"NO!" Lance cried out, as his screen faded to gray, and a timer started counting down the seconds until he could be revived. " Pidge ," he accused, "I can't believe you didn't ult me."

"Uh, my ult was on cooldown," she tried.

"I saw your screen!" This was betrayal.

"Alright fine," she admitted. "I didn't ult you. That's what you get for insulting my hair the other day."

"I only asked if you were due for a haircut, jeez." He would never admit it to her, but he aspired to be that petty.

"You said I looked like a mushroom," she reminded him. "Besides if you played better, I wouldn't need to ult you. Now quit blaming me, and think about whether you want to change characters."

"Mercy, duh." Because he was predictable, okay? So sue him. And sure enough, he picked Mercy when the screen came back on.

"Again? Lance, you don't even use her abilities properly. You'd play Bastion better."

Before Lance could think of a snappy comeback, his phone vibrated loudly on the desk.

Pidge gave him a flat look.

"Sorry!" He reached for his phone, meaning to silence the call, but his face lit up with a smile when he saw the screen: a grumpy face looking into the camera through raven bangs. He could clearly remember taking the picture the last time they'd met, many months back. He quit the game and tapped answer, ignoring Pidge's indignant squawk of protest to yell "KEITH!" into the mic.

"I forgot to turn my phone's volume down before calling you."

"Sounds like a whole lotta your problem." He got up, absentmindedly walking around the room as he talked. "Anyway, how are you? How was LA? Did you take all the pictures I asked you to?"

"Calm down, Lance," Keith laughed. "Yes, I took all your touristy photos. And LA is… something else. In a good way though." Keith sounded pensive, which reigned in Lance's racing thoughts. "Lance, I'm- I'm getting married."

"You're what now?" Because there was no way he'd heard that right.

"Get-ting mar-ried."

Yup, he definitely said that. Lance sat back down in his chair. "Yeah I heard you, but holy shit. Where'd this come from?"

Keith chuckled. "I mentioned him to you before, remember?"

"That guy from the conference who you said hit on you?"

Keith hummed his agreement.

"A guy hits on you once and you agree to marry him? C'mon Keith."

"No, dumbass. He's the reason I stayed back in LA after the conference. We've been dating."

"Why would you keep this from me?" Were all his friends betraying him today?

"Cause I knew you wouldn't take me seriously. Listen—"

"No, you listen," he interrupted. "Keith, my buddy, my man. You're a hothead. But you can't just impulsively…. The first gay guy that shows an interest in you—"

"Lance."

He sighed. "You're right; I'm sorry."

"First of all, he's bi. Anyway, I'm actually flying to Miami tonight."

"Home? But your old house was…"

"Sold. Yeah. I'm staying with your family until the wedding."

So even his family knew before he did. Great.

"So yeah, I need you in Miami as soon as possible. There's lots of preparation to take care of, and you're not getting out of your share. Shiro's gonna meet me there too."

So even Keith's cool friend from college knew before Lance did. Just great. "Yeah, for sure. I just have a few things to sort out at work, then I'll be down there in a couple of days."

They said their goodbyes and hung up; and then it was Lance's turn to be pensive.

Pidge was watching him with interest, the game long-abandoned. "Someone's… getting married?" she prompted.

"Keith," he replied unhelpfully, mind still miles away. "Keith's getting married."

"Your childhood friend?"

He nodded, staring at the dimmed computer screen. Why was this so weird? People got married all the time. Lance knew this; he'd been to dozens of weddings. But Keith

"That's great news, right?" Pidge asked, a bit too knowingly for his liking.

"Yup! Great news! I'm thrilled. No doubt," he insisted, launching out of his seat to pace again. Wow, he needed to calm down. It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But that was only because he was worried about his friend getting hitched too hastily. Nothing weird about a little concern. And the last thing he needed right now was for Pidge to read too much into his reaction. "I'm happy for him!" he tacked on, just to be safe.

Pidge raised an amused eyebrow. "You don't really look it."

