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Life as a twenty one directionless broke college dropout who works at Wal-Mart really isn't as bad as it sounds. Well of course it's shitty if you compare it to other people's lives, the neighbor's grass is always greener and their parents are forever richer and- No, he refuses to fall into a pit of bitterness and doom. Lance is not that kind of guy. He's the kind of guy to smile, shrug it off, and look forward instead. Find the small things to get him through the days. Or nights, in his case, since the night shift pays better and it's not like he's doing anything with his life anyway- Stop it Lance, remember the pit of doom! and except, it's almost time... no need to be bitter.
He glanced at the clock again. 2:34am. He's a little late, today, then. That's fine. Lance likes the anticipation.
Every other night or so, ever since he started working there two months ago and probably way before too, a tall, well built, unbelievably handsome man would come in. He was so different from the usual night crowd consisting of junkies, drunks, and potential serial killers, Lance's attention was naturally drawn to him. For once, he was clean shaven. A part of his hair was white, and Lance could never figure out if it was a fashion statement or some sort of discoloration. Either way, he thought it looked badass and with time, came to think of him as Mystery Whitepatch Man, or MWM. He was always kind, one step above mere politeness. Always greeting him, asking how he is and thanking him for the service at the end. He was always freshly showered, his hair often still damp. Always wore a long sleeved hoodie, though that wasn't very surprising considering it was early January, and cold as fuck. Always paid in cash, Lance noted bitterly with every visit. Had he paid with a credit card, at least he'd have a chance to be a creep and glance at the name.
With time, Lance found himself closely observing the man, trying to decipher more information from his actions and appearance without outright asking, because that would be creepy, right? Lance may be fooling himself, but at least he's getting through the night.
Usually the man got the basics: milk, vegetables, eggs, bread, meat, cheese. Approximately once a week he bought ice cream: always Ben&Jerry's, the flavors alternating. A man of good taste, Lance decided, as if he hadn't already come to that conclusion the first time he passed through his register. Cares about his health, but not a complete health nut. Showered right before leaving home, clearly, though Lance had no guesses on that one. While Lance hadn't exactly let his questions go, he was beginning to accept that some things about MWM might remain a mystery forever.
Another ten minutes rolled around when Lance's ears picked up the soft woosh of the automatic doors opening. Was it him? Most likely, since it was the right time, and no one entered the store for the last half an hour at least. He squirmed in his seat for the half a minute it took the costumer to make the trip from the door to his field of vision, cursing the high walls of stacked toilet paper blocking his view to the door.
As the footsteps came closer and closer. Lance realized he was sitting as straight as an arrow, his neck craned in effort to see behind the high wall and forced himself to relax and sag back in his seat. Two heartbeats later, Mystery Whitepatch Man was revealed in all his 1.90m high glory. He was at least that tall, Lance determined after multiple close inspections consisting of running his eyes up and down his body as much as he could afford to without being too obvious. Very scientific stuff.
The man, surprisingly, was already looking his way - searching for him? - and graced him with a small blessed smile and tiny nod of familiarity. Lance returned the gesture to his best ability, fighting off a sudden urge to wink at him. Inappropriate! And will probably put him out.
Mystery Whitepatch Man carried on his way and Lance released a breath he was unconsciously holding. Damn. He was as impossibly hot as always. His sweatshirt looked new, and bigger than usual. Now, if Lance was a petty man, he'd mourn the loss of outlined muscles. But he was the optimist kind, and in this case, the full half of the glass was how cute he looked in it. Even more huggable than usual, snug and cozy and warm.
"Oh man, you are in so deep and you don't even know his name." Hunk's voice startled him, his tone a mixture of amusement and pity.
It was telling that he hadn't noticed his coworker coming up and leaning on the moving strip until he was right up in his face and talking to him.
"Shut up." Lance grumbled, his face heating up. It was one thing to be an embarrassing person inside your own head, where you're generally accepted and supported, and another thing entirely to have someone notice you doing it. And Hunk? He always noticed. He was there the first time Lance met MWM, watching him go red in the face, declaring "You have a crush!" the moment said costumer was out the door.
