#voltron writing

[ text ID: rules ]

ABSOLUTELY NO HOMOPHOBES, RACISTS, SEXISTS, TERFS, SWERFS, OR GENERAL BIGOTS & CREEPS ALLOWED ON THIS BLOG. y’all are shit and i don’t want you anywhere near me.

this is an open blog, meaning that all shippers can interact. although i will say that i personally am not comfortable with shaladin ships or ships involving lotor and the paladins, so you will not see any of that on this blog. specifically, no pidge x other paladins (x reader is of course fine), only shiro x adam/curtis/reader, and lotura is fine. klance is also my ship bias. as for drama and discourse, please look elsewhere. i want to keep this space positive and fun.

another thing i want to get out of the way quickly is the fact that i reserve the right to decline or delete any requests for any reason. this may be due to the fact that i don’t have any ideas for your request, your request makes me uncomfortable, or it’s not something i personally find interesting or entertaining. no hard feelings to any of you guys who send me stuff that i may end up declining, it’s just that i want to start making things more comfortable for myself around here!

please only send in ONE request every 48 hours, INCLUDING from other blogs you run. anon messages are welcome, but if i suspect that the same anon is sending me requests within the 48-hour span, i reserve the right to turn it off. NOTE: as of 7/2/2022, anonymous messages are turned OFF due to anonymous harassment received on a couple of my other accounts. i expect to turn them back on sometime within the month.

ALWAYS indicate what type of media you want me to write. right now i’m accepting requests for headcanons and short drabbles.

x reader requests are 100% welcome and are actually a main highlight of this blog. having the reader inserted actually gives me a lot of ideas for things i may want to write about!

NSFW requests are welcome! although i may be a bit picky or selective about them. i’m still getting used to writing smut.

all triggers will be tagged! please don’t hesitate to ask for me to tag something, i may be forgetful but i want to try making this blog a safe space for everyone!

i usually do requests in the order that i receive them. if for some reason you need a request done within a specific set of time, feel free to contact me and we’ll work something out.

i try to do at least 4-5 for multi character requests, but i may do up to 10 (or more) for single-character requests.

lastly, HAVE FUN!! this is supposed to be an encouraging and positive space. please feel free to reach out to me for anything and i’ll try to help! also don’t hesitate to ask questions if you have any!

[ text ID: links ]

MASTERLIST

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about the mod

   The crowd screaming was what always brought him to earth. It humbled him more than most people saw possible; he was a rock star. He should have been acting like one, should have been spending his money on expensive cars that he would never learn how to drive, houses that he didn't need, clothes that would just make him look stupid in the end anyway.

    But no. The screams humbled him, because they were an audible reminder of what he was doing and how far he had come to get to this place. It reminded him of his mother, struggling to make ends meet when he was a boy, and his father who worked two jobs just so they could keep a roof over their heads. It reminded him of the time he himself had worked two jobs, grabbing at the chance to help his parents pay bills long before his time; as soon as his National Security had arrived in the mail, he was out looking for any and all jobs he could find.

    His dream was always to be here, and the crowd crying out for him was a reminder that he had made it. Through thick and thin, he and his band mates had made it.

    ---

   Allura was drunk again.

   The band hadn't even started playing, and she was already struggling to keep her head up. You had barely gotten through your first glass of vodka and coke before you were forced to abandon all ideas of getting shit-faced drunk to make sure your best friend didn't smash her nose off the curb.

   You kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders, your other hand laid on her knee in silent warning. To the untrained eye, you would have looked like nothing more than a comforting pal, making sure Allura stayed out of trouble; in reality, you were already plotting the favours Allura would owe you once you two finally got back to the dorms.

    “Have they started playing yet?” Allura asked, tilting her head to see over the crowd of bustling music-lovers.

    “No. Would you sit down? I don't trust you to stand up on your own right now.”

  Allura snorted and you frowned; she thought you were joking.

    “Allura, I'm serious. If you get any worse, I'm taking you home.”

   “Home?” she shrilled, spinning around in her chair and grabbing your chin. “Threaten me like that again, Y/N, and I'll have your wrists.”

   You rolled your eyes, swatting her hand away. “I think I need to get you some water.”

   “And a vodka,” she said, giving you a thumbs up. You didn't give it back to her, but instead got up from your stool and started towards the bar. You had come out tonight for a good time, your first night out in months. Exams had finally finished, and the idea of staying on campus for longer than necessary had been enough to drive you out of the comfort of your own home and into the first club you could find. This one seemed particularly interesting, as it promised you a live band performance from a group called Smokey Saturdays – you didn't know who they were, but anything besides stupid techno-music would have sufficed at this point.

    But, of course, things were never that simple. Allura could never let things be that simple, and you quite honestly should have known better than to trust her.

    You had a headache by the time you arrived at the bar, though it was not the alcohol-induced headache you would have preferred. The music was too loud, and the crowd was too close. Quite frankly, by the time you reached the bar and had started ordering Allura's water, you were ready to turn on your heel and go home. Walking home in the pouring rain would have been better than this.

   You sighed and slumped forward, running your hand over your forehead in any attempt to soothe the knot that had formed in your temple. Nothing worked. You could still hear the music, could still feel that one hand that tried to grope you before you flinched out of the way. People were still shoving you, and you were still sober – that was the worst of all.

    “Hi, yeah, just a Budweiser, please.”

   You glanced to the side, the presence of the man now standing beside you drawing your attention more than you cared to admit; perhaps it was because he was so tall, built unlike any other person you had seen before. He had the broadest shoulders you had ever seen, was wearing a yellow jacket and a bandanna that did little to push back his thick brown locks.

   He met your eyes, and neither of you looked away for a few seconds. If it had been any other time, you would have burned in embarrassment before quickly looking away, but your current headache and your current bad mood was making you sluggish.

    The man smiled before you could turn away, tilting his head to the side. “Hi there.”

   You smiled back. “Hello.”

    And that was the start of it. It was weird how a bit of booze and some strobe lights could make two strangers so comfortable with each other in the space of a few seconds. The man sidled over to you, sitting down on the stool by the bar before ushering for you to take the seat next to him. You hadn't even realised you had been standing, though now that the stranger had pointed it out to you, the pain stabbing through your feet became much more pronounced.

   You took the seat next to him.

    “You don't look like you're having an easy time,” the man said as a way to start the conversation. He flushed as soon as he said it, quickly looking away. “I mean, I saw you and your friend earlier on, and she didn't look – she was a little – uh-”

   “She's pissed,” you finished. “Yeah. I don't know how she manages to get herself in that state so quickly, but she's done it tonight.”

   “And you're still sober?”

   “Completely and utterly sober.”

  The man sucked in air between his teeth. “You're braver than I am.”

  “You drink often?”

   He shrugged. “It kind of comes hand-in-hand with the job.”

  Your curiosity peaked, though you bit your tongue. You didn't even know this mans name yet – what was the point in learning about his occupation if you didn't even know what he was called?

  “I'm Y/N,” you offered.

  “Hunk,” he replied, nodding at you. “Do you come to these kind of places often?”

   Your response was immediate. “No. I'm a university student – it's rare that I can actually ever afford to come to these kind of places.”

   Hunk chuckled as if you were joking. “See this is why I didn't go to university. I was working before I even left high school.”

   “Really?”

   “Mm. I really liked school, don't get me wrong. I wasn't one of these rebellious kids who think education is for pansys – I just thought my efforts would be more appreciated outside of the classroom, so that's what I did. I dropped out and went to work.”

