[Author's Note] : I stand by the original version, as much as it is tainted by sadness... However, here's a more positive rewrite for your consideration... Enjoy...

Accursed Verse!

It wasn't often that Pidge found herself venting in her diary any longer. Usually her frustrations were best channelled into a Bayard or mid Lion-flight, by scything a jaw blade through some enemy fighter or other. Sometimes though, very rarely, she had a need to untangle the thoughts that occasionally kept her awake at night. Thoughts of one particular Paladin that she couldn't ever say aloud. That's what she had kept these few scrap pages for. Admitting, if only to herself, that unspoken feeling that had been part of her for longer than she'd ever say... They weren't exactly well written, it was never her forte after all. Writing code, writing prose, writing verse, three very different sets of skills. They were written in different styles, rhythms, tempos, each new piece written at a different time and in a different emotional state. Many written in a colour and style of pen that she had long ago lost or had been drained of ink. The only constant between each passage was him. That irresistible goofball. An irresistible force that none the less, she had to resist day after day.

Even before Oriande, before their newfound alliance with Lotor. Even now, as Allura spent almost every waking moment she could alongside the Galra Emperor, she saw how devoted, deluded and otherwise dedicated he was to that meaningless pursuit. Of course she and Hunk had joked about it, what else could they do? Lance never took any of his crushes seriously, so why should they treat it seriously...? Why would she even want to treat it seriously...? As she and Hunk had mocked and giggled, something had struck her in his eyes. Usually dazzling, now so darkened... Much as she wanted to mock it, to shove it aside...she couldn't. Treating it seriously meant admitting she wasn't being given special treatment relative to other girls. She wasn't being singled out as someone different to all his other crushes... She was just being overlooked... They were pointless, doomed and unrequited feelings for Allura, weren't they...? Maybe months ago it seemed impossible. Now, Pidge wondered how things might develop in future. In the unlikely event that Lotor should betray them, maybe in that moment of pain, there Lance would be to support Allura. A small spark, to turn easily into an ember. And that would be the last of her hope turned to ash. Though, the idea of Lotor turning was by now simply laughable. Lance, she decided, needed to learn to give up on a lost cause. Though, she would be a hypocrite to say so, even as she stared at the evidence of her own doomed, pointless and unrequited feelings...

Change, she realised with a heavy heart, comes with acceptance of reality. This was her reality now. Lance wasn't about to discard another crush. This time, either he'd break his own heart or be in precisely the right place at precisely the right time. Whatever the outcome, even if there was hope, she didn't want to be his rebound. Now it was time to turn this pointless collection of musings into what it deserved to be. Space Dust. Give up, she tells herself, on a lost cause. Any moron could see it wouldn't have worked, so she had no excuse. People who butt heads so much, they don't fall in love. Do they? People so utterly opposite, they don't fall in love. Do they? Opposites attract, when you're talking magnets...but people? No, that's not how it works. Not really. Mystery enough to keep it interesting, complimentary enough to bind it together. Opposites though...? When it comes to people, opposites repel and love, especially one sided love, doesn't conquer all...

There were times, moments, she'd thought what was happening between the two of them was something more than friendship. At the Space Mall, maybe. Between their quest for the gameflux and their escape on Kaltenecker, his hand around hers, her arms around him... How often had she thought back to that moment...? Their occasional game nights, she always tried to find an excuse for more of them, but often he'd be busy. Brooding mostly. Sometimes she'd pretend that a simple smile, a glance out of the corner of his eyes, a moment of proximity, meant so much more than the reality. Sometimes she'd stare at her little idol, her Trash Lance, placed so it was always at the centre of her attention. She'd tell herself, it's just a collection of scrap. It doesn't mean a thing, that the first words she had puppeteered from it were, is that a cute girl...? With more than an edge of jealousy... A smile was just a smile, she told herself. A pile of junk is just a pile of junk, it was time to let go. Those moments she had simply misinterpreted. She could hide it just fine and he wasn't exactly smart enough to see it. Just had to keep hiding it until there was nothing left to ignore. Move on. Crush the crush. She reached to crumple these messy pages and paused, just to read them one last time...

