The Best Klance Fanfictions

Not That Bad

The kid’s dark eyes linger on Lance for about two seconds before he turns them back toward the front of the hall, like he’s never seen Lance before in his life.

Seething, Lance sinks into his chair. This is going to be awful.

After taking his books out of his bag, he stares hard at Dr. Coran’s ginger moustache so that he’ll resist the urge to turn to the left and glare at the dark-haired mullet guy. The professor’s words are passing in one of Lance’s ears and rattling around uselessly in his head before slipping right out the other, but at least he’s a focal point.

He does his best to acknowledge Shirogane when he comes over to give him his handout, as promised, and then tries to pay attention to the lecture about black holes. Sure, maybe the main reason Lance took this class was so that he’d have an excuse to see his friends during the day, but when he’s not nudging Hunk and whispering something about the cute girl in the next row, he does actually enjoy Dr. Coran’s teaching. The guy’s a bit eccentric – no one has been able to figure out exactly where he’s from, or if Coran is his first or his last name – and the unofficial theory is that maybe the reason he knows so much about the origins of the universe is because he was there.

Not even the notion that his professor might be an alien is enough to cool Lance off, though. He can’t stand aloof holier-than-thou types who think they’re so much better than him – firstly, because no one is, thanks very much; and second, it’s just a shitty thing to do! – and as of last week, this guy really takes the cake.

So, what happened last week? Oh boy, Lance is getting mad just remembering. Their university had arranged a sporting event with one of the neighboring schools, the kind of thing that made Pidge groan in horror and fake a stomachache, and gave Hunk a real stomachache for days. Lance, though, was pumped. This was competition. This was battle. This was a chance to prove himself!

“Lance, nobody cares,” Pidge said, in an infuriatingly reasonable tone of voice. “It’s an amateur thing. Just for … fun.” They shuddered, incapable of understanding how the humiliating public spectacle of amateur sports could possibly equal fun in anyone’s mind.

“Yeah, but think of the girls, Pidge,” Lance replied, equally reasonable, and slung an arm around his friend’s small shoulders. “They will be there. Watching. Watching me.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Pidge made a sound like “ugh” and shrugged him off.

“Whatever, dude, enjoy your sweatfest. I’ll be catching Pokémon with Hunk, just so you know what you’re missing.”

“Have fun!” Lance called, convinced that he would be the one having a better time.

Needless to say, he was wrong. Oh, things were just peachy at first: warming up on the football field, swinging his long limbs and running a slow circuit to scope out the surroundings and any particularly hot girls, excited at the chance to move his body, to score, to win. With Pidge and Hunk, the most competition he ever got was Mario Kart or nerdy card games, and they tended to, uh, kick his ass. But now? This was his moment.

Except when it turned out that it wasn’t. Lance dealt pretty well with competition when it was coming from the other team: a bar to measure himself against, a goal to strive for. He wasn’t as good at handling being outdone from within. Which he was, repeatedly. By whom? Why, mullet guy, of course!

Lance grits his teeth, sure that the hate waves he’s broadcasting must be palpable.

In the relay, each university had two teams. Both of theirs beat the other school, but the deceptively skinny kid in the red T-shirt and stupid too-long hair outran Lance on the last stretch. During the soccer match, they were on the same team, and not only did the guy score a goal: when Lance was in the perfect striking position, he sent him a pass that was so smoothly, deftly done it took even Lance by surprise, and he stumbled, botching the opportunity and losing them the point. When they played capture the flag, the mullet kid captured the first flag. And so on, ad infinitum.