   You pursed your lips, eyeing his side profile. He had turned back to face the bartender who was now approaching the two of you with two glasses in his hands – one filled with Budweiser, the other filled with water.

   “What are you studying?”

  The question jolted you out of your stupor. “Modern languages.” You shrugged. “I'm kind of regretting it, though.”

  “Why? That sounds like a fun thing to study.”

   “I mean, it is. I love languages, but it takes up a lot of time. It's not the kind of thing you can just . . . slack on, you know?”

   Hunk nodded. You had the vague impression that he did, in fact, not know, but was too kind to say anything.

    “I live with a guy who speaks Spanish. Maybe you two will hit it off if you ever meet.”

  “Maybe.”

    You chose to ignore the fact that you would most likely never see Hunk again after tonight, let alone his housemate. It didn't make you sad, didn't disappoint you – it was just one of those things that life did. It handed you these people for brief moments in time and then snatched them away before any kind of connection could be made – a kind of test, though you were still unsure as to what exactly the universe was testing you on.

    Hunk craned his neck, looking over your shoulder. You caught the moment his small smile slipped into a frown, the moment his eyes narrowed, and you immediately knew what was looking at.

   Because you heard her as well.

   “Where's my Y/N?” Allura called, heard over the sound of the music and crowd. “If anyone has touched my Y/N, I'll have your wrists.”

   “I think your friend is looking for you,” Hunk said, pointing. You bit your lip and turned around, catching Allura just seconds before she fell into your arms and nuzzled her head in your neck.

   “There you are! Don't run off again like that, okay? You're too drunk to be left on your own.”

   You grunted, reaching behind you and picking up the glass of water you had ordered. Allura looked at it as if you were offering her some kind of poison, her nose crinkling and her body flinching away from your own. You just barely managed to grab a hold of her before she could fully turn and escape.

   “Drink,” you demanded, pressing the rim of the cup to her mouth.

   She glared at you as you tilted the cup back and trickled the water into her mouth, though she swallowed and showed you her mouth once she was done. It reminded you of a child taking a tablet they didn't want to take – but at least she had drank it.

   You turned, ready to say your goodbyes to Hunk, only to find that the man had already turned and left. You raised a brow, glancing to and fro for any sign of him – all that was left to prove he had been there at all was his unfinished drink and a wooden drum stick.

   You turned back, wrapped an arm around Allura's shoulders and ushered her towards the lounge area, refusing to dwell too much on a man you knew you would never have any connections with in the future.

   ---

   “How did you lose it? I thought them things were sewed to your god damn hand!”

  Hunk groaned. This was definitely not what he needed to hear right now – yes, he had fucked up, but that didn't mean he wanted to dwell on it. He just wanted to get the situation sorted and move on.

   Lance groaned, mimicking Hunk in a way that made his skin bristle. “We're on in five minutes, and you've lost the one piece of equipment you need to be any use to us.”

   “Go easy, Lance,” Pidge said. “I'm sure the storage room has a spare set of drum sticks.”

   “Yeah, well, you better go and get them because we're on in-”

  “Five minutes,” Keith finished. “Yes, we heard you the first time. Honestly, Lance, the crowd out there is probably too drunk to care if we're a little late.”

   Lance scoffed, folding his skinny arms over his chest. “Attitude like that is the reason we're not playing stadiums right now.”

    “Yeah,” Keith grunted, plucking at the strings of his bass guitar. “That's the reason.”

    Lance scowled, cutting Keith with a look that could kill. He didn't even turn back to Hunk when he said, “Just go and find a pair of drum sticks. We don't have time for this.”

   Hunk didn't need to be told twice. At this point, he would have taken any and all excuses to get out of the backstage lounge, away from Lance and away from the suffocating aura of disappointment that never failed to make Hunk's limbs feel heavy.

   He headed straight for the storage room. The one good drum stick he had left felt heavy as he twirled it in his fingers; he hated playing with unfamiliar equipment. The drum sticks he used were the source of his skill, in his mind. His grandfather had carved them for him for his twelfth birthday, and Hunk had never used another set unless he desperately needed to – right now seemed like one of those desperate occasions.

   Once he gathered up an extra set of drum sticks, tested out their weight and got familiar with the length of them, he turned back and headed towards his band mates. He could hear Lance practising his vocals one final time, and then there names were being called and Hunk was forced to shove all of his doubts to the side. He instead zoned in on the sound of the crowd outside, the way they yelled his name, the way they cheered for him.

   It soothed him.

   The curtains opened, and the crowd erupted, and suddenly Hunk was sat behind a drum kit and there was music blasting out around him – familiar music. Music he and Shiro made together, music he had stressed over and created from the ground up because that was what he loved to do.

   He lost himself both in the crowds cries and his own head. Despite the unfamiliar weight of the new drum sticks in his hands, he didn't miss a single beat. His hands knew where to go. He had played this song so many times before, and each time felt like the first. He got that same shrill of excitement that he had gotten when he first played it, that undertone of nerves that never failed to spark up his spine because this was a different crowd, and different people, and different reactions were bound to be given.

   Hunk opened his eyes for the first time in the middle of the song. He hadn't even realised they had been closed. He glanced out at the crowd, flashing the boys in the front with a cheeky grin that had their eyes widening. They started shoving each other to and fro, pointing at Hunk like he was some kind of art piece in a museum.

   Hunk chuckled, averted his eyes-

   He saw you.

   He shouldn't have been surprised, to be honest. You were at the club before – he had sat down and spoke to you, had learned very little but enough to have him interested. You weren't looking back at him. You were most preoccupied with your friend, the light haired girl that Hunk had yet to see sober.

   The light haired girl had her arm wrapped around your shoulders and was singing along obnoxiously to the song. You, on the other hand, were too busy looking down at something you were holding to take much notice of the jostling girl currently swinging from your neck.

   Hunk glanced down and saw what you were holding.

   Oh, fuck.

   His drum stick. His fucking drum stick – how had you got a hold of that?

   The beat faltered for only a second, but he quickly caught himself and carried on. Lance was able to carry the mistake well, though Hunk did not miss the sly looks Keith and Pidge sent in his direction. He gave them both an apologetic smile – he could not afford to mess up even worse. Already Lance was mad at him. He would be wise to keep things as neutral as possible from here until the end of the night.

   The song came to an end. Hunk slumped back in his seat, wiping the sweat already beginning to form on his brow. Lance spoke into the microphone, but Hunk had zoned out at this point; his eyes found you again. You were still holding his drum stick, only now you were more interested in trying to keep your friend away from a complete stranger with whom she looked to have taken interest in.

   He needed to get it back. Even as the second song started up and Hunk got back to playing, he knew he needed to get it back. It was his. It was a part of him, had been since he was twelve years old.

   How difficult could it be to go up to you and ask for it?

   ---

  “I'm never letting you out of the house again.”

  “That's the drink talking,” Allura shot back, still spurred on by her idea that you were the drunk one.

   You rolled your eyes, an action you had been doing an awful lot tonight. The night was over, the bouncers coming in to announce the closing of the club. The band had been hauled off stage, and now you and Allura were stumbling outside in search of a taxi.

   It would have been easy to just call one up, but it was a Saturday night, and most of the taxi places had been booked to the hilt, meaning you had no other option than to sit Allura down on the curb, pull your phone from your back pocket and start looking through your contacts. Who were you desperate enough to wake up at this time of night for a lift home?

    “Did you see the singer?” Allura groaned, flopped back in the grass. “He was gorgeous. I would love a piece of that.”

