#cyance

Lance was like her nemesis in a psychological war that he didn't know he was a part of. Every time they got together, Pidge would try her best to maneuver around him to keep them on track for work, and then he'd counter with something like–

"Holy crow! You have the limited edition gold disk Killbot Phantasm I!?"

–mentioning her favorite game.

"Yeah!" Pidve scooted over to his side in front of her shelf. "I won it as first prize for a robotics competition."

"Wow, you really are a genius." Lance said, smiling at her. He even had the nerve to pat her on the head. What a jerk.

"Wanna play?" She found herself asking. She felt like a little goblin sneaked inside her head, controlling her from within and forcing her to go along with his ideas. Now she was even suggesting alternative activities herself. She'd been corrupted by his back-of-the-class-ness.

She got back at him by thrashing him with a final score of 134-33 in the face off mode.

"Wow. Good at physics and phantasms, what can't you do?"

Her face heated up against her will as she looked into his impossibly blue eyes. He must've been hypnotizing her. Again.

"Like you said, I'm a genius." She smirked. Chalk that up as a win! He even admitted she was–

Wait, it was a compliment. Pidge's smirk evaporated into the aether and she grimaced at the "Player 1 Wins" screen.

"We need to get back to work."

Lance groaned. Now that was a win. Pidge smiled to herself as she opened his textbook to the current chapter.

"You know," Lance started as he picked up some of their papers from the table. He organized them—not even bothering to color-code them, Pidge noted with disdain—and continued, "This project is due Friday."

"Yeah, which means we don't have much time left!"

"Yeah, true. But it also means we're almost done."

That was right, Pidge realized. They wouldn't have as much of a reason to hang out outside of school, because their work was done. Until the next project anyway. Her mind cleared, and she thought about how she'd go back to how things were before: getting her homework done in a timely fashion, keeping her grades up, and constantly besting her personal records in Killbot Phantasm. Maybe head out to the arcade one weekends and dominate some of those machines in a way Lance never–

"Yeah, I'd love to go to the arcade this Saturday." Lance smiled, and Pidge jolted, suddenly knowing that she said that last part out loud. And worse, invited Lance.

"Uh, cool." She said stiffly. "It's a da- I mean hate."

"What?"

"I hate you."

They stared at each other.

"Y-you do?" Lance asked. He sounded more confused than upset, though. "Didn't you just ask me ou-"

"No." Pidge said firmly. "I said I was gonna go to the arcade and get high scores you could never hope to beat. That's not a date. That's uh... um, a challenge."

"Oh." He blinked, then smirked, "Well then, Miss Holt– you're on!"

"This Saturday, then. At the Voltron Garden Arcade. Two o'clock."

"I'll be there. With my game face."

"Is it any better looking than your regular face?"

"Oh, it's way better."

"Wow."

Pidge thought she was going to combust. What was happening? Her words didn't match the way her heart was pounding and her stomach was flipping.

It wasn't a date. This wasn't flirting. And she definitely didn't like him. This was just to gamers going face-to-face and—and now she was imagining his face. His dumb, stupid face. Kissing her face, no less.

"Well then, now that that's settled." Lance spoke and Pidge balked. What was settled? Nothing was settled, they hadn't kis–uh, played yet. "Shall we?" He held out his arms, like he was gesturing for them to go. But it was Wednesday. Not Saturday.

Pidge was losing it, she decided. Unless he was offering to kiss her now? That was crazy, though. They hadn't even held hands. She didn't even want to hold hands. Is that why he was holding his hand out? She hated these mind games.

"Pidge?" Lance scooted closer, and Pidge watched him, eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. They were kind of shiny.

"Pidge, are you okay?"

No, she wanted to say. She was not. He wasn't playing fair any more. He went from those annoying gestures to practically making out with her. Why was he so close again? Pidge's eyes went blurry and unfocused behind her glasses. Her gaze stayed locked firmly on Lance's lips, ignoring his concerned cerulean gaze.

"Piiidge? Pidge! Pidmmm–" He kissed her.

Or did she kiss him?

Someone was kissing someone. What was Lance thinking? Now she was getting nauseous and her heart was racing faster than ever, and Pidge stopped to consider he might have poisoned her.

But how? She had gotten the snacks earlier, and there's no way he got anywhere near her peanut butter cookies.

... and okay, maybe she didn't hate it.

Pidge leaned back, falling to the floor. Lance followed her, lying over her and keeping their lips glued together like two protons in a helium atom. Her hands grabbed onto his shirt, balling up the fabric and gently tugging him toward her. Pidge almost didn't even notice her own action, dazed as she was.

But she very much noticed his hands in her hair, his elbows propping him up, and his smooth lips engulfing hers.

He had a big mouth.

Pidge squeaked, and then felt more than heard Lance's chuckle as the sound rumbled through her. It was nice.

Then her breath came short, and with a loud 'smack,' Lance parted from her. A line of spit trailed between their mouths, and Pidge's half-lidded eyes lazily moved to look into Lance's own.

"Do you really hate me?" He breathed. His pupils were really dilated, she noticed. "You have a really fun way of showing it."

She stared, uncomprehending. Her chest was rising and falling with each heavy breath. Her glasses were askew, and slightly foggy. His hands were still in her hair, and hers were still in his shirt. She focused on these.

"Mm. Fun." She answered in a daze. "So, uh..."

Lance smirked at her, "Do you really wanna get back to that project?"