinches Lance’s medal hanging around his neck between her thumb and forefinger. It’s made of silver and depicts the VLD logo, the letters in the middle of a galaxy-like ring around it, and words stamped onto the bottom, “55th Annual Season Opener” and “2nd place” .
Lance shrugs with a slight smile, “Don’t care, but my favorite drinks are Cosmos, Piña Coladas, and Mudslides, so plan accordingly. Oh, and Fireball with Coke is also just…” Lance makes a kissing motion in the air as he says this before he moves to grab his boards after looping his towel over his neck.
“Done and done!” Veronica cries with excitement, frantically typing away on her phone. As Lance moves to lift up his longboard a pale arm swoops in and grabs it instead, Lance blinks at a resolute looking Keith as he takes the board, only flashing him a raised eyebrow in question as permission.
Lance lets him, flashing him a smile as he tries to wrestle the answer to the question he’s been dying to know for days, “You’re coming tonight, right?”
Keith blinks at him with startled surprise, tensing as his indigo hues flicker between Lance’s blues like he's searching for buried treasure, “You… want me to come?”
Lance nods enthusiastically, “Hell yeah I do!” He throws an arm around his shoulder and hugs him tightly without a second thought, “Today was a great day! ‘Course I wanna celebrate it with my trainer. ” He says this with a teasing tone, flashing the other a playful wink before he speaks with a more serious tone, “But… I understand if you don’t want to. It sounds like Vero wants to make this like a college party, she’s inviting a lot of her friends and it’ll be crowded… but I promise I’ll protect you. If you do come.” He says this with another wink, simply unable to help himself as a more teasing lilt enters his tone.
Keith blinks at him with wide eyes like he just got suckerpunched and audibly swallows, looking off to the side with a sudden dusting of rose rising across his face as he mutters, “Oh. Uh… Then…” He pauses, considering his options before he lets out a soft breath, almost as if admitting defeat, “... Alright. I’ll be there.”
“Awesome!” Lance cries enthusiastically, clapping his hands on his board under his arm as they make it to the parking lot, “It starts at 9:30, so show up at like… 10:30.”
Keith furrows his eyebrows at this, shifting his hold on Lance’s board, “Then why don’t you say the party starts at 10:30?”
“Because…” Lance pauses. He’s had situations like this with Keith in the past, what chiefly comes to mind is the Kosmo naming one… so he lets the question slide with a soft laugh, “Okay, fair. It starts at 10:30.”
Keith nods, accepting this with a serious expression, “Alright.”
Romelle suddenly pops up then, hovering just a few feet behind them, “I can pick you up, Keith! I don’t like to drink, so I’m the DD for Hunk, Pidge, and Matt and your place is on the way from mine!”
Keith blinks at this, looking at her with a curious gaze before he nods, “Oh… Alright. Thank you.”
Lance snorts as he turns towards her, raising g an incredulous eyebrow, "Geez, where'd you come from?"
Romelle beams as brightly as the sun itself, “What, it's not like you're whispering.” With that she trots ahead to Pidge’s car, leaving Lance to shrug at the cluelessly blinking Keith.
Together the gang packs up the stuff into Pidge’s trunk. It’s now late afternoon, setting the skies ablaze in hues of gold and orange like swathes of watercolor paint across a scarlet canvas. Lance’s eyelids are drooping after being in the heat of the sun for a majority of the day and he’s looking forward to seeing his bed. Once they’re cleaned up he’s gonna take a nap until the party, he’s gonna need it after the night’s sleep before… and the day he’s had.
The gang puts most of the supplies in Pidge’s car before they go to Romelle’s - a small, snazzy, sky blue Prius - and strap Lance’s boards to her roof. It’s a little difficult because the Prius doesn’t have bars like Pidge’s Subaru does, but they manage to merely strap it about from the inside with the windows down, with the help of Pidge’s extra straps. This way the apartment can head straight back to their place instead of having Pidge take a pitstop. However, they only do it with the promise that they’ll pick up their straps tonight at the party.
Keith pats him on the shoulder once his boards are secured on Romelle’s roof, “Text me when you get home. And try to rest some before you go party… you earned it.”
Lance grins at the other and playfully punches his arm, “Thanks, coach. Right back at you.”
Keith offers him the ghost of a smile, making Lance’s heart stammer out of function for a moment as he turns and strides off. Oh how it hurts for Lance to watch him go… but as his gaze flickers across his form, he can’t help but think how he loves to watch him leave.