   “What you need is a kebab, or some cold pizza,” you replied. “Your hangover is going to be hell tomorrow morning.”

   “I'm not drunk.”

  “Quite honestly, I think you deserve a bad hangover for what you put me through tonight.”

  Allura stuck her tongue out at you. You flipped her off before turning back to your phone and continuing to swipe through your contacts. You were a university student, had very little social life outside of classes and Allura – there was basically no one you trusted enough nor knew well enough to wake up and ask for a lift.

   You hollowed out your cheeks and slumped down on the curb next to your best friend. The roads were packed full of cars leaving the night club, the paths littered with drunken stumblers and people who you didn't quite trust to get home on their own.

    “I think the drummer boy liked you.”

   Your looked down. “Who?”

   “The drummer boy. The one behind the drums. You know – the badoom tsst.”

   You winced. “I don't know who he is.”

    “Did you not find him attractive?”

   “I didn't get a look at him, to be honest. I was too busy stopping you from getting drugged.”

   Allura pouted as if the idea of you not noticing an attractive male had somehow upset her. It was strange, considering men were usually the last thing on Allura's mind when she was sober. She was a valedictorian, concentrated purely on her grades when her brain was fresh and alert.

   Now, though, the alcohol had plagued her and she had little room left in her brain for anything other than the people she had seen tonight.

   As she babbled on and on about the band she had seemingly fallen in love with, you zoned out. Your sober brain could not keep up with her rantings, and so you found it easier to just ignore her. She would tire herself out eventually, and then you would try the taxi services again and see what you could do. You could hardly just stay out here all night, though you saw no other option if the-

   “Are you not freezing sitting out here?”

  You jolted upright, startled by the sudden voice ringing out behind you. For a second, you truly thought it wasn't directed at you – despite the crowd slowly clearing, there were still many people waiting on taxis, and many different slurred conversations going on.

   You turned nonetheless, eyes widening once they trained on the man standing there. It took you a minute to remember his name.

   “Hunk! You're still here!”

  He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked exhausted, his bandanna now lopsided on his forehead and his hair stuck to his skin by the perspiration dripping behind his ears. He still managed to look good, though your cheeks warmed at the thought. You blamed it on the tiny sip of your vodka and coke you had been able to take.

   “But are you not cold?” he pushed. “Is someone coming to pick you up?”

   “Not yet,” you grumbled, glancing anxiously at your phone before casting your gaze to your unconscious best friend. “But I think we'll be okay.”

  Hunk hollowed out his cheeks and kneeled down. His broad shoulder brushed against your own, and you hesitantly moved over to give him room on the curb. In one hand he held a drum stick-

   Your eyes widened. “Your drum stick! I completely forgot about that!”

  Why you had gone back for the useless wooden stick, you would forever be clueless about, but it had seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time. You reached into your back pocket and pulled the drum stick free, and Hunk's eyes immediately softened at the sight of it.

   “Oh, thank god.”

  “It's important to you?”

   He plucked it from your hand. “My granddad made it for me ages ago. I thought I'd lost it.”

  “Nope,” you replied, popping the 'p.' “Just misplaced it. Good thing you've got a sober friend like me to keep you in check.”

 Hunk chuckled, glancing at Allura. “I don't seem to be the only one who should be grateful that you're sober.”

   You rolled your eyes, nudging Allura's leg with your own just to make sure she was indeed completely out of it. “She's going to regret it in the morning. She always does.”

   “Most people do.”

  You looked back at Hunk. “You don't look too tipsy yourself, but you've been in there a long time.”

   Hunk frowned, a look of puzzlement appearing on his face. You weren't entirely sure why – confusion wasn't exactly the emotion you would have felt at such an accusation. Nonetheless, Hunk's drawn together eyebrows and the way he pulled away a little bit spoke volumes.

   “Unless you don't drink,” you added quickly. “Actually, no. You ordered a Budweiser when you were sat with me, so what secrets are you hiding, Mr Hunk?”

   Hunk blinked. “Did you not see me up on stage?”

  You blinked back. “Sorry?”

   The frown that had pulled at his features gradually grew into an amused grin. “I'm part of Smokey Saturdays – the band that was playing tonight.”

    You burst out laughing.

    You didn't really mean to – it just kind of happened and you were too slow to stop it. In your defence, you didn't know you were being offensive – you genuinely thought he was joking, because how was he not?

   You had spoken to him only hours before, had a normal, lighthearted conversation with him. He didn't seem like some kind of rock star, but that was definitely the type of music you had heard blasting over the speakers whilst you were busy fixing Allura's dress to make sure she wasn't showing too much.

    Hunk flinched away at the sound of your laughter, his cheeks growing bright red. You hiccuped to a stop when he looked down at the ground, awkwardly glancing at his hands bundled in his lap.

   “Wait,” you drawled. “You're serious?”

  “Mhm,” he hummed. “That hard to believe, huh?”

   You paused. “Holy shit, man.” Hunk stiffened. “You were so good!”

   His head whipped round, eyes growing wide, brows shooting into his hairline. You couldn't help but giggle at this expression of shock; you nudged him.

   “I'm serious,” you said, despite him not protesting. “All of you were really good from what I was hearing. How long have you been in a band?”

   Hunk stuttered for only a second, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you had complimented his music. “Uh... It'll be four years this year.”

  “Wow,” you mused, leaning back on the grass. Allura shifted beside you. “It must be nice. You're living the dream.”

   “I'm living my dream. Your dream might be something else entirely.”

  You shrugged. “I kind of just wanna, you know, make my parents proud and all that. The basic, boring dream that teenagers with no ambition usually take on.”

 “It's not boring.” Hunk slumped down next to you, oddly comfortable for a person who hadn't even known your name at the start of the night. “I think making your parents proud is a very decent goal to have.”

   “It's kind of universal though, isn't it? Everybody wants to make their parents proud.”

   “I mean, I guess so,” Hunk mumbled. “Doesn't make it any less worth achieving. How do you think you'll make your parents proud?”

  The question struck you. You thought about your father, the business he ran and the companies he pleased. He had very rarely had time for you when you were growing up, and yet here you were – eighteen years old – trying desperately to make him see that you weren't a failure, even though you had absolutely zero proof towards the fact that he ever thought you were.

   Your mother was different. She was loving, caring, put her kids before anything else. She would tell you on a constant loop that she would be proud of you for just living, proud of you for just being you, and yet in the same breath she would gush to her friends about how her little darling was getting better and better at Mandarin, how you would be living in China in no time!

   She just wanted to make sure you knew she was proud of you for your achievements, but it put the pressure on you as well. You had wanted to stop learning Mandarin since you were eleven years old, but your mothers constant gushing about your improvements left you feeling like you had to carry on.

    “I don't know.”

  You reply was short and snappy. Hunk got the message.  

   “My parents weren't too happy when I dropped out of college, you know.”

  “You're gonna talk about this with a complete stranger?”

   He shrugged. “Do you wanna hear it?”

   You rolled over and leaned your head on the palm of your hand. “Go on.”

   Hunk chuckled. “Well, it's true – they were raging at me for backing out of my classes. They thought I was gonna go on to university, get a degree and a job and start a family. At the time, they didn't really know how much I loved music, so they never put two and two together that I wanted to be an artist.” He coughed, choking on the word as if he was embarrassed by it. “A musician, I should say.”

   “Musicians are artists.”

