A, You're Adorable (Klance) [DISCONTINUED]

Two: B is for Beautiful

Hey, beautiful, did you fall from heaven? Because that explains how you messed up your face!

Keith was not an artist. His scrap paper was full of stick figures and St. Peter's crosses (because the idiots in the school didn't know how to draw actual satanic crosses, those would pass enough for people to leave Keith alone). Oh, and the one he had scribbled out because he would not be caught dead with a stick figure drawing of- of- he didn't dare think about it again. It was blocked out especially because he shared the next class with Lance.

Despite his lack of talent, Keith had chosen to take Art I during his sophomore year because it was the most easy going Arts course. The unofficial title of the class was "Art for noobs who barely know how to pick up a pencil". Now he and Lance were in Art III, which was still easy and less focused than other Art courses.

It was clear why Keith was in the class (his anatomy had evidently improved little over the course of two years), but why was Lance? He would absolutely be able to Cupid Shuffle his way through Dance, get away with performing "We Are Number One" in Singing, or maybe even dramatically jazz hand in and out of Musical Theater. Well, you see, Keith had absolutely no idea why Lance had switched from Theater to Art after his freshman year. Maybe Lance himself wasn't sure. He hadn't let his stock of theater memes go stale, however. He had even found some 2007-style ones just for Keith to half-smile at.

It seemed that on this particular Monday no one felt like working (read: babysitting and stopping everyone, themselves included, from defenestrating themselves), because the teacher halfheartedly gave them a sheet of printer paper each and let them do whatever.

Lance noticed the scrap paper Keith had hastily stuffed into his notebook and pulled it out. "Hey, what's this?"

"Don't-" he grabbed at it, but the Cuban whisked it away without alerting anyone.

"Awww, are these stick figures holding hands?" Lance cooed, magically seeing through the cross hatching on top of the drawing.

Keith covered his face. He had though this guy's vision had been trained to interpret "Loss", not reveal what was under chicken scratch. Curse Maria and her tendency to hide secret Spanish messages under scrawls! She was a lovable little girl, but she seemed to have taught Lance how to see under every scribble.

"No, they're- they're arm wrestling!" Keith squeezed a lie out of his brain, which was taking a vacation on Gooey Circa-80s Chick Flick Island at that exact moment.

"Arm wrestling?" Lance snickered. "I thought you weren't ready to try difficult poses yet. Hey, is this Lo-"

"Loss? Yeah, sure. Whatever you say," the Korean tilted his head and squinted at the paper. "How can you tell all the time? It's just a bunch of lines I did while practicing."

"It takes a certain skill to see something so beautiful," Lance gestured grandly with his pencil. "But of course, I know something more beautiful than Loss."

"If you say 'me' or 'dat boi' I swear-"

"You, babe," Lance wiggled his eyebrows.

For a split second as he was caught off guard, Keith was as red as the Korean flag. Then, he stifled his stupid gushy marshmallow core and managed to pull a straight face. Or, as straight as his gay thoughts would let him be. Shut up, that was a good meme. "That was worse than if you'd said 'dat boi'."

Lance flashed him a cheeky grin. "Think it'll work on the ladies?"

"Oh, Lance, I'm so flattered to have you compare me to a dying nonsensical meme," Keith mimped, clasping his hands and fake-swooning in a falsetto.

"Hold that pose! I'll draw you," he laughed.

"No way," Keith sat up and tied his hair back. "I have to finish today's assignment."

Lance put his hands up. "Guess I'll die without a good reference."

There was absolutely nothing interesting to draw. Doing a study of a metal ruler was bland. There was no action in Art class, unlike the cheap K-drama the rest of high school could yield. He needed his eraser to rub out his mistakes, so that was out.

Lance sat mostly still, doodling Voltron. Keith blew his bangs out of his face. It was worth a try. Maybe his abysmal art skills could handle it.

He was holding up pretty well until the Cuban lifted his head. "Take a picture; it'll last longer."

"Get back to work."

Lance began smiling. Keith had fortunately saved the face for last. His lips subconsciously quirked up as he started on Lance's mouth. His meager talent disappointed him only slightly. Whatever. It wasn't being graded on content or skill. He didn't have to replicate the accurate and detailed doodle forming on his table partner's paper.

"Good drawing," Lance commented. "Of course, the subject makes it better."

"Thanks. Yours is... neat."

Neat was the lamest vague word ever. Lines were neat. Shading was neat. A perfect drawing from memory of Voltron was not neat. Neat was one step of slang from natty, and natty was even worse than unironically using "radical" in a non-memetastic context.

"Thank you."

Keith began doodling on the square of the paper, fabricating something for Lance to be drawing. Two stick figures on a bench so disproportionate it was practically a torii gate; a bespectacled pigeon; the gays from that ASDF episode; "Loss" hidden in a scribbled Stonehenge. He didn't spend too much time thinking "what would Lance do", so whatever came to mind appeared in slightly askew perspective.

"Do you think Space Dad likes the public librarian? He goes there a lot for a Physics teacher who's been to space," Lance mused.

"Maybe he actually reads from time to time, unlike you."

"I will have you know, I memorized the entire Bee Movie script over the summer," Lance clapped a hand to his chest. "She is pretty, though."

"How old is she?" Keith rolled his eyes.

Lance stood and handed in both their papers just as the bell brought everyone out of their art-block-fueled misery.