There wasn't even any point denying it, so Lance didn't even try. Not that first night, and not any night Hunk would tease him about it since.
"What? It's true." Hunk shrugged, grinning at him.
"Yeah? So? It's not like I can just ask him, you know. That'd be totally weird. Besides, he's still somewhere around here, what if he hears you?" He hissed back.
"Then he'll finally ask you out, and you-" Hunk pointed at him, his voice louder than Lance would have liked, "Will be in my debt forever."
"Cut it out, that's not funny. It's just one sided, obviously. Just me, pining, doing my thing, trying to keep my voice down so he won't hear us and be really uncomfortable." he gave the other a very pointed look.
"Lance, my man. You know I think highly of you, right? But are you blind? He totally likes you. He used to only come here like, once a week tops, okay? Now we see him at least three times a week. Probably more. Plus, can you remember even one night you were here and he didn't go through your register?"
It was the same speech every time. Hunk would try to convince him he actually had a shot, and Lance would dismiss it as "Pssht, just coincidence. Means nothing." Because really, he wasn't sure at all he wanted his hopes to rise only to be shattered one day.
Hunk snorted, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, dude."
Lance was quick to change the topic of conversation to more comfortable grounds: Bitching about their new uptight manager, Allura. She wasn't excessively strict, it's just that they had a huge slob before her who let them do whatever the fuck they wanted as long as he didn't have to hear from them or from unhappy costumers, and so getting used to actually following the rules sucked.
Speaking of the devil, or her right hand in this case, Coran, the assistant manager who often worked the night shift, stepped out of his office to give Hunk a scolding look for leaving his seat. There was no one around! What does he even care? With an annoyed sigh, Hunk went back to his seat, where he would be doomed to stare at the air in boredom for the three something more hours until their shift ends.
The timing proved to work in their favor, however. MWM returned not a full minute afterwards, passed Hunk's register and headed right at Lance's.
He took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the encounter. Don't overdo it with the flirtations. he reminded himself again. No winking! Although MWM did look amused last time he winked at him but.. No! No means no, Lance.
Too soon and not soon enough, MWM has arrived. His hair was more dump than usual, almost completely wet, Lance noted. Had he hurried there? He shouldn't have, he should have dried his hair properly or he might catch a cold. Although, a big healthy looking guy like him probably had a pretty good immunity system too, right? MWM was looking at him expectantly, and only then did it register in his brain the other had said something and he completely missed it.
"Uh, what?" he asked dumbly.
"I was just asking how you were." MWM repeated himself calmly.
"Oh, yeah, uh," he should have guessed that was it and answered accordingly. After all, Shiro almost always asked for his wellbeing. "All good, you know, the usual," He answered vaguely, starting to scan the products. "Yourself?" He glanced up casually. Well, tried to. His eyes might have lingered a little lower on the way up, where the hoodie hung nicely from his wide shoulders and buff chest .
"Good, yeah. A little tired." MWM shrugged and started packing his things into a brown paper bag.
"Going to sleep, then?" What the fuck kind of questions is that even, Lance? It's nearly 3am for fuck's sake, couldn't you find at least one witty comment somewhere in your brain?
The other didn't seem to mind it much, though. His mouth curled into a wry smile that made Lance's heart squeeze a little too tight for his liking. "Hopefully." He said cryptically.
"Well, then, I wish you the best of luck with it." Drawing inspiration from the latest item he scanned - A Ben&Jerry's pint - Lance added, "May your dreams be as sweet and smooth as this ice cream." Oh no too much too much too much shit shit shit-
MWM seemed surprised, but thankfully not put off. "Thank you." he nodded thoughtfully. "Even though I'd rather not. This is Chubby Hubby, it's apparently supposed to have a bunch of pretzel chunks in it. So not so smooth, and probably less sweet."
Was he... Trying to be weirdly conversational, or just putting him down? Lance really couldn't tell. But damn it if he was just going to let it go unanswered, either way. "Ahh, see, that's where you're wrong. The chunks don't interrupt the smoothness, they counter and compliment it. Which means your dreams will not be overly sweet and leave you longing for their perfect comfort, but instead be interesting and balanced and leave you well rested."