  “Yeah, well, they didn't think I wanted to be one of those. So whenever I dropped out of college and started working little jobs around the area, they were really confused, really disappointed.” He bit his lip and glanced up at the night sky. “They warmed up to it eventually – once they realised I was finally happy.”

  He said 'finally' as if he hadn't been happy before, and that broke your heart. You continued to stare at him, even when the conversation died and there was nothing else to say. It never failed to amaze you how two strangers could meet on a night out, and how the effects of alcohol and good music could somehow ease a tension that really should have been there. Hunk was a complete stranger currently pouring his heart out to you, and yet you felt as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

    You opened your mouth to say something – anything – but the words that rang out across the yard were not your own. They belonged to a shrill male voice, anger seeping in through every syllable.

   “Hunk Garrett, you are on your final god damn warning!”

   Hunk closed his eyes, inhaled deeply before reaching towards you and snatching his drum stick from your hand. “I think that's my cue to leave.”

   Allura stirred, groaned your name in her sleep. “Yeah. I think I've just gotten my cue, as well.”

  Hunk shot you a final, tipsy smile before he hesitantly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. You stared at it for only a second before grabbing on to what he wanted – you quickly punched your number into his contacts and watched him leave, walking towards a skinny, tanned man who didn't look far from a mental breakdown.

   Allura's head suddenly slammed down on your knee. “Are we home yet?”

   ---

   Despite exams being over, there was no sign of the work load slowing down.

    The day after the night club incident, you had been in perfect condition to pull yourself from your bed and go to class. Allura, on the other hand, did not show up for any of them. You hadn't expected anything less, and visiting her that evening gave you the answer you had known, but had wanted confirmed nonetheless.

   She was still asleep, a cup of water and a strip of paracetomal sat untouched on her bedside table.

   The days had passed slowly after that. Allura continued to scold you for letting her get so drunk, continued piecing the night together in tiny little snippets that she recalled for you to confirm; she had asked you multiple times if she had lost her earring in the girls toilets, and no matter how many times you told her that she hadn't gone to the toilets through the entire night, she refused to let the subject drop.

   The one thing she didn't ask you about was Hunk. You were certain she didn't remember, considering she had been passed out when he approached you. The fact that she didn't remember was more of a relief than anything else; you didn't really want to explain everything to her just yet. For some reason, you wanted to keep Hunk a secret, something good that you had experienced that night.

    “Studying already? Did exams not finish, like, two weeks ago?”

  You looked up, pen hanging idly from your mouth. Allura was already sitting down across from you, a flask of hot chocolate in her hand. You knew it was hot chocolate, because it was always hot chocolate.

   “Mrs Averell gave us a Spanish test,” you replied. “So if you're here to distract me, I don't have time for it.”

   “Alright, tell me how you really feel,” Allura grumbled. “I'll have you know, I just came to make sure you'd eaten. I know how you get when you're cooped up in the library all day.” She slid a pre-made chicken wrap in your direction and you smiled gratefully. “But also, I do have some questions. Bits and pieces are coming back to me, and I'd appreciate your input.”

   You groaned. “Allura-”

  “If I remember correctly, there was a really hot singer that was on stage at some point,” she pushed on, waving your groan to the side. “I want to meet up with him.”

   You raised a brow. “You want to meet up with the lead singer of a rock band you saw once when you were black out drunk?”

  “Clearly I wasn't drunk enough to forget him,” she said. “Which is a sign, I think.”

  You scoffed, ignoring your Spanish vocabulary notes to examine your friend – you just wanted to see if she was serious or not. It was one thing being in love with a singer and wanting to talk to them, but a completely different thing to think you could actually do it.

   “You're looking at me like that again,” Allura huffed. “I wish you'd have more faith in me. If I wasn't so drunk the other night, he'd have proposed to me by now.”

    “Is that right? Can you tell me his name?”

  Allura pursed her lips. “I need your help finding him so I can also find out that information.”

  “It's a fairly important detail to know.”

   “You were sober the entire time!” Allura exclaimed, slapping her hands against the table. The librarian cut a sharp glance in your direction, and Allura gave her one of her careless, charming smiles to soothe her before she got out of her seat and swatted you in the head with her newspaper.

   She span back round and lowered her voice. “If you even just remember the name of the band, we can Google it and get all the answers we need.”

   “You're starting to sound like a stalker.”

   “I don't want to track him down. I just wanna see when their next show is, and hopefully stay sober for it.”

   “Have you got the time or the money to go to another one of their shows?”

  “When did you get so fucking boring?”

   “It's not about being boring, Allura, it's the fact that the last time we went out, you basically left me for dead.” You folded your arms over your chest, tapping the pen against your chin. “And honestly, I have tests coming up, and I just don't think-”

   Your phone went off before your sentence could continue. Allura used your sudden falter in speech to barrel on with her own argument as to why she needed to go, and how you only lived once, and how tests could always be retaken but a chance to go to a concert was a once in a life time opportunity.

   You blocked her voice out when you looked down at your phone and caught sight of the text message that had just showed up on screen.

    hey! Hunk here. sorry if this is sudden. I didn't know when the right time to text you would be. was just wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime in the week? x

   It was the kiss that struck you.

   He put kisses at the end of his sentences. Tiny little x's, like some high school girl.

  And you smiled at it.

   Allura coughed. “Excuse me. Are you even listening to what I'm saying?”    You scooped your phone up, and tapped on his message, raising a hand in silent plead for Allura to be quiet for a second. She huffed, folding her arms over her chest, looking away as if you had insulted her.

   You quickly typed back your response.

   hola. coffee sounds fantastic. time and place?

   You debated whether or not to send a kiss back, but it seemed like too much of a lie; you never sent kisses. That was Hunk's thing, and you were happy enough to let him take that for himself.

    You looked back up at Allura and grinned. “I'll try and find out the name of that lead singer for you, alright?”

   Her eyes widened. “Wait, what? What the hell changed your mind?” She glanced at your phone and shot forward. “He isn't texting you right now, is he? How did you get his number?”

   “I don't have his number.”

  “So he has yours?”

   “If you keep talking, I'm taking my promise back.”

   Allura grinned from ear to ear, grabbed you and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You simply slumped against her, looking down at your phone as the tiny bubbles appeared, indicating Hunk was replying.

    tomorrow when you've finished with classes? x

  You replied with that sounds amazing.

   Again, you skipped the kisses.

   ---

   You skipped last class.

   You claimed it was just because there was nothing planned. You had been given no homework, had no test to study for, and so you allowed yourself a bit of a break by skipping German entirely.

    In reality, it was purely because you wanted to see Hunk a little sooner.

   As you walked down the street towards the coffee shop, you said a tiny little thank you to whoever was listening that you had stayed sober that day at the night club. Without your sobriety, you probably would have been an awkward mess right now. Meeting up with someone you had spoken to whilst in a haze caused by alcohol was risky business, and not something you were particularly fond of.

   But you had been sober, remembered Hunk's personality clear as day. He was a nice fellow, and you remembered the way the conversation had rolled so freely between you two. Sure, part of it had to do with whatever magic a night out cast upon antisocial university students like yourself, but you trusted your own intuition enough to not let such a factor bring your confidence down.

   You arrived at the coffee shop and saw him immediately. He was difficult to miss, what with his towering frame and broad shoulders. He looked cleaner now than you remembered him last, his hair washed though he still tied a bandanna around his forehead. The knot peaked out from beneath his brown mess of hair, and he fiddled with it awkwardly as he waited for his order to be made.

    You appeared beside him, not saying a word until you had examined the menu. “I think I'll have a tea.”

