Chapter Text
“Let me get this straight,” Pidge raised a calculative eyebrow, pinching the bridge of their nose, “you want to buy her a cactus?”
“Well yes—and no,” Lance palmed the back of his neck, both of them walking down the street, one hand rooted deep into his worn university sweatshirt. They moved slowly, basking in the pleasant autumn chill that left leaves strewn about, breaking softly underneath the soles of their feet. He liked it that way, the glow of not-quite summer and the bite of almost winter—a pleasant in between that made his pining all the more ironic. “I want to buy her a cactus, but like, a meaningful one, you know? Chicks dig that sort of stuff, man.”
“Don’t call me ‘man’,” Pidge rolled their eyes, middle finger coming up to push at the bridge of their glasses, “please don’t tell me you’re referring to the language of flowers. I’m almost a hundred and thirty-seven percent sure cacti are not symbolic of romance.”
Lance gave a flippant scoff, waving Pidge off with a rolling palm. It was almost routine, how they found themselves in one another’s company—brought together more often by coincidence than delicate planning. The town was only so big, after all, and the college likewise; there was pretty little he could do to avoid classmates - not that he tried often. Lance was a social being, and even though run-ins at the grocery store down fifths were hardly an ideal, he supposed it wasn’t too bad of a meeting spot for daily gossip. However, that wasn’t always the case, and Lance often found himself hungover, clad in sweats and a stained crew-neck, trying to maneuver a labyrinth of isles—least to say, running into particularly voluble neighbors only served to feed the budding migraine and press on his tender nerves.
That morning, though, was different. It involved Lance actively seeking out Pidge.
And so he had, walking through a town that was small in nature, riddled with short buildings and French balconies, in the heart of the woods. A secluded spot, and even as someone who generally disliked the outdoors, Lance could admit that it had it’s own charm and aesthetic, even if it made Lance want to trip every cyclist that rode past them. “You just don’t get it, do ya, Pidgeon.”
“I swear by the moon, Lance,” it was an empty threat, paired with a shaken head. There was only so much of Lance one could handle before it became a little too much.
“But seriously,” he continued, spreading his arms out to prove a point, “think about it - a cute little small thing with flowers or something. It’s perfect, girls like cute things.”
Pidge crossed their arms over a narrow chest, oversized knit sweater bunching up at the crease of their elbow. They threw Lance a side glance, smirking softly, “you don’t know very much about girls, do you, Casanova?”
Scoff, “more than you, midget.”
“I find that a little hard to believe,” they laughed, a joyful chirrup that was too amused for Lance’s liking. A small, and colorfully bandaged set of fingers came up to stifle the sound in response to his glaring. There was no getting used to how often Pidge laughed at his expense, and no matter how routinely that tended to happen, Lance continued to be offended and his pride continued to bruise. It was a wonder he still had an ego as large as he did. “I think that cactus you want to buy has more of a personality than you.”
Lance stopped in his tracks leaning down to Pidge’s height to sneer at them through narrowed eyes, “you are a mean, mean little thing.”
“So I’ve been told.” Pidge responded with an amused smile, eyebrows high and playful behind their glasses, “everything aside, what the hell makes you think a prickly fern is the way into a woman’s heart? Most - normal - people go for roses and stuff, you know, the normal and more poetic symbol for ‘let’s bang’”
Stepping back, Lance puckered his lips in thought, head tipped back. “Dunno, seemed like a smart idea - besides, have you ever tried to kill a cactus?” His head snapped to Pidge, eyes widened for comic emphasis, “that shit’s impossible.”
Pidge paused, “wait, why the fuck have you tried to kill a cactus before?”
“You haven’t?”
They stared at him incredulously, “no?”
Lance rolled his eyes and started walking again, “doesn’t matter, either way, she won’t have to go through the hassle of taking care of it. Girls like efficiency, right? That’s plenty efficient!”
Pidge didn’t move from their grounded spot, staring solemnly at the back of Lance’s head. “Was your last girlfriend a toaster, Lance? Because at this point, I’m not buying the argument that you’ve dated anything that breathes.”
“Oi!” Lance turned on his heel, mouth unhinged in offense, “are you going to help me or not?”
Pidge relented, heaving in an exaggerated breath before walking forward and grabbing his arm, “I feel like if I don’t, you’ll buy her something fatally poisonous by mistake. Last thing I need is a friend in jail, no matter how handy those connections might be.”
Lance was fortune’s fool; he was a simple man, driven to the strangest of situations by fate’s fickle strings, or so he liked to dramatically insert whenever possible. The morning had faded into afternoon, with the winter sun bearing down on both of them, and for such a small town, Lance didn’t understand the lack of florists. The alleyways and side streets were littered in independent cafés, greeting them with creative chalkboards and the lingering smell of caramel; tight homes were lined up side-by-side, mock mirroring the gothic dutch suburb, with balconies woven in blooming vines—ones that Lance had a difficult time believing were a la naturale, so to speak. People had to have planted them, and even though the moss green that dug itself into the fissures of the old buildings looked quite old in itself, the young flowerpots set quaintly in balcony gardens told a different story. It all begged the question of where all the flower shops went, because two hardly sufficed, and Lance’s patience, thin by nature, was wearing thinner with every passing moment.
