Everything (and nothing, all in one)

4

Lance was here.

Standing his lounge, hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of an olive green jacket. His voice nearly sounded like Shiro thought it did. Admittedly, not exactly the same; the American accent was stronger, and many words seemed more intoned, but it was still quintessentially Lance. He seemed uncomfortable, swaying lightly from foot to foot as he gazed at the ceiling.  .

But he was here.

"You have a big house, ya' know," he said absentmindedly, spinning on one foot to accentuate his point, "your mom must be loaded."

Shit, he was waiting on a reply.
His mouth was dry, barren as a desert, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Could he even talk?
"She's a doctor," he eventually willed out, tripping over his words, "earns a lot."
Thankfully, Lance didn't seem to be offset by his nervousness, instead whistling low and spinning around once again. "I'm digging the minimalist effect, really neat." His hand trailed over a wooden bookshelf, "your entire house looks like an IKEA showroom."
"My cousins are Norwegian," Shiro hastily replied, backing against the wall, "they wanted a hand in the interior design."
Lance hummed in what Shiro assumed as impressed approval, before moving around the bookcase to sit on one of the sofas, and Shiro released a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

Why was he so nervous?

He opened his mouth to start some awkward small talk when Lance shot him a shaky smirk. If Shiro was being honest, it seemed that he was just as nervous, if not more.
"So, ya' come here often?"
"What can I say, I just really like it here," he replied, feeling the tension begin to melt out of his shoulders.

Lance's laugh, he discovered, was like wildfire. Everything it caught on suddenly lit up, ringing out and filling every nook and cranny in the previously sparse room. Pushing off from the wall gently, Shiro comfortably folded his arms over his chest, feeling himself laugh along.
However, Lance seemed loath to sit down, skirting his fingers over the upholstery. "You can sit down, you know?"
Wide-eyed, Lance shot him a questioning look. "It's just, the old guy-" he gestured to the doorway- "told me I was to stay on my side of the room 'on pain of being beaten to Woblay', wherever that is."
"Doesn't mean you can't sit down, though."
Lance shrugged. "Fair."
With that, he fell backwards onto the sofa, tipping his head backwards and sighing as his feet hung in the air. "Much better."
Once Shiro sat down opposite him, his head clicked back up. "I've just realised," he said slowly, "that we don't know that much about each other."
Shiro cocked his head. "But you know about my family, and my-"
"Yeah, but the really personal stuff!" Lance was sat up straight now, looking him dead in the eye. "Y'know, like favourite colours and movies and all that jazz."
"What's your favourite colour then?" Shiro replied, raising an eyebrow and laughing at the other boy's enthusiasm.
Lance thought for a moment. "Blue, probably," he admitted, "Mama always said I looked best in it."

Shiro agreed. Lance would look fantastic in blue.

He was snapped out of this thoughts by Lance pinging a rubber wrist band across the room at him. "Hey, Tic-Tak? What about you?"
"Tic-Tak?"
Lance shrugged. "Takashi, Tic-Tak, they share a sound, y'know?"
"Seriously?" Shiro asked around a laugh, feeling his grin widen.
Lance's blush began to crawl up his cheeks. "Shut up, it was a spur of the moment thing." He glared at the floor, pouting, before shaking his head. "Anyway, what about you?"
"What about me?"
Lance scoffed. "Your favourite colour, dumbass."
His favourite colour? It was never something he'd really considered before.
Then he looked at Lance. His hair was stunning from this angle, catching the light in all the best ways, and creating a chestnut halo around the top of his head.
"Brown."
"Brown?" Lance squawked, shooting him a playful grin."Any particular shade?"