  Hunk jumped, swirling round at the sound of your voice. “Jesus Y/N! When did you get there?”

   “A few seconds ago,” you replied, eyes still narrowly pointed at the menu. “A tad bit offended you didn't wait on me before you ordered, but I don't want to start this off on a bad foot, so I'll let it pass.”

  Hunk scoffed, easing up at last. “The fact that you scared the shit out of me already starts this off on a bad foot.” He winced, glancing at you. “You don't mind cursing, right? 'Cause I can stop if you-”

  You waved a dismissive hand, unable to hide the amused smile forming on your features. That was such an oddly sweet thing to say – not something you expected from a man who claimed to be a rock star.

   The two of you collected your orders and made your way to a table by the window. It allowed you to look out at the passers-by, people in coats that engulfed their faces and were fighting desperately against the wind. There was an array of ear phones and stressed out university students – campus wasn't far, so you weren't surprised to see an ocean of open laptops and tired, familiar faces surrounding you.

   But Hunk was the one person you could really concentrate on.

   “So what time did you finally manage to get home at after the night club?” he asked.  

   “Shortly after three,” you replied, and he inhaled sharply. “Allura woke up not long after you left, and she was adamant that she was starving to death, so we had to stop off at McDonalds before she started throwing a tantrum.”

   “Sounds like a great time. I would have enjoyed a McDonalds after a night like that, as well.”

  You scoffed. “Your night and my night were very different experiences, pal, I can tell you that much.”

   “Not drastically different.”

   You raised a brow. “You were performing in front of the entire club, and I was trying to dodge my best friends vomit most of the night.”

  Hunk wrinkled up his nose and took a casual sip of his coffee. “I suppose that's a bit of a difference.”

  “I agree.”

  And so the conversation took off from there. It was strange how quickly the two of you were able to click, how the conversation just seemed to fall into place despite the layers upon layers of mystery this man still held. They were layers you wanted to uncover, and so you questioned him about the most trivial of things just so you could figure out a bit more about him.

    You learned that he lived with his mum and dad, but his grandmother lived with him as well, and so did his cousins and his older brothers and sisters, and his younger brothers and sisters, as well as a family dog and some guinea pigs who he gushed over for a good amount of time. You found out that he enjoyed cooking, and the only thing he really spent his small riches on was grand food and bills. You learned that he dropped out of college so he could help keep his family afloat, and it was then that the conversation took a bit of a sadder turn.

   It wasn't like you minded. You leaned forward, hand perched on your chin and eyes focused on him. Your tea had long since started going cold in the oversized mug the coffee shop always prepared for you, but you didn't care – you were grabbing on to each and every word he was saying, afraid of zoning out too long and missing a detail.

   Hunk had only just finished describing his second job before he stopped, turned to you and said, “And what about you? What's your family like?”

   You recoiled immediately.

   It wasn't like you disliked talking about your family – there was nothing wrong with them. Nothing they could change, anyway. Sure, your dad had been a little distant and you sometimes felt like second best when it came to you and your older brother, but those were delusions that had formed in your hormonal brain because that's just what happened when a person became a teenager.

    Nonetheless, the question struck you. In comparison to how Hunk had described his family – the love he held for them all, how he had risked everything just to make sure they were alright and stable – the way you would talk about your own was almost not worth it.

   You coughed and looked down into the depths of your tea; there was no special ingredients in it, nothing but classic milk and sugar. “They're busy people.”

   Hunk raised a brow, waited a moment to see if you would elaborate. When you didn't, he nodded and said, “What do they do?”

   “My dad works for some massive phone company, and my mums a nanny,” you replied. “She was a stay-at-home mum for a few years, but then I grew up and she didn't need to stay at home all the time, so she got a job as a nanny. Swapped us out, if you will.”

   You laughed at your joke, but Hunk took a minute to realise it had, in fact, been a joke. You cringed at your own humour. You often did this, laughed at your own self-depricating jokes before realising how they must have sounded to other people.

   “Of course I'm kidding,” you hastened to add. “She loves all of her kids, really.”

  Hunk nodded. “I didn't doubt that for one minute.”

   Shit. You had made it awkward. You looked around for some conversation topic to drag you out of the gutter, but the only thing that came to mind was Allura – she would be perfect in this situation, batting her eyelashes and giggling to pass off her comments as friendly jokes. She was always so good at that.

   You lurched forward. “Oh! I've been meaning to ask you!”

  Hunk reeled back. “What? What is it?”

   “Who's that singer boy who was up on stage with you at the club?”

  Hunk's face fell, forehead relaxing and eyes softening. “Oh. Lance. That was Lance.”

   “Lance.” You nodded, slowly leaning back in your chair. “Do you mind giving me his number?”

  “S-sure.”

   You grinned, taking a long sip of your tea. “You're the best.”

  ---

    Allura was waiting for you in your dorm.

   You raised a brow, letting the door swing open and bash against the wardrobe placed behind it. “What have I done to be cursed by your presence after such a peaceful day?”

  Allura threw a pillow at you. You caught it, bundled it beneath your shirt and flopped down onto the floor, groaning with exhaustion.

   “Tell me what happened then,” she pushed. “Did you find out who the singer was?”

  “Oh yeah,” you replied, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “And I got his number.”

  The silence that followed was most out of character. You glanced up to see Allura had gone pale, her eyes focused on you yet they were wide, and her eyebrows were very nearly touching her hairline.

   “Y-you what?”

  “His number,” you repeated, shaking the device in front of her. “Do you want it or not? It's taking up my contact list, and I need to delete it before-”

  Allura dived towards the end of the bed, landed on her stomach and snatched the device from your hands. You chuckled, rolling onto your back so you could watch her – she was like a child on Christmas, scrambling into a sitting position, folding her legs and grinning from ear to ear. She grabbed her own phone and punched the number into her contacts list before squealing and hugging her iPhone to her chest.

   “How did you get his fucking phone number?” she exclaimed, eyes still squeezed shut.

   “I have some contacts,” you replied as if it was no big deal, but it was. You thought of Hunk, what it felt like talking to him, how much you wanted to see him again. The coffee date had ended abruptly after you had asked for Lance's number, but you assumed it was just because Hunk had finished his coffee, and there was no point in sticking around. You would be lying to claim you weren't disappointed that the two of you hadn't gone somewhere else to talk some more, but Hunk was a musician and you were a student – you both lived hectic lives, and you needed to respect that if you wanted your friendship with him to grow further.

   “You know all them times I told you I hated you?” Allura said. “I didn't mean any of them. I love you so much. You are my moon and stars, my sun and flowers, my water and food, the light of my-”

   “Can you get out of my room now so I can get in my pyjamas and go to bed?”

  Allura raised a brow. “It's six pm.”

   “Mm.” That was the only response you needed to give. Allura rolled her eyes, pressed a kiss to your cheek before she skipped into the hallway. You heard her squealing the entire way to her room, before the slam of her door cut off the sound of her happiness.

   You grabbed your discarded phone and pulled up Hunk's contact. You had no qualms about texting a boy first, though your heart did fall a little bit at the lack of messages from him – you were hoping he was the type of boy who would ask if you got home safe or something cheesy like that.

   You guessed that was only ever in the movies and didn't let yourself feel too let down.

   You quickly typed a message to him: had a great time. would love to meet up again soon. just tell me when you're free and we can organise something :)

  A smiley face certainly wasn't a kiss, but hopefully Hunk got the message that you were getting a little bit bolder.

