Nature's first green is gold

"I…really like you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot," Lance managed out, squirming around his hands in anticipation. He looked up from his hands, and into the eyes of his reflection. How the ever-loving quiznak was he, a random Cuban fighter-pilot-by-luck, supposed to tell his rival, friend, and teammate that he liked him?

"Lance if you're going to practice confessing your undying love for Keith could you do it when I'm not around to be scarred?" Pidge said, looking up from their comic book. Pidge would randomly come in to Lance's room, sometimes to rant, sometimes to play some sort of game, but most of the time to ignore him and do their own thing. Of course, this has its flaws. Like, for example, the time Pidge walked in on Lance dancing around on the floor in his socks in underwear to "Hips Don't Lie". There was a very long, awkward period of time after that.

Lance laughed. "How do you think I should ask him then, emperor pigeon?"

"Don't"

"Huh?" Lance was slightly shocked at his friend's answer, but he expected the unexpected from Pidge.

"You don't really show you like him, so if you say it out flat he'll think you don't mean it. On the other hand, he's too dense to realize when people flirt with him." Poor Lance got more and more confused the more and more Pidge explained. He was zoning out, when he heard the word Shakira. Though it was said in a very agitated tone, he still got an idea from it.

And what an idea it was.