"What? That's ridiculous!" Was he sweating? "It's just sudden, that's all. I didn't even know he was serious about someone. But of course I'm happy for him."

"Hmm." Pidge swiveled in her chair, twirling a lock of short hair around her finger.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, too casually to be true. "Seriously!" she insisted when he narrowed his eyes at her disbelievingly. "This is the same guy whose smile is really nice, yeah?"

Oh, she was just remembering stuff he'd told her about Keith. "Yeah," he confirmed, relaxing. He really needed to chill; he was being overly suspicious. It wasn't like Pidge was conspiring against him; she was his friend after all.

"But really bad hair?" she added.

"Yeah," he cringed with his whole body. "Who has a mullet anymore? In the year of our lord 2017?"

"Keith apparently."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

Pidge laughed, and patted the chair he'd abandoned. "Tell me more about him. I've learned some stuff since I've known you; but he's your oldest friend and clearly means a lot to you. So I'd love to hear more."

"Seriously?" he asked, sitting down again. He'd known Pidge since college, and she was one of his closest friends; but he never knew what to expect with her.

"Yeah, man. He sounds really interesting."

"Okay!" He leaned back. "Fair warning, it's a long story. Goes as far back as my earliest memories."

Pidge grinned. "All the better."

So he told her. Of two boys—five and six years old—chasing each other around a tree; of ice creams shared and lunches exchanged; of petty fights and fast make-ups. He told her how his family moved into the house next to Keith's when Lance was five; and how Keith had been the shyest kid he'd ever met, perpetually pouting and clutching his red hippo plushie. And how Lance had been the polar opposite, constantly chattering away. He recounted how they'd hit it off right away and played together everyday after school.

He told her of summers spent driving each other up the walls, but never apart; of knowing each other's houses like their own—each other's families like their own. Lance came from a big family, which only grew over the years; while Keith was the only child of a single dad, who had passed away a few years back.

He talked about the treehouse. A lot.

He told Pidge about going off to different colleges after growing up together, about fond goodbyes at the airport, about skyping every so often.

The day wore on and wound down, and Lance kept talking. Pidge let him, listening with keen interest. "You gave me the life story Lance, but what's he like ?"

"Still as surly as the day I met him." He described how he could read Keith's face and voice better than anyone else, how Keith had different frowns for when he was embarrassed or irritated, or secretly fond.

He told her about how Keith couldn't boil water much less cook; and how Lance had given him a few cooking lessons the one time he visited him at his school for a weekend. About how they'd ended up bickering about nothing into the early hours of the morning until it was time for Lance to go home.

Pidge let him ramble, and when his anecdotes finally trailed off, he refocused to find her pacing.

"What?" he asked cautiously, getting suspicious again. "What's cooking in that braincage of yours?"

"I'm debating whether to tell you," she mused, watching him analytically.

Well now he was baited. "What the hell, Pidge? Just tell me."

"Hmm," she went on, continuing to torture him. "It's just that you're not great at handling the truth."

" You're not good at handling the truth! You're not good at handling me ," he shot back. He was… still working on getting better at comebacks.

She came to a stop in front of him and threw him an amused look. "Well you're not wrong about the second one. I did break up with you a week after we started going out."

"And then you immediately moved in with me. Why can't all my breakups be like ours?"

She raised her eyebrows. "If you became housemates with all your exes, we'd need a mansion to fit everyone. Besides, NYC rent is insane, and I needed to share. It didn't hurt that you're easy to get along with. If only you were as easy to date."

"Okay let's not get off track," he groaned. "So what Grand Truth were you dying to share with me?"

She scoffed. "I was debating."

"Oh please. You just want me to beg you to tell me. I know you, Pidgeot. So spill."

"Okay," she relented. "But you need to promise you'll hear me out. No 'calling bullshit' until I've finished talking."

"Okay okay, you're killing me with the suspense! Out with it already!"