Pidge had dragged him around all morning, claiming to have known a particular florist near campus that sold most of the graduation bouquets and flower arrangements, and like a fool, Lance had followed them. It was only when they stopped in front of an abandoned shack, dusty and very much empty of any type of life - plant or human - did Pidge’s wince and their gentle ‘whoops’ finally sink the remaining sediments of Lance’s patience into the ocean. It was, in actuality, an honest miscalculation - but Lance was not the type to let anyone live anything down.
“I swear they were here a couple of months ago!” Pidge squawked, stepping past Lance’s devastatingly irate deadpan, to push into the shop. They hadn’t needed to do much other than step onto the threshold before the door fell of its hinges and crashed to the side in a mess of glass and splintered rosewood. Biting their lip, beating down on a guilty smile, Pidge looked over their shoulder at Lance.
“Clearly.” Lance raised an eyebrow, sarcastic apathy weighing itself heavy on his tongue, “if i didn’t know any better, I’d say they left yesterday - I mean just look at the pristine condition of this store right here - ah, can’t you smell the jasmine?”
“You’re such a dick.” Pidge’s face colored when they rolled their eyes, adjusting their glasses with one palm, while the other arm tied neatly across their torso. “You’re the one who didn’t like anything the last florist had to offer!”
“Oh, ho, ho, no you don’t.” Lance’s face widened in a grin, stepping forward to waggle an index finger a breath’s proximity from Pidge’s nose, “you are not pinning this on me, this was all on you. You said this dude would have some fucking cacti!”
“Goddamn it, Lance!” they snapped, stomping a suede-clad foot onto some broken glass, before slapping the out-stretched hand away, “why don’t you just buy normal flowers like every other normal person, jeez! Stop being a hipster!”
Lance scoffed with an incredulous smile, leaning back with a lone finger pointing at his chest,“I’m being a hipster? Sweet quiznak, Pidgeon, do you own a mirror? I want a cactus, you, on the other hand, are wearing a floral print for god's sake!”
“Irrelevant!” Pidge snapped, before heaving dejectedly, “either way, what’re you gonna do now?”
Lance sighed as well, toeing at the rough gravel with a worn pair of worn white canvas shoes, before dropping to settle on the pavement. He brought his knees up, long legs crossing at the ankles as he rested his elbows onto the elevated peaks. Lance smiled teasingly, “I have no idea. What am I supposed to get her now? I’m more broke than your glasses at a tech store - on like, black friday.”
Their deadpan was tangible, “wow, you’re an asshole.”
“If I didn’t know you better, cheesecake, I’d say you sounded surprised.” Lance chuckled, receiving a steady and strong hit to the back of the head, before Pidge settled their small form by him, legs crossed, head tilted back. He sighed, “you do know I’m kidding though, right?”
“Are you explaining yourself?” they laughed, “my gods, someone’s in a pathetic mood.”
“You know what, I take it back. You’re Satan’s butthole.”
“Thanks, John Donne.”
Lance rolled his eyes, before falling back onto the pavement, lean arms folded behind his head. He ignored the bite of the small bits and pieces of tinted glass that made it past the grey of his cotton sleeve. Eyes sliding closed, he felt Pidge shift uncomfortably beside him, looking up into the sun; all jokes aside, he knew he’d made them feel genuinely guilty. Pidge, he found, was the single most intelligent person he’d ever come across—a small thing, with the bite and brain of a mountain lion; they never made mistakes, they never miscalculated, they were never wrong—and it bothered them to an impossible extent when it was at the expense of others, even if those others happened to be Lance trying to woo a particularly uninterested female specimen. He sighed, Pidge was the greatest.
“So, Pidge-pie, you wanna grab a cup of coffee as we ponder over this depressing turn of events? You’re off the hook for the rest of the day, scout’s honor.” He pushed himself up with a soft grunt, placing an encouraging palm on the small of their back. He was a little tired himself, and no matter how little the town was, it was quite the walk to take it from top to bottom, and around the corners, a couple of times. It’s not like theres anything I can do at this point, he bit his lip, the prickly pear will have to wait. “Who knew it would be this hard to find a freaking plant, though, yikes.”
Pidge groaned loudly, letting a risen Lance pull them to their feet, “this is so shit, seriously—how could they be closed, people actually liked them!”
“S’okay, Pid-pid, you’ll get it right next time,” Lance shrugged happily, “hopefully you don’t try again when I’m with you, because damn, what a waste of time!”
“That was the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received,” Pidge curled their lips, briefly knocking their shoulder into Lance’s, “also, is it just me or is your choice in nicknames getting gradually worse?”
“It’s just you.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.”