Then, she thought better of it. Didn't want to pull unnecessarily at her own heart strings... Pidge tore free the pages from her diary, crushed them in her fist and hurled the offensive article into a waiting disposal device. In a moment it would just be little more than a bad lingering smell, vaporised. That would destroy these feelings as well, right? That would be stage one at least... A furry lump darted from deep inside the clutter of the room. It was immediately obvious which of the two it was, given his trail of blue fuzz hovering in the air in his wake. The space caterpillar chirped happily, patches of blue fuzz giving way to patches of yellow beneath. Bumping it upward with it's rear, Pidge wondered to herself where they had ever seen soccer.

The crumpled piece of paper found it's way to the curious gaze of her green furred pet, it balanced the paper upon it's forehead. Pidge wondered why only one of the two had decided to moult and what it could possibly mean. She also wondered if Space Caterpillar fuzz could make for a lovely pair of warm winter socks... Lot of wondering going on. That thought was soon cast aside as she pondered how and when Platt had chance to mount the Green Caterpillar as though it were his noble steed. Several frenzied squeaks sounded from around her. Chulatt mimed her, 'Lance' pose and Platt nodded, taking off slowly to the door with the screwed up paper now firmly held in his paw. The door of the room slid open with a well timed push of a panel from Chuchule. The mice began to chitter and chirp a very familiar tune, presumably something they'd heard from her own phone; The Ride of The Valkyries.

Pidge leaped to her feet, only to fall to the floor an instant afterwards. With a frustrated huff, she turned to Plachu, the little mouse had tangled her shoelaces together. The extraterrestrial rodent chuckled as the door closed behind Platt. "Quiznak..." Pidge grunted, pulling herself free of her shoes and scrambling to the door. It remained closed. Chuchule, staring at her with wide butter wouldn't melt in her mouth levels of innocent smiles and cute gazes, blocked the button with her tiny head. "Two." Pidge intoned simply. The currency between her and the space mice was quite simple. Hunk's muffins. "Reiphodian Blueberry Muffins." Chuchule tipped her head to one side thoughtfully. She pointed upward. "Fine. Three." Pointed upward three times more, "Fine!" Pidge breathed in frustration, "How about get ten...?" Chuchule chipred curiously, echoed by the rest of the mice present."But...only if I catch Platt..." The door opened and Pidge hurtled herself into the corridor.

The castle corridors were empty. Calculating the average air speed velocity of a mouse laden space caterpillar didn't take long at all. Platt was hardly fast enough, even after her being slowed down for them to have escaped so quickly. A small creak and a metallic thud explained it. An air vent just small enough for her to not be able to squeeze inside. An intersection just a few feet ahead. She knew the vents well. Another thud ahead, Platt was obviously no Siegfried and Green was no Grani. Might be a name though, the poor critters needed one by now. Pidge clambers, briefly struggles and heaves a larger grate free. Shuffling furiously forward, her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom. Between the gloom of the crawlspace illuminated blue and Platt's continued singing of Wagner, finding them was pretty easy. Pidge squirms forward after the hovering fuzz ball and its rodent rider.

"You stop right this tick...!" Pidge warned the two with a harsh whisper. "No muffins for a decaphoeb!"

Platt responded with just a chuckle, urging the caterpillar forward with the Altean mouse equivalent of giddy up. The two of them slowly shoved their way free of another small grate, hovering back into the corridors beneath them. Perhaps it was that her concentration was totally upon the chase, perhaps it was the creeping night time making her sleepier. Maybe she had simply underestimated the level of planning the mice had placed upon this... Whatever the reason, a panel gave way beneath her, loosened, she assumed even as she tumbled, less than a Varga ago. Hitting the floor with a hard thud, Pidge felt that she was going to wake up with a bruise on her butt tomorrow. Then, recovering from the shot of pain, she had something else to contend with. Her face flushed red with a combination of forced back laughter and embarrassment.

Hunk, grasping a glowing blue crystal about a foot in length, was sat upon his bed. His eyes had flickered open, his lips were mid pouting-pucker and a soft warm glow of red was upon his face... The glow faded from the crystal as his eyes darted about the room. "This..." He murmured, "May not be what it looks like...?"

