Bullseye (Wannabe)
Keith sends a look that shoots daggers at the wicked object on the corner of the dining room. All he needs to do is to try again. Just try again, simple as that.
He grabs another napkin. Maybe it is about aerodynamic, not trajectory. Carefully, he molds the small piece of paper into a tiny ball. He pokes it. It's firm.
Then, closing one eye so he can have a better sense of distance, he aims at the subject of his murderous thoughts.
Thirteenth time is the charm, he thinks before throwing the ball.
There's a moment of high expectation when it makes a perfect curve in the air towards the trash can and Keith wets his lips in anticipation… only for the ball to hit the edge of the bin and fall on the floor.
"ARGH," he shouts in anger, hurling all of the remaining napkins in the air. Why is he doing that, anyway? It's so stupid. He doesn't need to prove anything to anyone.
"Told 'ya," Pidge says from the other side of the table, without taking her eyes off of her computer. "You can't be the best at everything."
"Whatever." He lies back on his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest, too stubborn to admit she may be right. Pidge only rolls her eyes at him and keeps making loud noises while typing.
He occupies his mind by sending angry glares at the waste bin until Lance shows up, holding a small piece of tech.
"'Sup," Lance greets them, stopping in front of Pidge. "Hey, Hunk asked me to deliver this to you." He hands her the drive and almost immediately directs his gaze to the pile of creased napkins, furrowing his brows. "Ugh, who left this filth here?"
Pidge hides her smirk behind the screen, but it doesn't go unnoticed by Keith, that suppresses a groan. Still, both of them say nothing while Lance looks at the napkins scattered all over the table with disgust and gathers them together in a messy ball.
"Frankly, if Hunk is going to leave his dirt everywhere, he'd better not expect me to do any favors ever again," Lance says, walking towards the door. Before he exits the dining room, though, he throws the ball over his shoulder and it lands perfectly inside the trash can.
Keith snorts.
He didn't even have to look before throwing the damn ball!
"Toooold 'ya," Pidge teases once again while adjusting her glasses, which makes a vein pop up on his forehead.
"I hate him," he says, not realizing he's pouting.
"No, you don't. You're just jealous." Fine. She may be right. Again.
But instead of admitting it, he wonders if it's about wrist flicking, not about aerodynamic or trajectory.
A/N: I know this fic isn't exactly romantic, but I kinda like the idea of Keith thinking that Lance's good aim is very sexy and wanting to kill himself for that, hehe.