A few parking spots down Lance spots his motorcycle perched on the side, with a key from a ring in his pocket Keith unlocks the seat and grabs a helmet from within, straps it on, before getting on the bike and firing it up. The guttural growl hums, audible even over the din of the busy parking lot of other surfers packing up and leaving, and Lance watches as Keith takes off, weaving through cars to get out of dodge through traffic rather than waiting his turn. The benefits of a small vehicle.
Lucky bastard.
It takes far longer for Pidge and Romelle to get out in their cars, thanks to the insane traffic of other surfers also trying to leave. Lance gets a text from Keith that he’s home once they finally get through the traffic out of the parking lot, so Lance sends him a gif of a bitter toddler sticking their tongue out. He sends a simple “lol” and then a picture of Kosmo, “Allow this to make you smile”
Lance texts back with a laugh under his breath, “smile made.” Then another, before he can help himself, “thanks for the pep talk. U helped out a whole lot, idk what i would’ve done without u today”
Lance pauses once the text is sent and curses himself. That looks… hella needy. And kinda gay. Fellas…
Three dots appear on his screen, then a reply. “You would have been just fine without me. Though I guess I shouldn’t argue since you’re paying me.”
Lance can’t help but frown a little at this. Speaking without any thought he texts him back, “I’d still want u around even if i wasn’t paying u to be my trainer.”
“Would you?”
Is that seriously a question? “Yes!!!!!” Lance pauses, before replying again, “... Okay maybe not at first since we got off to a rough start. But now that i know u better i totally would!!!"
“Count me lucky, then.”
Lance doesn’t have much time to linger over his text before Romelle pulls up to the apartment and it's time to unpack their shit. With some maneuvering and help from Veronica and Allura, Lance is able to get his boards off the roof and safely back inside.
From there Veronica starts running like a chicken with her head cut off getting the apartment ready, even after Lance does his aftercare routine with his boards she’s still pulling random pieces of decorations from her room and talking on the phone with what sounds like some of her friends who are coming tonight, coordinating beverage pickups and DDs. As Lance heads to his room to get ready to retire, he’s stopped by Allura with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Lance…” He looks at her with wide eyes as she lets her hand fall back to her sides, instead clasping them in front of her as she offers him a small smile, “You did well today. Truly. I just wanted to tell you once things got settled that I’m really proud of you.”
Lance can’t help but grin back at his friend in return, “Thanks, princess. I couldn’t have done it without your guys’ support.”
Allura rolls her eyes and chuckles. Behind her Lance’s eyes are caught by movement from her bedroom doorway across the living room, where he spots Romelle slipping inside, giving the pair of them a meaningful look before shutting the door behind her. Allura turns to Lance with a sheepish smile, her ears turning rosy as she clears her throat after seeing this herself, “I’ll let you rest… I think you’re going to need it before this party Veronica has planned for tonight.”
“Yeah, probably.” Lance says with a soft laugh in response, giving Allura a fond pat on the shoulder as he murmurs in a softer tone, “Go get her.” He gestures his chin towards the doorway that Allura keeps eyeing.
Allura blinks at him and then bursts into a color like scarlet even against the dark hues of her skin, she covers her face with her hands as Lance laughs maniacally, then huffing as he turns away, “OH! You fiend!”
With that, while laughing the whole time, Lance ducks back into his room and seals the door shut. For a moment Lance finds himself leaning against the door, filled with a sense of longing… which doesn’t make sense because he got over Allura years ago. But something about that come hither look from Romelle followed by Allura’s shyness… it activated something in him. But it isn’t that he wishes he was Romelle or Allura in this situation - of course not, they’re his friends and he’s happy that they have each other - but it does stand to question: what exactly is he aching for?
He grabs a change of fresh pajamas from the set of drawers before he heads out to the bathroom in the hall to take a shower, scrub his skin clean of the salt and sand of the beach before retreating into the laundered cloth, ridiculously soft after the pamperings of the hot water. Needless to say, it’s heavenly after the stresses of the sun-baked day. All the while his tired thoughts turn sluggish as he struggles with the ache in his chest, like a hole worn in cloth that he can’t help but stick his finger in until the hole gets wider and wider.
It only takes him a few steps into his room, after closing the door behind him, to faceplants on his bed, hair still wet and sticking to his forehead. He falls asleep within a minute, his last thoughts flickering to places he can’t quite comprehend but smell like the beach.