Only a faint shadow of a smile on his lips, MWM nodded along, as if what Lance had just said was some deep philosophical truth and not a pile of hot steaming bullshit he made up on the spot. "Seems reasonable. I hope you're right."
That seemed to be the end of it. MWM paid, bid him goodnight, and left.
The phrase I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave went through Lance's mind. His hoodie may have been larger, but his pants were definitely tighter, and there was much to show.
"That. Was. Awesome. Dude! You totally nailed it!" Hunk's voice came from behind, pulling him out of his pleasant booty musings to congratulate him on-
On what, actually? Successful possibly-flirting that lasted about thirty seconds? As much as lance would've liked that to be the truth, it was more likely to be just a weird 3am conversation. And that was perfectly fine with him, when it was MWM on the other side.
_______________
Over the course of the next week, Lance hadn't seem much of Mystery Whitepatch Man. He caught a cold that turned into fever and had to call in sick. Of all the days he was able to work, he saw him only once, and he seemed in something of a hurry so they didn't even exchange anything beyond curtsy words.
It was a busy night, meaning he had about nine people go through his register instead of the regular three or four. To burn time, he found a piece of blank paper and tried drawing something from his dream: a giant robo-lion. He was miserably failing, but at least his pen was the right color - blue. Just like in his dream.
He was so deeply concentrated that once again, he hadn't noticed someone approaching until they put down their item on the strip and it caught his attention.
Lance raised his head only to nearly have a heart attack when he locked eyes with MWM. His heart skipped a beat. He was there only a day before, and Jesus, Lance had no time to mentally prepare himself, he was not ready at all.
"What does my ice cream say today?"
"Huh?" He could only stare dumbly up at the other. Shiny and soft looking, his hair wasn't wet for the first time since Lance started working there, and he was wearing eyeliner. For fuck's sake, won't you have a little mercy?
"The ice cream. Like last time..." MWM tried, shifting his weight... almost nervously? "I mean, it's fine if you don't remember." He waved his arm dismissively.
"I remember!" Lance burst, probably a little too enthusiastically. He mentally cringed at how obvious he was probably being. Keep it together, play along. He picked up the pint MWM chose today, pretending to examine it closely to give himself a little time to figure out what to say. It was Karamel Sutra Ben&Jerry's. KAMA SUTRA JOKE his brain screamed at him. NO! he screamed back at it. "Well," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "I say today's ice cream isn't about sleep. You look like you slept well enough." It was true, MWM did look less tired, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the makeup.
MWM gave him only a small, encouraging smile. Why was it so damn attractive, that slight curl of his lips? Lance lost all train of thought and had to rip his eyes away from the other to be able to talk again.
"Today's ice cream is about love." Lance said in a sudden surge of boldness, ignoring the way his face was trying to turn into lava. "The Vanilla part represents yourself, and the chocolate part represents your, uh... hypothetical partner. The caramel part in the middle means a future union. That's why it's halfway between dark brown and white, you see."
To his relief, MWM didn't look weirded out or anything. He only had that small smile gracing his lips while he nodded along to Lance's bullcrap. "Maybe love is more like caramel than I realized." He said, giving Lance a pointed look.
Was it a pointed look, though? Or did it just seem that way because he was looking through crush-tinged glasses?
The loud beep of the scanner startled Lance and to his embarrassment, he actually jumped a little. What did he expect, holding the ice cream right in front of the scanner? Whatever bold spirits took hold of him were apparently scared away by the sudden noise, because he had no idea what else to say beside, "That's, uh, 4.50." Honestly, a Kama Sutra joke might've been less mortifying to make.
MWM paid in exact change, flashed him one last smile, thanked him, bid him goodnight and left.
"Oh. My. God." Hunk whispered behind him, just loud enough for him to hear.
"That was so stupid, I can't believe I actually said that." Lance buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly.
"No, dude, come on! That went great! You can't deny it anymore, you're not that blind. He likes you!" Hunk made the short trip over to his register, leaning on the moving strip again.
