You just get used to that sort of thing.

What? Absolutely no personality?

Maybe.

You're not talking?

Another misunderstanding.

Fine, Lance. Fine!

She didn't slam the door this time, or abuse the floor with her heels. But Lance still skipped dinner. She was complaining about his sleeping quarters this time. Why? He had no idea—she was free to personalize everything else in the house. He even offered her his room to decorate, but that frustrated her further.

She wasn't really mad about the room—she'd been in a weird mood all week. She'd literally been doing back flips for the infidels they called their peers, but she still hadn't made any friends. Lance didn't like to think that Kimmie counted. Yuck. That was a good Earth word—yuck. It conveniently described many creepy, awkward, annoying things in one neat syllable.

It described the whole day, really, but Lance was already taking it out on his body—pushups, situps, pull-ups, up, up, farther, farther. He wanted to feel completely exhausted tonight. He wanted to fall asleep quickly and guiltlessly. That was the one problem with him and the princess actually getting along. He felt guilty after their arguments now. She'd probably apologize in the morning; she was usually the first to apologize.

The exercises weren't really doing it. He had half a mind to sprint around the neighborhood, but he didn't want to leave his room. It represented the end of the road, end of the day, and leaving it would probably just give him too much space to think up apology speeches (which would replay horribly in his mind, each and every time). He had no gift for words.

What was wrong with this room? The space was terrific, and the mattress was fit for—well, not a princess, but a spoiled soldier. What's more, the room had all his equipment, a lock on the door, and a perfect view from the window. Lance wasn't used to windows—his barracks had been dark, sometimes underground, sometimes on ships (where the windows offered nothing but blackness; where no breeze could travel through on a hot and restless night).

His room was plain as paper, but maybe he had simple tastes.

Maybe you just get used that sort of thing.

Go here, go there, wear this, we'll stop here for the night. Lance was a military man for life, and the most decorated thing about him was his uniform. Rooms, houses—temporary objects, far-off things.

Lance stopped himself mid-curl, lifted himself up and relaxed his body. He made his way toward the closet. It was the one clean thing about his room—he had carefully emptied it of cobwebs and dust before hanging his uniform in the far back corner. It was the first thing he checked when he entered his room—to make sure it was still there, he guessed. To remember that he was a Galalunan lieutenant and not some drool-worthy high schooler. Yuck.

Sometimes it was hard remembering that Ilana was princess too. Or that she was not merely a precious object with "Caution" stamped all over her. But it was easy to forget that he was a capable lieutenant when he hadn't the faintest idea about handling the princess' strange requests and human pleas: he wasn't prepared for that. He wasn't prepared for her opinions, her…flaws.

It should have be easier, interacting with a robot and a higher-than-thou princess. That's what Lance had been prepared for; minimum socializing, just get the job done. Instead he encountered Ilana's feistiness and vulnerability, Octus' arrogance and Kimmie fetish, and, and, and friendship, for Tarax's sake!

Lance traced the bridge of his nose, sighing. He hated throwing wrenches into the whole thing, hated knowing that he was part of the occasional tiffs.

Well, what did she want? Posters, maybe (he still had that Alien Death Hammer thing). And he was sure he could have Octus do something to make his room more "personable." Oh—just, just. Lance resisted the urge to gag.

Sorry.

What was that, Lance?

I did put up a poster.

…

I can't read your thoughts, princess.

I accept your apology.

You'll stop bugging me?

Thanks, too. I was being childish again.

Nah, you were just being yourself.

…I'll ignore that. And I'm sorry too.

…

…

It was pleasant.

And he'd apologized first.

Well, my fresh start in fanfiction has begun. Since my absence I've enrolled myself in several new fandoms. Namely: Sym-bionic Titan! I can't believe how much I like this show. Well, here's some IlanaXLance (platonic or otherwise). I've decided to give myself an ABC challenge on this one—this started as a drabble, but it's going to become A: Apology. Stay tuned for 26 more (hopefully).