"Balmera crystal?"

"Yeah."

"Shay?"

Hunk paused, "Yeah..."

"It's exactly what it looks like then." Pidge smiled, "And, there's absolutely nothing weird about me being in the vents at night."

"Why do I suspect it rhymes with romance...?" Hunk smirked.

"So...?" Pidge ignored his query, "We never speak of this again?"

"Sounds like a sensible plan."

"Give me a boost?" Pidge gestured to the vent and Hunk complied, lifting and pushing up her feet. Hunk handed the fallen panel back to her, reaching for a spool of duct tape as he did. Pidge smirked at the fact he kept his duvet wrapped about his waist..

As she replaced the panel, she waved politely, "Tell Shay I said Hi! And also sorry!" She heard him grumbling as he applied line after line of duct tape to his ceiling. Pidge squeezed through the open panel Platt and Green Caterpillar had escaped from, only a dull distant glow ahead in the corridor gave any clue. Pidge, wishing she'd at least left her socks on, rushed to it, turning and tumbling about the corner into a tangled heap of her own limbs.

"Number Five!" Coran smiled, plucking his Space-Dust-Buster from the wall, the blue glow fading, "Doing a little mid-night-cycle exercise are we? Good to see we're not forgetting the fundamentals even in these turbulent times..."

"Space Caterpillar!" Pidge responded in a desperate panic, "Platt, riding a Space Caterpillar! Which way?"

"So I didn't imagine that!" Coran mused, "Y'know, it reminded me of an old character a friend of mine played back on Altea during an M&M campaign..." He reminisced, "Maybe I can dust off the notes for our next game...?"

"Coran." Pidge grumbled.

"He had a combat mount that was a battle-hardened Igyack with horseshoes of hovering and hopping +5! Plus Five!" Coran smiled, "Those were some nifty horseshoes let me tell you..."

"Coran..." Pidge insisted.

"Though, he didn't last very long against an army of Dire Boggy-Frog-Men..."

"Coran!" Pidge finally demanded, "Which way did they go?"

Coran looked deflated, "That way." He pointed, "Any chance you'd want to play some more M&M tomorrow?"

Pidge, already following the directions given nodded, "Sure, sounds great! Assuming the whole Galra civil war doesn't get in the way! Bye!" Her bare feet squeaked loudly over the cold floor as she hurried, scanning for any possible clue for the two miscreants. Obviously they were looking for Lance, but given this direction, they weren't heading for his room... So where...? She realised with a sinking weight in her stomach. Allura's room... Her mind matched her pace, scenarios considered and discarded rapidly.

"Platterpillar!" Pidge's cry filled the room. Allura, perched at the side of her bed, stared more confused than frustrated at the sudden intrusion. Pidge looked desperately about. No Platt. No Green Space Caterpillar. No open vent... And to ease her more crazy fantasies... No Lance... "Where the quiznak...?" She mumbled.

"Is something amiss, Pidge...?" Allura's soft tone filled the air, she set a hairbrush aside, "What are you searching for...?"

"Uh..." Pidge smiled nervously, "Platt stole some... Blueprints! Blueprints I was working on! And he's flying around on... My green space caterpillar..." Saying it out loud, the whole thing seemed entirely absurd. Allura's expression agreed.

"These must be terribly vital blueprints..." Allura examined her heaving chest, "Perhaps once you have found them... Or perhaps tomorrow, after the voyage into the quintessence field... I have need of some input from a human perspective... A difficult social dynamic which I am at a loss as to how best to approach so as to preserve emotions..."

Frowning, she responded uneasily, "I'm really not sure what you're getting at..." Pidge hopped from foot to foot, "But, you know I'm not exactly the social butterfly of the group... So, I don't know how much help I can be..."

"Well..." Allura smiled sadly, "At this stage, any help at all would be appreciated, especially from another young woman... I am sure one as lovely as you, has had many occasions back on Earth similar to this... To know how best to handle these matters... Delicately... And so that nobody involved is hurt or left with any doubt..." She cleared her throat, her ears twitching gently, "Worry not for now, it can wait a while longer... Let us speak of it tomorrow. For now, I believe I hear Platt...singing...? Just a few...what was the human term for Demighrarms...? Feet...? A few of those in the vents..." She pointed, "That way."

