Chapter Text
“Shiro, I’m sorry, I just can’t do this anymore.”
Keith looked up above the cash register he was manning, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He slyly glanced at the two men seated at a corner table, as if that area had granted them some sort of privacy. One had brown hair, head defeatedly dipped between his shoulders, one hand resting on his opposing arm, suspended in a sling. The other man, the one with the black hair, bit his lip, thick eyebrows furrowed, eyes downcast.
He closed his eyes and nodded, quietly accepted it. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry, I’m… I’m just afraid,” the other one continued. “I don’t want to die. I didn’t think… it would be like this. ”
The black-haired one nodded again. The side of his mouth pulled in disappointment. Keith felt bad for the two of them. But. Dying?
“I know, Adam,” breathed the black haired guy. “I wish it wasn’t like this. I really like you too.” He avoided Adam’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Was one of them dying?
“Be safe, Shiro.” And with that, Adam hobbled onto one leg, grabbed a crutch with his good arm and slowly made his way out of the cafe, the other arm pressed safely into him.
Keith worked in a cafe. He’s seen many break-ups, make-ups, and hook-ups occur in the little shop, but somehow this one felt different. Perhaps there was something in the air, but whatever it was, it pulled him toward the downcast boy in the corner table, still staring at the table, unmoving.
Keith glanced at the exit when the bell at the door rang, signaling that Adam had finally made it out of the shop. As if on cue, someone yelped and the sound of breaking glass cut through the air. It was at the corner table.
“I’m so sorry, oh my god! Are you okay?” A girl frantically looking back and forth between the floor, the glass, and Shiro stood in front of the table, blocking Keith’s view.
“Ah, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he heard Shiro reply. “Are you alright?”
Another day, another broken glass. Keith grabbed a rag and the broom and began to make his way to the table.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened-- I must have tripped or something,” the girl continued, her face turning red in panic. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
As he turned the corner of the counter, he saw Shiro had stood up, attempting to pat his pants with some tissue. His pants were stained dark brown with some streaks of red on his left leg.
“I should be fine, it’ll be alright,” he replied. “It’s only a bit hot.” He tried a sorry attempt at a chuckle, but it somehow only darkened the mood of the entire shop.
“Hey, uh,” Keith started as he approached them, keeping his gaze on the floor. “Let me go ahead and sweep this up for you guys.” The girl nodded and whispered an apology and left to go sit back down at another table, burying her face in her hands.
“Thank you,” replies Shiro as he continued to pat himself off of the coffee. It could’ve been a trick playing Keith’s eyes, but he swore he could still see the drink steaming off of his clothes. Keith nodded in reply and made quick work of sweeping up the broken shards.
Shiro sat back down onto his seat, but Keith could feel him staring at his back.
“You didn’t happen to have heard any of that, did you?” He half chuckled, half choked out. Keith glanced at him. “With uh, the injured guy. Or my ex, I guess.”
Ah shit, Keith thought. So Shiro was the kind of guy to get into a conversation with employees. He didn’t know what to say, he felt as if he were caught in a crime. He shrugged noncommittally, paused, thought better of it, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sorry about that man. Rough.”
“I’m not, like, a murderer of anything,” Shiro looked into his eyes. He scoffed. “I just have bad luck.”
It was Keith’s turn to scoff.
“Can’t be that bad, though, right?”
Shiro shrugged in reply. Keith threw the rag on the floor to soak up the remaining liquid.
“Depends on how you feel about living.”
“Uh.” A shiver ran down Keith’s spine.
Shiro hissed sharply. “Damn, I think I got some glass in my leg.” Keith inwardly cringed.
“If you want, we have some first aid stuff in the back. I can see what I can do?”
A soft, slightly sad, crooked smile blessed Shiro’s features and suddenly it seemed like he was glowing, as if flower petals were cascading through a cool breeze, and the icy block inside of Keith’s chest had melted into something alive and beating. Shiro smiled downwards and nodded. “That’d be great actually.”
And so they were in the break room with Shiro’s leg propped up on a chair and Keith sat hunched over next to him with a first aid kit on his lap. A coworker had agreed to man the register in Keith’s absence, but not before he could size Shiro up and down and lick his lips tellingly. Keith’s eyes couldn’t roll any harder.
“These pants are pretty much ruined,” Shiro dejectedly noted, holding a pair of scissors to the fabric. “I’d rather just get new ones and get the glass out.”
Keith nodded and watched the scissors cut through the wet fabric like butter. The skin underneath was red, very red, a first degree burn at the very least. The drink had been hot. Shiro was correct, there were little shards sticking out of his thigh.
“We, um, here,” Keith mumbled, searching through the kit and pulling out some tweezers and handing them to Shiro. “This should help.”
Shiro looked at it and back at Keith and cleared his throat. “Would you, uh, be able to do me a favor here?”
Keith met his eyes. They were apologetic, but sincere. Shiro scratched the back of his head. “Would you be able to pull them out for me? It’s a little too much for me to do by myself right now.”
“What? Are you serious?” Keith replied.
“I know, I know, but I really can’t do this on my own.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Keith conceded, his shoulders dropping. “Okay, fine.”
“Thanks, man, I really owe you one.”
It was the randomest thing Keith had ever done for a stranger. He was thankful for his agile fingers for being able to quickly pull out the shards. Shiro hissed every time he swiped an alcohol pad on top of it and placed a bandaid on each of the cuts. After doing a last survey, Keith had decided that the leg was free of glass.
Shiro nodded and stood up, looking stupid with his half torn jeans revealing a band-aid ridden thigh and wonderfully tight fitting black shirt. Keith followed suit and stood up as well.
“I’m all fixed up! Thank you Doctor…?” Shiro trailed off.
“...Keith.”
“Doctor Keith. My name's Shiro. This is more than I could have asked from anyone. Really, thank you.”
Keith’s heart dropped just a little bit. He didn’t even do much. “It’s no problem, man. I’m sorry you’re having a shitty day.”
“Shitty day,” Shiro repeated thoughtfully.
A beat of silence. They looked at each other.
Keith noticed Shiro had dark brown eyes, framed with thick black eyelashes. His hair was black and shaggy, but in a purposeful, stylish way that highlighted the best parts of his face-- not that there was a part of his face that was less than satisfactory.
There it was.
A tug. Something that just felt right. A gravitational pull.
Shiro cleared his throat and bashfully scratched the back of his neck.
“I should get going.”
Keith nodded.
“I really owe you one. Thank you.”
Keith nodded.
“Uh, alright. Guess I’ll just go this way then.”
Shiro slowly nodded at him and began to walk. Why did Keith feel like he was frozen in place? Why was his heart beating out of his chest? Most of all, why didn’t he feel the words coming out of his mouth?”
“You can make it up to me with dinner?”
Shiro’s stopped in his tracks and turned around, eyes wide. Keith finally crash landed back into his body, horrified. This guy literally just broke up with his boyfriend less than an hour ago.
“I mean- If you want to hang out, this wasn’t a great way to meet or--”
“That… That sounds fine with me.” Shiro fished out a tiny pen from his pocket and wrote his number on Keith’s palm. Keith gaped at the number.
“I-- okay? Okay. Alright,” Keith stammered. “We’ll hang out then. I’ll text you?”
“Okay,” Shiro smiled at him. “It’s a date.”
And then he was gone.
“A date,” Keith whispered as he looked at the phone number on his hand.