They walked back the way they came, the tight downtown starting to breathe with the life of the afternoon. The normally calm streets beginning to heave with students who’d used their weekend’s morning to sleep in, unlike Lance, who was starting to regret his decisions over the course of the last twenty-four hours. He wasn’t sure which he regret more, the fact he decided to stay up all night streaming a silly animated mecha-show instead of sleeping - simply because he could - or the fact he decided to drag Pidge out so early in the first place. He’d actually had to catch up to them as they ran their morning jog—and although Lance was a far cry from unfit, the lack of rest left him heaving. Never abusing my weekend power ever again, he sighed, digging both palms into his hooded university sweatshirt.
They finally came to a decisive stop in front of a small coffeeshop, the interior and exterior made of seamless white brick, a witty chalkboard open by the door with a pun that Lance paid little heed. It was unlike him to bypass a bad joke, particularly in the presence of Pidge of all people, because their pained groans were far too amusing to forfeit. Lance gave it a once over; he wasn’t feeling it, given their recent defeat. Fuck it, that was a good pun, I’ll laugh later. He pushed past the glass door and into the pleasant warmth of the shop, familiar mismatched lounge chairs coming into view with the typical musty scent of vanilla and earthy coffee.
Lance’s resting frown was upturned into a lopsided smirk at the sight in front of him: Hunk manning the counter.
“Oi, oi, big guy!” Lance brought two fingers to his lips, letting out a loud, ear-splitting whistle. Lance ignored the groans all around the cramped café, from studying students to Pidge who elbowed him roughly, “Hunk!”
The man in question paused his wiping of the service bar in favor of looking up curiously. At the sight of a grinning Lance, and an irritated Pidge, Hunk’s smile grew, “hey man!”
Lance strut to the counter, resting his elbow on it leisurely, “what’s up, Hulk? Wanna fix me up something good, a vanilla latte or something?”
“Lance, I think your gay is showing,” Pidge shook their head, an amused smile playing on their lips, bandaged fingers brushing over the expression.
“I’ll have you know, I am not gay, you little shit,” he tossed them a flippant eye-roll, “I’m a man of the people; I happen to like men and women. Sorry to disappoint, Pidge, but maybe we can bang in ten years, because the pedophillic scene really just isn't for me. ”
“As if.”
“Okay guys,” Hunk laughed nervously, folding the towel and setting it to the side, “I’d love to make you all the sexually-confusing drinks you’d like, but I actually got to run an errand for the shop before I’m off the clock.”
“But Hunk, I’ll die of dehydration, you insensitive prick.” Lance dramatically placed the back of a hand to his forehead, leaning into Hunk’s personal space, who only chuckled, pushing at Lance’s shoulder playfully. Lance’s whining had become something akin to a habitual happening—an unyielding constant that everyone had to deal with.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll live, McClain.”
“I’m not sure,” Pidge added, smirking, “you see, Hunk, our boy Lance here is thirsty in more ways than one.”
At this, Lance fell back from the counter, straightening out his posture with visibly raised hackles, “hey, you little shit!”
Pidge ignored him entirely, putting both palms into the back pockets of their jeans as they turned to Hunk with a curious smile, “where you off to anyway?”
Lance’s offended voice became background noise when Hunk sighed, leaning forward on both elbows over the counter, “boss wants me to pick up some things for the shop—if I’m being entirely honest with you, I’d rather stick around and finish up the brownies I’m making.” He looked around a little cautiously before gesturing for both of them to lean in. He cupped his mouth, “Coran can’t bake for shit, dudes, and guess who’s on the next shift?”
Lance’s snort became a series of short scoffs before blowing out into a full, hearty laugh, “ah, shit—that guy’s stuff is like year old scones, fuck.”
Hunk looked around before he turned to Lance nervously, twiddling his thumbs, “jeez, keep your voice down—I know, right? God, one time he was making pudding and it turned out green, Lance. Green, and that would normally be okay if, you know, it was pistachio mousse or something—but no, it was chocolate. I don’t know how that’s even possible, man!”
By now, even Pidge had joined Lance in his choppy laughs, “gods, why does this guy still have a job?”
“Well,” Hunk swallowed, “he owns the place for one.”
Lance gave a low whistle; no one was laughing anymore, “oh.”
Pidge cleared their throat, effectively breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Well, where you headed?”
“He wants air-plants for the ceiling, man. I don’t even know what those are,” Hunk groaned, his head dropping into two open and ready palms, “he made an order from some florist down the street or something. I don’t know.”
Pidge both almost heard and predicted the perky snap of Lance’s head towards them before they actually saw it, the daring grin painting their peripheral. Pidge frowned, “but there isn’t one. Me and Lance tore through all the florists in this town this morning, one by one.”
Hunk disregarded Lance’s bitter ‘they were three, so it wasn’t that hard’, “this one just opened then? I don’t know. I just know it exists and boss needs me to pick up some stuff.”
“You’re in luck then!” Lance reached over the counter, pulling Hunk into a side-embrace, a baleful smile plotted on his features, “because I,” his narrowed eyes landed on Pidge, “have an idea.”