"Thanks!" Pidge darted down the corridor, after Platt... The canny mouse had obviously decided to misdirect her, send her on a wild goose chase, catch a bit of lead. She should have seen that! As she chastised herself, she thought back to the conversation just a moment ago, not entirely sure how to process either the request for feminine help from the Princess or indeed the description of herself as lovely... Weird. What was that thing about hurt or being left without doubt though...? What about Lotor could hurt...? Oh... Quiznak... Her mind quickly responded and she wished he hadn't asked. Maybe... She forced herself to think less in those terms, maybe Allura was asking for help picking out something for the first date? Altean rain is burning stones so maybe picking out Altean dresses...hurts...? That made sense. Too tight a bodice or corset maybe? Sure. Sure, that's a better way to think about this... Or...maybe the removal hurts for everyone involved...? Bad brain... And maybe, just maybe leaving no doubt meant being appealing enough without seeming...too brazen...? That sounded disturbingly likely. She feared an incredibly boring session of pretending that picking between two or three almost identical dresses was as hard as trying to solve unified field theory. Honestly, she suspected Allura could just show up in a Lion Onesie and still enthral the Emperor. Though, where she could find a Lion Onesie at such short notice...

Shiro wasn't a wall. But at this pace, stood firm as he was in the corridor, he may as well have been. Usually, you see, a collision effects both parties equally, but not so here. Not fair. Possibly not even physically possible. She was pretty sure it was a law of thermodynamics, but right now her mind couldn't really be sure of that. Indeed, A Lance in motion tends to look hotter than wozblay, doubly so where jeans are involved, could equally be a law of thermodynamics right now. She might even be able to make a strong case that it should be retroactively added, even if her wording was considerably more Newtonian in nature. In fact, she realised as she hit the floor hard, it was probably more a Newtonian law of motion that explained her crash with Shiro. She really must have been tired if she was making such elementary mistakes. Her butt was definitely due a bruise by now.

"Sorry, Katie..." Shiro helped her easily to her feet, "I didn't see you sprinting there... Everything ok...?" He smiled kindly. "This doesn't have anything to do with Platt riding your Green Trash-Floof, does it...? They were heading to Lance's room..."

Pidge paled, rushed past Shiro in a desperate last-ditch attempt to save her dignity. "Space Caterpillar!" She hurriedly corrected, "Thanks for the help, bye, sleep well! Blueprints!"

Shiro just shrugged, thinking it best not to get involved. Especially given the return of his headaches...

Tiers of disbelief, how best to rank them? Well, it seemed to be a simple pattern at least one to three, most to least. The first reading, that had felt like the kind of disturbing dream where, despite your home town being turned into marshmallows, your subconscious told you it was completely real even for the first few seconds after waking up. By the second reading, it was more like staring at the Blue Lion for the first time. Your mind accepts the reality, because, hey, there it is right in front of you. But you still don't quite believe it even when you're staring at your first Teludav wormhole... Staring confused, with her hand resting tenderly on your shoulder, reassuring you that she trusts your judgement. That gesture suddenly seemed to mean something very different now or at least be even more loaded with meaning...

By the third reading, you're beginning to accept what you see, but you're trying to find some other explanation than the obvious yet impossible. A joke maybe, or a forgery? Maybe poems from another reality...? If Swedish Shiro and evil Altean Empires were possible in the infinite realities, surely... Surely this crumpled piece of paper was another impossibility that had likewise tumbled free from some other universe...? It had to be... It can't be from here, not this Pidge... Not his Pidge... She didn't write this... How could she have...? There was no way... The fourth reading would make sense of it, he could pick out the sarcasm, maybe? See how this was an elaborate joke at his expense, maybe...?

My Dear Idiot...

You irk and you vex me, annoy and frustrate,

I'll never say this to your dopey face,

But still, dumb jerk, you're kinda great...

