"Pidge, you can not wear the titty kitty on this date."

"Why not?" They pouted, looking first up at Lance, and then down to their shirt to see that, sure enough, the cat-shaped hole in their bra was visible through their t-shirt.

"It gives you zero support, Pidgeon."

"It gives me moral support." They argued back, crossing their arms over their chest. Lance gave a dramatic sigh and stepped all the way into Pidge's bedroom, ducking the fairy lights that hung from their ceiling.

"You've got t-minus one hour until you have to be out of here, and you didn't do any makeup, your hair doesn't even look brushed, you're sitting around in fandom sweatpants, and-good lord, have you even exfoliated today?"

Pidge glanced down at themselves. Slytherin sweatpants. Check. Don't bro me if you don't know me t-shirt. Check. Unbrushed hair. Check. Exfoliated?

"Hey, I did the whole skin routine this morning. Toner and all. Besides that, you're wearing your Feed me and tell me I'm pretty shirt you stole from that one shoot, are you really going to judge my pants?"

"I don't know, I'm not about to be a sugar baby. Let me take care of this. What does the outfit even look like?"

Pidge looked at Lance with a raised eyebrow, the beginning of a pout, but pushed themselves away from their desk anyway. Using their wheely chair, they scooted across their room to the closet, where they pulled a dress bag down and tossed it on the bed.

Lance unzipped it, and actually gasped out loud.

"Christ, are you getting married?!"

Pidge looked away, flushing deeply.

The suit was perfect. It was a dark payne's gray, but was fitted closer at the waist and hips, and flared out at the ankles. There were tiny gemstones stitched in at the flared ankles, sort of like stars, and it had come with a white shirt with a ruffled collar that filled most of the space open in the suit's chest, and a small green handkerchief folded into the pocket in a diamond shape.

The cuff links were tiny alien heads, cast out of sterling silver.

The shoes were a cross between ballet flats and oxfords, with a rounded front and low top, but intricate side-stitching and strong grips.

There was also a small set of earrings, tiny posts that were made of Alexandrite, purple in the sun and green in cooler light.

The entire outfit was perfect; Pidge had been so shocked that they were scared to even touch the fabric at first, and then the sickness had set in as they realized what they had done to get this suit, and they had felt so sick with their own manipulative emotions that they had left the suit in its bag all the way up until now.

And now Lance was trying to drag them out of their chair, threatening to call Hunk.

"I'll make him hold you down, I swear I will! I'll be damned if I let you go anywhere in this outfit without being on its level!"

"Lance, let go! I can dress myself, get off!"

They shoved in vain, knowing Lance wouldn't let go until he was ready to.

"I know you can dress yourself, but you can't style to save your life!"

"Shut up!"

Pidge gave a well-timed twisting pull and jerked out of Lance's grip. They pushed their hair out of their face, messier now more than ever, and pushed their glasses up. "I can do my own makeup and hair, okay?"

"But I want to heeeeeeeelp!" Lance whined, dropping into the abandoned office chair.

Pidge didn't want help. They didn't even want to do this, not anymore, but they couldn't chicken out, not now.

And Lance could be quite distracting.

"I'll let you do my hair. But please, go subtle; I'm there to look like a date, not a prostitute."

They pulled their shirt over their head and Lance threw their binder at them, already clambering over the mess of the room to the bathroom.

Pidge heard him digging through drawers, depositing things onto the counter, and groaned.

They were going to regret this.

"Shiro? Christ, we have almost three hours! What are you doing?"

"My makeup." Shiro responded innocently, glancing at Allura's half-brushed hair in the reflection. He was bent forward over the sink, holding the cap to his eyeliner pencil in his teeth.

He was already in his suit, hair straightened back, prosthetic polished, and Allura wrapped her ratty hoodie tighter around herself.

"I've never seen you wear a button-up shirt in your life without giving hell for it. Why are you completely ready?"

"I don't know? I got nervous, I guess."

Shiro felt a pressure on the back of his shoulder as Allura leaned in, a cloying smile on her face.

"Nervous about your date?"

Shiro's mouth tightened, and he finished his eyeliner sweep instead of respond. Allura chuckled self-satisfactorily. "When are you even gonna show me a picture? They better be amazing, if you're this nervous."

"They're perfect." Shiro said before he could help himself. "I-I mean, I meant-"

"-Perfect? That's a tall order for Mister Doesn't-Need-A-Date. I thought you just picked up some hussy off the street 'cause you wouldn't look for a serious relationship!"

"I'm not looking for anything serious." Shiro insisted, capping his eyeliner. "You told me to find a date, so I did. And they're very attractive. And intelligent."

Allura made a short sound, like she didn't totally believe him but wouldn't argue.

"You spend your entire life making shit you have no interest in using. I just don't get you."

"You don't have to. I'm happy where I'm at, Allura; you don't have to be, but I want to be."

She shrugged, lifting her weight from Shiro's shoulder.

"Don't forget your setting spray, I guess."

The door squeaked shut.

Shiro looked back into the mirror, and squared his shoulders.

He wasn't ready for this.