   ---

   The next time you saw Hunk, it wasn't on purpose.

   It wasn't exactly fate, either, considering neither of you seemed to be prepared to see the other person. You were dressed in a pair of sweats and an old, baggy t-shirt that still had pizza stains on it from your last sleepover with Allura. You were carrying an old newspaper, a crushed spider indented on the cover, and was making your way towards the bin with a pair of slippers on your feet.

   Hunk just looked startled.

   He was walking past, so there really should have been no reason for him to look so shocked. You met eyes with him, looking up at the exact same time, and he just shut down. You started to smile, as was your natural reaction to seeing the person you had wanted to see for the past week and a half, but he did not return it. His eyes widened, his mouth opening in what you hoped was a greeting-

   But then he quickened his pace, ducked his head down and tried to walk past you.

   Call you an over-achiever. Some may even go as far as to say you were desperate, but when something didn't add up, you didn't just leave it to fester in the back of your mind. You already had too much stress on your plate to afford any more over a boy – if you wanted answers, you were getting them.

   “Hey, wait. Hunk!”

   He stopped. He may have made his rush clear, but he wasn't rude enough to ignore your outward acknowledgement.

   You rushed to catch up to him, placing a hand on his arm. “Is everything okay?”

   “I've got some place to be, Y/N,” he replied. “Band practice and stuff.”

   You raised a brow, stomach churning at the clear lies he was telling. You knew they were lies, because Allura and Lance had been texting for a little over a week now, and the two of them were due to meet up in an hours time. If Hunk had band practice, Lance would be there, too.

    You swallowed thickly, letting your hand slide off his arm. “Oh, right. That sounds fun.” You couldn't think of anything else to say. Your confidence had completely diminished.

   Hunk tried for a smile, but it was forced. “I'll see you around, okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Hunk turned to leave when you remembered something else. “Oh, Hunk! You never answered my last text message.”

   He nodded. “I'll get on that as soon as I can. I'm an awful texter. Sorry.” And then he was scuttling off again, leaving behind no reason as to why he was lying, why he wanted to be away from you so badly, why he was completely ignoring you.

   ---

   It hurt knowing you had done something wrong, but not being able to pin point what exactly what something was.

   You sat in the library with your laptop open in front of you. A German documentary was pulled up on the screen, and you were trying so hard to listen through your headphones, but you couldn't concentrate. Your fluency was melting out of your brain, and you continued to stare aimlessly at the animals darting across the screen. The German voice-over wasn't even filtering through your brain at this point.

    The only thing you could fully concentrate on was Hunk. Hunk. Hunk Garrett. Stupid Hunk with his stupid drum sticks and his stupid bandanna and that stupid smile that had won you over one night when you were meant to be drunk but had been sober instead.

   Oh, how you wished you had been drunk.

   You shouldn't have expected anything less. In fact, you shouldn't have expected anything at all. Hunk was a rock star, was slowly making his way into the public eye with his music and his charms – you had barely finished university, couldn't even see graduation at the minute. You had a Spanish test to study for. Hunk had band practice. You had an older brother to FaceTime just to make sure he was still alive. Hunk had fans to reply to in his Instagram DM's.

    Maybe it was your fault at the end of the day. That was the most likely scenario; the one you were most scared to face usually was.  

    You screwed your eyes closed and pressed your fists into them, as if doing so would somehow push the events of the previous days back into your skull. Maybe if you closed your eyes tight enough, they would cease to exist and you could go back to normal. You could function like a normal human being who wasn't plagued with uncertainty.

    Your headphones were yanked from your head. “Y/N L/N, you've been hiding on me again!”

   “Go away, Allura.”

  She didn't.

  “Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

   “I had toast, actually.”

  “Aren't you special.” She sat down and placed a piece of paper on the table. “Read it and thank me immediately.”

   You glanced over at what she was trying to show you – tickets, printed on a single piece of paper. Two of them, both of them stamped with 'Backstage Pass' on the front.

    You knew what it was. You weren't stupid, and with the events of the past few weeks, there was no secret as to what band it was you were going to be spending time with backstage.

   You flicked the piece of paper back in her direction. “Can't go. Sorry.”   She spluttered, catching the tickets before they could touch the floor, as if the library carpet would somehow make them less authentic.

   “Are you serious?” she hissed. “I didn't even tell you the date yet, so you can't use the excuse that you have a test or something.”

   “I don't want to go. That's my excuse.”

  “You're having a laugh. It's not funny.”

   “I'm not kidding. Why can't you just let it drop? I'm sorry I'm not as obsessed with this new band as you are.”

   Allura scoffed. “You don't have to go for the music! I want you to go because you're my best friend, and I don't want to be stuck back stage with a bunch of sweaty guys all on my own.”

   “So you want me to suffer along with you?”

  “I want you to put your stupid pride aside and realise that you can do stuff for other people once in a while.”

   You spiralled on her. “How can you say that? Did you forget that I was the reason you didn't get drugged back at that night club the other night? I was the one who got you Lance's phone number in the first fucking place. I'm the one who paid your water bill last month, and-”

   “And here I am, thinking I'm doing something nice for you, and you're turning me down.”

 “The nice thing for you to do right now would be to let the subject drop and go on your own.”

   Allura groaned, throwing her head back. “Y/N, I want to see Lance.”

   “Then see Lance. I'm not stopping you.”

   “And Lance wants to see you.”

 You froze.

   Lance McClain, lead singer of Smokey Saturdays, voice of an angel, bilingual and dreamy in all the right ways. It was no secret as to how Allura had ended up head over heels for him – he was everything a young, impressionable rock fan would want in a boyfriend.

   So why he wanted to meet you was a complete mystery.

   Allura took your silence as a chance to push her argument further. “Now, don't get it twisted. He doesn't want to shag. He just wants to meet you, because I told him about how you got his number and everything. He said he saw you with Hunk back at the night club, and the two of you seemed to be getting on well. It would be a delight for you to go.”

    You bit your bottom lip – so Allura now knew about Hunk. She now knew that you and the drummer had some kind of relationship, no matter how small she thought it was. No matter how small it really was, because one coffee date and a few flirty text messages weren't enough for you claim that you and him had anything more than a tense back and forth.

    But then you thought of Lance, and Allura, and how much this backstage experience would mean to her. She got on your nerves. More often than not, she raked at your patience until you were snapping into genuine anger, but she was your best friend and that was just how your relationship had always been.

   You turned to look at her. For the first time in a long time, she looked genuinely desperate. She was clutching her phone in her hand, looking at you with wide eyes, her lower lip pouted because she was Allura, and there was no way she could make herself look serious for a minute too long – god forbid somebody think she was emotionally vulnerable.

   But you saw through the dramatised pouted lip and sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Fine. I'll go.”

   Her eyes widened, body lurching forward and arms wrapping around your neck. “Ayy, my hero! I knew you'd give in eventually!”

  “Watch it.”

  “We're gonna have the best time. Just you wait and see.”

  ---

   You looked at yourself in the rear view mirror as best as you could; it was pointless. You could still only get a good look at your face and neck, both of which did not look too spectacular considering you had refused to put any effort into your appearance at all.

   Allura had come wearing her flowery yellow summer dress, despite the fact that it was pitch black outside and cold enough to have frost clinging to the concrete. She drove with her back poised straight, and you winced every time she looked at herself in the rear view mirror – because she did it much too often for someone who was behind the wheel of a vehicle.

