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

Seventeen: Q is for Quiet

Keep quiet, and then maybe I'll acknowledge your existence.

"Merry Christmas!" Maria jumped onto Pidge with a squeal. To her credit, Pidge turned the momentum into a twirl. "Pigeon! Pigeon! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Maria, and to all of you barbarians who don't know what a shoe rack is for."

"I own, like, three pairs of shoes," Keith grumbled. "Don't look at me like I use a shoe rack often."

Pidge gasped. "Get out of the doorway, you hooligans! Someone's at the door!"

She let Maria slip to the floor so she could answer it. Keith drifted to lean on the bannister that had been swathed with lights and tinsel. Along with their literally religious Christmas Eve Mass attendance, the Holts loved to be extra about their holiday spirit. Bae Bae noticed the commotion and bolted to the door, woofing in his ugly Christmas dog sweater.

"Space Dad?" Pidge cried. "Matt invited you? And Allura! Hi! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Pidge. Thank you so much for inviting us," Allura giggled and bent down to pet Bae Bae.

In proper stereotypical fashion, Shiro had taken the responsibility of holding their gifts. "Pet him for me, would you, Allura? He gets upset when I don't."

"Alright. Here you are! Who's a good boy? This is from Shiro. Isn't he considerate?" she cooed.

After everything and everyone had been piled into the living room, Pidge had calmed down considerably, so she didn't complain about sitting on the floor with Maria and Bae Bae, all of them buried in their matching sweaters. Shiro stood in the corner furthest from the mantle, atop which someone had humorously placed Snow Miku. Keith stifled a giggle as Lance hummed "Feliz Navidad" by his ear. This had to stop happening every time he was on the Cuban's lap, or they would never be able to save seats and be gushy at the same time.

"Anyone want an apple while you wait?" Hunk offered from the kitchen.

Ricardo accepted one and promptly presented it to Keith. "I'll share with Alé. Do the thing, man."

If Keith didn't mind showing off a little, he would have rolled his eyes. Every Korean knew how to do it, though, so what was the big deal? He split the fruit into clean halves and returned it. Ricardo gave him a middle-school-jock smirk. "Gracias."

Pidge tossed her mini speaker onto the center rug. Thanks to the miracle of technology, Lance's playlist turned on almost just as she did.

"Is that Miriam I hear?" Matt tossed a stocking at Pidge, but it fell short and landed on Shay's lap. "Y'forgot to hang mine, Kitto."

To be with you, though we're worlds apart, I'm singing, I'm calling, with all of my- doo doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo. "Not anymore, Matthew. Don't do it, Shay. You're too good for us."

However tempting it was to sing, ruining everyone's Christmas would be rude, so Keith refrained from doing so. He settled for tapping his fingers as Lance played with his hair. A chunk of the top log, crackling as it fell, brought him back to the pondering he did almost traditionally during these parties. Did the grate in front of the fireplace actually help with keeping the stockings from setting alight? Granted, they were small decorational ones, but an ember could slip through with little work. Maybe it would even drift to touch the garland that drooped from the mantle. The possibilities were endless.

"Easy on the peppers, Allura," came Matt's murmur from the kitchen. "I'm too white to handle too much spice."

A seating rearrangement and a dragging prayer later, Keith wondered if Matt was even able to eat kimchi with his pitiful spice tolerance. If he drenched the Garretts' coconut-milk-tossed rice in Allura and Matt's curry, the most dramatic difference would be the splash of color.

"'It's potato yellow, but it's potato flavor'," Pidge mocked quietly across the table. Keith scowled. There was no need to bring that slip up back.

"So, Shiro, do you still play piano?" Mr. Holt coughed with a sidelong glance at his daughter.

Shiro looked up from his ham. "Oh, from time to time. I've been busy."

However bland the curry, the excitement over presents didn't dull. Lance tapped his right-hand fingers on his knee under the table and swung Keith's hand with his left until the formalities of dinner ended with Hunk's grandmother downing her last bean. Being the youngest, Maria just had to put her dishes in the sink before running off to play house with Bae Bae and Señor Pato. The others held an informal rock-paper-scissors tournament over dish duty.

"Pobrecito," Alejandra mimped. "Lance, you always pick paper. Go scrub the pot."

An easy transition to a dab was a good enough trade-off to Pidge. A shiver cringed down her spine. Ew, constraints. Never mind. She unpaused the speaker.

Candy, she's sweet like candy in my veins. There Keith and Alé went, showing off how good they looked in ponytails. Here was Matt, gloating that his hair was ever so slightly shorter than Pidge's, so that he didn't have to put his hair up.

"Come here, Pidge," Allura dropped the dishwashing gloves in Miguel's hands. "I'll figure something out."

"Lance, don't try to hit the high notes," Keith grumbled.

"On one," cue the finger guns, "con-dish-tion, my good mullet."

"Nope; that's it. Be quiet."

With a completely unnecessary towel flip onto his shoulder, Shiro held up a bowl. "Hey, Matt, remember the time when we wasted one of Mia's Alka Seltzers?"

Matt slid across the floor. "Yep. I'll rinse this off again."

It took twenty minutes for the parents' guilt to kick in. Mrs. McClain was the first to usher them into the living room. Keith's father insisted Hunk's grandmother into submission. Would they be relieved or resigned when their children moved out next year; who was to know? Allura couldn't get a word of protest out before the kitchen was sparkling with the gleam only earnest scrubbing and lemon-scented whatever could produce.

"Señor Pato says Señora Garrett should get her present first, uh huh. And then we should have cookies."

"You raised a smart girl, Mrs. McClain."