The title he knew had come later. The colour and flow of the ink was different, but the verse was written in an ink that he found disturbingly familiar. He had after all stared at it enough as he poured over his class notes back at the Garrison. Wished he'd drawn less doodles all over his notes at the Garrison. The Garrison. She had written this that long ago...? She'd been feeling this, and he'd been blind... For all that time...? Well, he figured if he was dumb enough to not even realise she was a girl back then... Of course he'd be too dense to see this, even right in front of him...

But you never take anything seriously,

You're dense, unobservant and rude.

I hate the way you flirt and schmooze,

Shamefully watching you jealously,

Quiznak, you ass... I'm right here too!

This made him re-evaluate a lot of things. Things he'd previously just assumed were an attempt to correct bad behaviour. Mockery, casual violence, that look of disgust when she'd seen a bunch of selfies with alien chicks. Jealously watching. Shamefully watching. How many times had he been too wrapped up in his own world to even notice that...? But it didn't make sense... None of this did...

Conceited, big headed, I know that's a lie.

Insecure, unsure, that's what you hide.

You are amazing, I know it's true.

So why can't you believe in you?

That angst you think that no-one knows,

Let me erase it by holding you close...

But she saw through him easily. Pinpoint and perfect, a real sharpshooter. He never really told anyone, never let it get out of hand, only once or twice would people see his bravado was false. His overconfidence a mask over his self doubt. She saw through it. There were times when careless words of hers would cut deep. Goofball in particular... Hunk tried to explain that he was focused too much on the one word and needed to look at the rest of the statement. His role on the team. Keeping up their spirits. Pidge, Hunk told him, wasn't always good with words. What he heard as goofball, was maybe meant as something kinder. He had dismissed the idea until now...

Variable never accounted for,

Stupid and crazy, illogical, mad!

Most ridiculous thought I ever had,

That I care for, I yearn for, I simply adore,

A big stupid goofball despite all his flaws.

Then again, maybe goofball was exactly how she saw him... A goofball, sure... But one she, adores...?

Your big dumb height and big dumb grin,

Your big dumb heart that draws me in,

Your big dumb blue and shining eyes,

That always give me butterflies.

The kindness you give, laughter we share,

The longing ache when you aren't there...

Damn it. I even like your scruffy hair!

Here, she had been on a roll. Here, based on the third change in pen, was not long after he'd borrowed something of hers on his desk... A pen, white, green, orange, almost a tiny replica of her usual casual top. That means this was probably written some time after, maybe even the same evening as they'd returned from the space mall. The day he'd felt her arms wrap about his waist and for a heartbeat's moment, had wished she'd held just a little tighter...

At times I just think you're an asshole,

At times, I would give you my soul.

I know this the most, you're just my best friend.

But if you knew all this, all that could end.

More recent still. More reflective. More sad. Even the way it was scrawled seemed like she was venting some hurt he had unknowingly inflicted on her. How many times had that happened, he wondered...

Sunsets happen every day,

A billion billion its true.

I could search the cosmos,

And only ever find one you.

And he realised that as well as that being technically true... It was also incredible to imagine. Sometimes he'd call someone one in a million. But here Pidge was, calling him of all people, one of a kind in all the universe...

So I can't gamble with our precious bond,

It's sad, I know how you'll respond,

I don't have the slightest chance,

So you can never know this, Lance...

I'll hide it, deny it, no matter how tough.

I will never risk losing the guy that I Love...

The entire last passage was hard to deal with. She had given up on him. On them ever being possible... The last two words were always the hardest to process of all, the most unbelievable; I Love. It just didn't make the slightest bit of sense. Pidge was going to end up with Hunk, he was sure of finished each other's sentences, when she was full, they finished each other's sandwiches. They could back and forth a single sentence among the two of them like a science-lingo ping-pong tournament. When they'd laugh together, it always seemed so natural. That weird game of Mazes and Monsters, or whatever it was called, she had been there with Shiro, sure, but Hunk was clearly the first choice. They matched, they worked, they had a perfect dynamic, didn't they...? Pidge down on one knee at Hunk's feet, Hunk tipped in her arms as they joked about Allura and Lotor... Pidge's fingers entwined with his... They were in love... Smart girl, smart guy, that made sense... Not him... Even as friends, he felt like he didn't quite belong any longer... What could he even offer someone like Pidge...? He'd assumed that aside maybe from his friendship, maybe a few laughs, he could offer nothing... Yet here, sitting in his hand, delivered by a fuzzy little grinning courier, was something throwing everything into question... He looked down to Platt.