   You arrived at the venue a little earlier than you had been anticipated, but the bouncers let you in with no hassle – apparently Lance had pre-warned them of your arrival, had ordered them to send you both straight to the rehearsal room as soon as you arrived.

   Allura left your side the moment she saw Lance, despite her earlier promises to stay by you. You weren't surprised, which was why you merely rolled your eyes, tucked your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie and cowered away into the corner.

     The whole band was here. Everyone except Hunk.

  The two bassists were lounging on the sofa, legs tangled together. The girl – Pidge, you believed her name was – had no shoes on and was idly drawing letters into the other bassist – Keith's – leg. He glared at her, sent a kick to her thigh but Pidge continued.

   She pulled away, looked at him with a squinted eye and said, “Now guess what I wrote.”

  “Would you just-”

   “Everyone, stop your arguing!” Lance exclaimed, gaining the attention of the entire room. He had an arm wrapped around Allura's waist and a smile on his face that Allura mimicked – clearly they had missed each other in their disastrous week apart. “I want you all to meet Allura, the girl I was telling you about before.”

  Keith grunted. Pidge had the decency to at least raise her hand and utter a small, “Hello,” before she went back to annoying Keith.

   Allura turned to you then, reached an arm out in your direction. “And this is my friend, Y/N. I brought them along for the experience, you know.”

   “The experience of what? Watching Lance freak out about the smallest thing five minutes before the show?” Keith said.

   Pidge held up a hand. “On the bright side, Hunk got that drum stick back.”

  “And it was only because of Y/N that he did,” Lance chimed in, the perfect little diversion into your introduction. There was no backing out now; all eyes were trained on you, and you would do nothing more than make yourself look like an idiot if you were to duck away from their gazes now.

  So, you stepped out of the shadows and waved, trying to seem more confident than you felt. You expected Hunk to walk through the door at any moment now, and the thought was more terrifying than you cared to admit or acknowledge; it was stupid. Hunk wouldn't do anything. He was a nice bloke. Even when it was clear that he was mad at you – for whatever reason – he still tried to be civil. He still lied through his teeth just to stop you from losing your head.

   “Evening,” you muttered.

   “So this is the Y/N Hunk was telling me about,” Pidge spoke up. “The one he was telling us all about.”

   “Oh, really?” you said, glancing over at Allura in desperation. You needed her to get the memo, to understand that you wanted to leave.

   She was too busy looking at Lance, swiping her thumb across his bottom lip and pretend-scolding him for having garlic mayo on his face.

   “Yeah, really,” replied Pidge. “He should be around here somewhere. Last I checked, he went to go and make sure the peddles for the drum kit were adjusted right.”

   “He doesn't need to rush himself if he doesn't want to. I can – uh – I actually need to go to the-” Your attempt at an escape was cut short when the door behind you was pushed open.

   You didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

    “There he is!” Pidge exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “Hunk, look who came to visit!”

  Hunk was silent. You didn't turn to look at him, because you were too afraid of what you would see. It was one thing seeing him in passing on the street, catching a tiny glimpse of his anger, but it was different when you had nowhere to escape to and still no answers to confide in. You weren't sure you would be able to sit down with him and pretend like nothing had happened.

    “Y/N,” Hunk said after realising that he had an audience. “Who gave you a backstage pass?”

  “Me, you idiot, and it really shouldn't have been,” Lance scolded. “If you wanted to see them so badly, you should have been giving them a backstage pass. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

   “Honestly, there's no need for-”

   Hunk cut you off. “Yeah, sorry. That was my fault, but I guess they liked the gift from you.”

  The words sounded cold, though you couldn't quite pinpoint why. You risked a glance over your shoulder, watching the way Hunk angrily stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat – he had dressed up nice for todays show, rocking a black blazer with a white shirt beneath it, the first few buttons undone to reveal chest hair you hadn't noticed before.

     He just looked mad, and it was frustrating you to no ends that you couldn't figure out why. It was clearly because of you. He wasn't making that a secret. He was taking the passive-aggressive route rather than outwardly scolding you, but you weren't stupid and you could see when someone was mad at you.

   You gritted your teeth and turned back to Allura and Lance. The two of them were dangerously close to kissing, but Allura's eyes snapped round to your own when she noticed you staring at her.

   “I'm going to the bathroom.”

  You didn't wait for someone to stop you. You darted off towards the back door, pushing past Keith's feet and closing the door fiercely behind you. Pidge's voice echoed behind you, asking what was wrong with you, but you didn't wait around to hear a response. You headed directly for the bathrooms, following signs that were hung up from the roof.

   You leaned over the sink and looked up at your reflection; fuck him. Fuck him, and fuck feelings and fuck everything. The night was turning out to be just like the night at the club – you had come out wanting to have a good time, that small flicker of hope keeping you on your toes, but you had been proven foolish by something as small and simple as Hunk Garrett. A man who had been in your life for only two months, who had texted you and flirted with you and made his feelings towards you so obvious for the first few days, only to completely backtrack for a reason you were still unsure of.

  You were proud of yourself for keeping it together. It would have been easy to spin on him and demand answers then and there, and god you wanted to, but you bit your tongue because that was what the others in the room deserved. It was what Allura deserved.  

    And so, you continued to do just that. You pressed some water into your face, closed your eyes and waited it out, hoping that the bathroom would be a good enough hiding place for you to stay in until you could leave and go home.

   ---

   Hunk blinked, watching the door swing closed behind you.

   Fuck, you were beautiful.

   That was the first thought that had come to his mind when he saw you standing there. Your back was to him, but he remembered your face almost instantly because it was the only thing he thought about. Your smile, and the way you had constantly raised your brows at him and questioned him on everything he said – you had been so interested in everything he told you, and he felt so good just spilling his entire life story to somebody who seemed to genuinely care.

   You were beautiful, even when you were angry at him, and he hated that that was the one thing he could think of because it drove him further into his own head and made him question his own actions even further.

   “What the hell is wrong with them?” Pidge asked as the door slammed closed, but nobody replied. Keith's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. Lance and Allura were sharing a glance between each other, though neither of them moved to go after you.

   That made Hunk mad. Why was no one going after you?

  He stepped forward, made towards the door but Keith kicked a foot out before he could get very far.

   “Not so fast, big guy,” he said. “It sounded like your little friend was mad at you. I don't know if they want to see you right now.”

   Hunk gritted his teeth. “Someone needs to make sure they're alright.”

  “Y/N will do fine on their own,” said Allura. “But please inform me on what happened, because I feel like shit right now.” She turned to Lance. “I made them come here even though they didn't want to.”

  Hunk closed his eyes, let out a shaky breath he forget he had inhaled in the first place. It was no secret to him why you hadn't wanted to go – he had been a douchebag, but he had his reasons.

   “I think they're mad at me because I ghosted them a little while back,” Hunk said.

   The room fell quiet, waiting for him to elaborate.

  He sighed, ran his hands through his hair. “They wanted Lance's number, for crying out loud! What was I supposed to do?”

   Again, his comment was followed by silence.

  He looked around, feeling his cheeks grow warm with the attention. “What?”

  “What does Y/N wanting Lance's number have to do with anything?” Keith asked.

   Hunk blinked. “Well, it was obvious they were more interested in Lance than me...”

   Allura spluttered, lurching forward. Lance's grip visibly tightened on her waist to stop her from throwing herself at Hunk entirely. “No way.”

   “What? What's wrong?” Lance asked.

  Allura shook her head, swatting Lance's hands away. Her eyes continued to bore into Hunk's, wide and unreadable. “You're having a laugh.”