"Here it is then." She looked him right in the eyes, and said, "You're in love with Keith."

"I'm calling bull—" No. He'd promised. Plus he was a mature adult who could be civilized when people spewed nonsense. He gestured magnanimously for her to continue.

She raised her eyebrows in an 'are you sure' expression.

Yes he was sure. Please finish, Pidge, so I can blow holes in your theory until it looks like a colander.

With a determined look, Pidge continued. "You left Miami and moved to New York, but you didn't leave all of Miami behind. You brought Keith with you in your heart and mind. And when you got here, you subconsciously tried to look for him in everyone you dated. Your first girlfriend in college was that broody music major. Then, there was Flo, whose smile reminded you of Keith. Rax, who can't cook, which made you think of Keith. And so on. Even me, Lance! It's ridiculous. My hair reminds you of Keith's mullet. Which I now realize is an insult—fuck you! But obviously it never worked out with any of us, because we were like Keith but we weren't Keith. And that's who your ideal was this whole time. That's who you were looking for without realizing it."

Lance let a few seconds pass in silence, to be completely sure that she was done. And when he was certain she'd finished, he asked, just to make sure. "Are you done?"

She nodded.

"No, are you sure ? Because if you have more to say, please continue. I'm listening."

"No, Lance. I'm done. But obviously you're not ready to believe it."

"Um, because it's bullshit. There. I didn't interrupt you; I let you finish. But to be honest, that was the stupidest, most unfounded, dumbest theory I have ever heard," he sputtered. "In my life!"

"Yeah okay. I told you you couldn't handle the truth."

"Pidge!" He was indignant. This was…unbelievable. The disrespect ! "Keith and I are friends. Best friends. Why does everything have to be gay? Can't two dudes be buds without being accused of being gay for each other? This, this is exactly what's wrong with our society today. It's toxic masculinity. Two guys can't get close without getting called gay. And Pidge, as progressive as you are, I can't believe you think that too."

"Bruh," she put up her hands in surrender. "Obviously there's nothing wrong with guys being friends. And everything isn't gay. Like not even close. But there is nothing straight about your relationship with Keith. You are majorly gay for him."

"There you go again. He's my friend!"

"Forget it. I can't deal with you when you're like this."

"Me? You're the one who's throwing these insane theories around."

"If it's not true, why is it bothering you this much? Clearly I've hit a nerve."

"That's bull—"

"I'm forcing you to face the feelings you never allowed yourself to admit, not even to yourself. That's why you're reacting like this."

"I never admitted them because they're not true. He's my friend, why can't you accept that?"

"You're the one who can't accept—"

"Pidge—"

"Look Lance, I'm going to bed."

"What? You barely sleep! Since when do you 'go to bed'?"

"Goodnight."

"Pidge," he called after her as she stalked off into her room. "You're wrong."

She slammed the door.

"He's my friend! No one ever listens to me. Fine! I don't want to talk to you either!" Lance stomped off toward his own bedroom. "He's just my friend!" he shouted over his shoulder one last time, before slamming his door shut.

He threw himself onto his bed, still grumbling. Keith was getting married, and the last thing he needed was more stress. Thanks, Pidge . The minutes ticked by as he lay on the bed, not moving. An hour went by, then two. He still hadn't moved, mind replaying the conversation with Pidge over and over again, then replaying things he and Keith had said and done over the years.

Slowly but surely he dragged himself out of bed. He went to the door, and opened it. Outside in the hall, he stood in the dark for a moment before taking the five miserable steps toward Pidge's door. He knocked.

She didn't answer.

He banged harder. "Pidge, wake up."

She came to the door a moment later, eyes groggy with sleep, hair a rat's nest. "What the fuck? You better be dying or something."

"You were right."

"Oh. Ha! …Wait what are you talking about?"

"I'm in love with Keith."

Pidge gave him a look that reminded him of the face his mom used to make when she'd tell him he'd fall if he didn't stop running but he wouldn't listen to her, and he would fall.