"I don't even know what to do with this..." He confessed to the mouse, "Right now, my head's in like eighty different places at once... And not one of them makes sense..." Platt nodded along, "Pidge deserves better..." He sighed, "Better than me just swooping her up on the rebound... But... I never even knew... I didn't have a clue... She likes me...? Loves...me...?" He could hear footsteps approaching his door. He shoved the paper aside, between his mattress and the castle walls, "And I still don't know about this..." He said sternly to Platt, "You got that? I didn't read anything. Nobody finds out. Not Allura, not Pidge, not anyone..." Platt frowned, "I need time to get to grips with all this and Pidge... Like I said, she deserves better. Someone better than me right now, someone thinking clearer... I need to be sure I'm not just going to hurt her... And if you give me that..." He paused, "Forty." Platt's eyes widened in awe, "Forty of Hunk's Muffins. Deal?" Platt nodded vigorously, grasping Lance's finger to shake on their agreement. Lance smiled, gently patting the little mouse on the head and tickling the chin of his softly cooing mount.

Pidge burst in, "Don't do it!" She shouted, her eyes darting about desperately.

"Don't do what...?" Lance smirked, "Don't tell Platt here how to make a little cardboard lance? I think the mice jousting on the space caterpillars would be super cute... Or, don't go to bed...?" He shrugged, "How's blue doing? He turned full yellow, going red now...? Purple...?" He knew exactly what those panicked pretty eyes were looking for. He hadn't realised how pretty they actually were though. Or maybe he had... Quiznak, now he wasn't sure... "You ok...?"

"I was..." She had by now fallen to the floor, looking into dusty nooks and hidden crannies, "Looking for a...blueprint that Platt stole... I don't suppose you've seen it...? Screwed up pieces of lined paper...?" She smiled casually.

"Is that what it was...?" Lance offered an apologetic smile and shrug, "I figured it was just some junk... Hope you made a back-up cause now it's kinda... Disintegrated...?"

The expression of relief was so great that Lance was certain she was about to throw her arms around him. An ache in his heart made him realise how much he wanted her to do that... "That's fine!" She smiled, "Oh well, back to the drawing board I guess! Darn Platt and his mischief..." She was a terrible liar, but Lance played along with a nod.

"You feel like gaming a little...? I know tomorrow's a big day and all but... I can't really sleep and I feel like aside from Coran's crazy imagination game...we haven't gamed in a little while... I've kinda missed it..."

"Yeah..." Pidge agreed with a bright smile, "I've missed it too... Killbot Co-Op...?"

Lance nodded, watching her squirrel and scurry about for the controllers and game. He nodded to Platt, mouthing, "Forty..." The little mouse and his steed hovered their way out of the door. Lance's expression softened to a distant smile, and a thought popped into his head. It wasn't unwelcome, maybe unexpected...

My Lion is Red,

Used to be Blue,

Are we just friends, Pidge...

Or am I...falling for you...?

And right now, he didn't have an answer to give... All he was sure of was that seeing her happy made him happy as well...

[Author's Note] : This is far closer to the story I originally wanted to write.
Admittedly, in the first version I imagined it would end with an unmistakable admission of love, "Pidge, I suck at poems, But I know I love you..." and as much as my Plance Shipping heart wants that to be true... Right now, things just aren't resolved. So this feels far closer to the current reality... Though admittedly my partner makes a good case for Lance just throwing himself at Pidge, and them making out as the door closes and opens on them repeatedly. Lance is currently confused, growing, as an obsession turns to friendship and maybe a friendship turns to love...? So I consider this a happy ending. Or a happier ending at least.
For an insight into my mind right now, feel free to flip between positive and negative variants at the drop of hat... =/