   Hunk awkwardly shuffled. “I'm confused...”

  “Y/N was asking you for Lance's number because I asked them to get it for me.”

   Hunk blinked. Surely he had heard her wrong.

  Allura continued shaking her head, now weasling her way out of Lance's grip and coming to stand next to Hunk. She was half his size, but that didn't mean the smack she sent to his arm hurt any less. He flinched away from her, eyes wide. Keith burst out laughing whilst Pidge was still looking between him and the door as if she couldn't quite believe the drama unfolding before her.

   “You ghosted my best friend because you thought they were interested in my boyfriend?” Allura shrilled. “God, can boys get any stupider?”

    Pidge raised her hands above her head. “This is the question I've been asking for years.”

  Hunk shook his head, too busy focusing on what had just been revealed to care about the fact he'd just been called stupid. “They didn't want to date Lance?”

  “Of course not! Y/N went out for coffee with you, you idiot, not Lance.”

   Hunk was already making his way towards the door. “Jesus christ. I messed up. I messed up big time. I need to – Did they go to the bathrooms?”

   “I think so,” Keith replied. “Go get 'em, Prince Charming.”

   Hunk rushed down the hall, not caring that the show was starting in nine minutes.

   ---

    The bathroom door opened, and you were not prepared to see Hunk standing there.

   You jolted upright, struggling to wipe the tears from your face before he saw them. “Christ, Hunk! Give a person a little bit of privacy, will you?”    He didn't answer. He simply shook his head, closed the door and walked over to you. You shied away from him, still trying desperately to make it seem like you hadn't been shamefully sobbing over a boy for the past ten minutes – that would look stupid, would make you look weak, and you did not want that.

   Not whenever the boy who had made you weak was standing right there.

  “What do you want?” you asked. “You have a show soon.”

   Hunk slid down the wall and sat next to you. “I don't care.”

   “Is that rock star speak for 'I've been sacked?'”

   “It means, I don't care.” He fixed his eyes on the side of your head. “You could have told me the reason why you asked for Lance's phone number, you know.”

  You froze. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I thought you were asking for Lance because you were interested in him. That was why I got so hostile all of a sudden.”

    Aaaaaand, it all clicked into place.

   Your eyes snapped open, the tear stains now forgotten as you trained your gaze on Hunk. He smiled shyly, nodded as if to say I know right. It was that simple this entire time.

   “No,” you spluttered out. “Hunk, tell me you're joking.”

   He winced, drawing his shoulders up around his chin. “I wish I was-”

   You burst out laughing before he could get another word out, throwing yourself into his side and grasping for his jacket to keep yourself stable. Hunk grunted, but his fingers wrapped around your wrist nonetheless.

    “Awk, that's adorable!” you exclaimed. “You thought I liked Lance!”

   “Well, you didn't exactly lead me to believe any differently!”

  “Was me agreeing to your cute little coffee date not enough to get my point across?”

  Hunk flushed, looking away as he mumbled, “It wasn't really a date...”

  “It could have been a date,” you said, tugging on the lapels of his blazer. “If you hadn't gotten so pressed and cut it short.”

   Hunk rolled his eyes, but you saw the smile taking over his features, and it warmed your heart in a way that both terrified you and excited you at the same time. You had never felt like it before, but you had read about it in books, seen it in movies. It always seemed so far-fetched, but you were beginning to understand it now.

   Maybe it was mixed in with the relief. It had to be. Relief that Hunk had finally seen the truth, relief that he had come after you at all, because he very easily could have got his point across by just leaving you to rot in the bathroom until the show was over.

   But he hadn't. He was sat beside you right now with his fingers wrapped around your wrist and his shoulder pressed against yours, and he was smiling because you had made him smile and perhaps that was the most accomplishing thing you had done in a long time.

   You slowly pulled away from him, releasing his jacket despite him not yet releasing your hands. He kept them pressed to his chest, his eyes moving with you as you leaned back against the wall.

   “So what now then?” you asked, voice quieter than you had meant it to be but it felt like you couldn't help it.

   “Whatever you want,” he replied, as if it was that simple.

   “I'm not good at responsibility, Hunk. You shouldn't leave that kind of question to me.”

  “I don't want to shoulder it, either.”

   You flicked your gaze up at him. “How about you think it over during your show, and I'll do the same. After your performance, we'll reconcile back at camp and see what we've decided.”

  Hunk looked back at you. “What if we disagree?”

  “Then we'll have our answer, won't we?”

   ---

   The show was magnificent, as you had expected.

   Allura was crying by the third song, because the second song was a ballad that Lance sang entirely staring at her. You had rolled your eyes, looked up at Hunk to see he was giving Lance the exact same disgusted look you had given Allura a few seconds prior.

    By the end of the set, though, you were fairly certain you had shed a few cheeky tears as well, but you covered them up better than Allura did. Allura wasn't one for subtlety, and Lance hadn't even fully gotten off the stage before Allura was crashing into him and hugging him as if he was about to go off to war.

   You were the first one in the backstage room. Allura and Lance had disappeared – you didn't even want to guess where to – and nobody else had bothered to come and collect their things just yet. You assumed they were all going to celebrate – maybe Hunk had gone with them. You wouldn't blame him. The show had been incredible, and it was what he deserved. Nonetheless, you couldn't dispel the slight disappointment in the pit of your stomach at the idea that maybe he had forgotten about your little deal. Or worse. Maybe he just knew the two of you would disagree, and that was that. He didn't even want to see you to confirm it, so he had-

   The door to the backstage room opened, and Hunk entered.

  He was dripping in sweat, and his bandanna was gross, and his hair was gross and his clothes were gross, but he looked perfect for a reason you couldn't pinpoint. You could imagine your mother now, scolding you for going after the shabby bad boys who she always steered you away from when you would walk through the estate.

   But you didn't care now. Your mother wasn't here to tell you off.

   Hunk looked up and met your eyes, smiled nervously. You smiled back, folding your hands in front of yourself just for something to do.

   He took one step into the room, set his jacket on the back of the sofa and said, “Well?”

   You knew what he meant immediately. “I want to hear your decision first.”

   “You know what my decision is.”

   “Do I?”

   Hunk rubbed the back of his neck. His hand came away shiny, slick with sweat. “Please don't make me wait. I need a shower desperately.”

   You grinned and walked over to him. There was no jumping, no diving into his arms, no squealing and yelling and exclamations of love – you two hadn't got to that point yet, but you had great faith in the idea of one day.

   For now, though, you sufficed for bundling your hands in his white shirt and pulling him down to kiss you.

    His hands rested on your hips. Your shirt had ridden up, and his rings nipped at the flesh. Your hands stayed bundled in his shirt, too grossed out by his sweat to travel anywhere else, but you needed to touch him in some form. You needed to feel something of his beneath your hands, and apparently his lips alone would not suffice.

   He groaned low in his throat and pulled away, gasping for air you hadn't realised you had been taking from him. The kiss felt like only a peck, but your breathing was laboured and Hunk's face was bright red. He nipped your hips a little tighter, causing you to squeal and lurch into him; he grinned, burying his face in the crook of your neck now that he had the chance.

   You groaned, but didn't shove him away. “I was trying to avoid your sweat that entire time.”

  “That's not fair. Let me give you the whole package or not at all.”

  You pulled away, raising a brow. Hunk flushed, seeming to realise what he had just said and just what he was implying.

   “Don't take that the wrong way, or I swear to-”

  “Was that a promise, Hunk Garrett?”