Hunk looks at Allura and sees starlight.
She’s laughing, spinning around in Lance’s arms as they hop along the brick-laden plaza. Each click of her heels, his oxfords, clack against the ground, matching the beat the two-man band offers from their place near the fountain. With every squeeze of his hands along her waist, her arms at his shoulders and in the air, Hunk feels lighter, tasting the feeling on his tongue as the food on the table before him begins to grow cold. The guitarist strums a match to his heartbeat, fondness an upbeat tune. Lance is laughing, orbiting around her, and Coran, a watchful moon standing aside the band with hands behind his back, smiles a fraction wider. Hunk is worried he’ll crack his face.
Allura is a solar system, Lance a planet that inhabits within, both tapping along to the pull of gravity. The violinist picks up her bow. Hunk dips his head and takes a bite of his sandwich. Out of the corner of his eye, the shimmer in Allura’s dress, black satin with a star’s identity, catches the evening’s sunlight. The rush of the fountain and laughter from the crowd around them settles into his ears.
“This should be good.”
Above it all, Pidge’s voice carries softly from beside him, her presence a satellite. Hunk hears affection in her tone as strongly as he’s experiencing it, aimed towards Keith’s direction. It’s hard to look away from the others, from Lance laughing and Allura’s dress fanning out to surround her in her own galaxy. But he can hear Keith beginning to laugh, an embarrassed key drifting high with the violinist’s notes, and a whistle times out to match a stomp echoing through the ground.
Hunk looks at Keith and sees him surrounded by stardust.
Dressed down in black, Keith stands up straight as he stares at Shiro and his red button-down, both alight from the sun. Shiro stomps again, almost sheepish, a smile at Keith tossed without care. The guitarist raps his fingers against the body of his instrument, Hunk’s heartbeats once again, curiosity painting his posture as he leans forward in his chair. A jeer is thrown across the plaza, painted in Lance’s voice, respectful of the music’s beat, and Keith sneers and dips to his left. Shiro laughs, bends to the right, and the jeer shifts into a hoot. Hunk smiles when he hears Pidge’s hands tap against the table, smiles when Keith weaves his own hand into Shiro’s.
They breathe in sync, footsteps a sure match, spinning around against the brick. Keith weaves in and Shiro out, trading smiles as if they were the very secrets of space. Shiro is the sun and Keith a comet whose tail burns into life, curling red as they revolve, tapping out patterns of constellations.
Hunk continues with his food and watches, a vibrant star in the center of the universe.