"He doesn't, Hunk, come on. He was just being friendly, or something. He's so way out of my league... There's just no way."
"Fine. We agreed to keep it hushed, but since you're being completely ridiculous... The other night, remember when you called in sick?"
Lance nodded, curious and suspicious in equal parts.
"Well, Pidge came in to fill for you."
"Pidge? I thought they never worked nights. What do they have to do with this anyway?"
"They don't, this was a one time thing, just because Allura couldn't find anyone else. Anyway. Apparently pidge knows him."
"They WHAT?"
"Shhh! That's not the end of it." Hunk cast a glance around them, presumably to make sure they were still alone. To what purpose, Lance had no idea, since MWM had just left. "They said he knows their brother, that he's his doctor or something. Anyway! He must have felt comfortable enough, because he actually asked about you." He finished, looking smug.
Lance gasped and his eyes widened. "Don't lie to me about this, dude. That'd be super uncool."
Hunk grinned. "I'm not bullshitting! He said and I quote, "Is he not working tonight? The tall, skinny guy? With the pretty blue eyes and dark-ish skin?" then Pidge was all, "Lance? Why're you asking?" And the dude was totally fidgeting and looking awkward and he just mumbled that you're always here so he was just curious. He left right after, then I told Pidge about your crush and they said we probably shouldn't tell you about it, because it'd give you an unfair advantage or something."
His skin buzzed and tightened in goosebumps, his mind turned into a puddle that really, really wished it wasn't a dream. Stunned by all this new information, Lance could only squeeze out, "Why did you tell me?"
"I donnu man. I hate keeping secrets. And except, you guys can be really cute, and it's getting painful to watch this."
"Pretty blue eyes." Lance wheezed, slumping back in his seat. Well, his eyes were pretty and he knew it, but it was hard to wrap his head around the fact MWM thought so too. Speaking of which... "What's his name, then?"
Hunk hesitated. "I'm... not sure?"
"What do you mean "You're not sure"? You said Pidge knows him!"
"Yeah, dude, but they only said his name once!" He threw his hands in the air defensively. "You know I have a bad memory for names, I just... Forgot."
"It's fine, it's cool, sorry I blew up on you a little."
"Apology accepted."
Lance blessed, not for the first time, his friend's forgiving nature. "I guess it would be weird if I suddenly knew his name anyway. But it feels weird to still be calling him M.W.M."
"M.W.M?" Hunk inquired.
"Huh?" Oh, shit, he said that part aloud. "Oh, it's just... Uh..."
"Out with the truth, let's have it, Lance. I bet this one is good."
"Mystery Whitepatch Man." Lance grumbled, defeated.
"Ohhhooo this one is good," Hunk snorted loudly. "I mean, it suits him. Cute of you."
"Shut up! And get back to your seat, Coran's gonna come out here and give you another lecture on proper work ethics any minute now, and we both know you really don't want that."
"Fine, ugh. But at least think about it, alright? Not to push you or anything, but if you ask for his phone number, I'm willing to bet my entire paycheck he'll gladly give it to you."
Lance wasn't so sure, but it was nice to know Hunk believed in him.
_______________
Monday mornings sucked. Well, 2am is technically morning, right? On a second thought, every morning sucked. Every 2am he spent at work sucked. Work sucked in general. And it sucked harder than usual on Mondays, because they got new shipments and if the stock workers were too slow or missing in staff, some of the cashiers were called to help them. This particular Monday morning sucked the hardest. Not only were they missing in staff, but Rolo, their cleaning guy bailed as well, and Lance was suddenly demoted into an all-errands boy.
There wouldn't even be any "small things" to get him through his hellish shift, since none of his work friends were there to at least be sympathetic (Hunk. Hunk was pretty much the only one from work he could call a friend. He got along with Pidge, but they haven't met enough to be more than acquaintances), and MWM's last visit only a day prior. He almost never visited two days in a row, and even if he would, Lance would undoubtedly miss him because he was in the back unloading stupid egg cartons, cleaning the fucking bathroom or making another god-damned trip to the dumpster.
It was the seventh trip since his shift started, and his mood was steadily shifting from merely salty to bitter with a side of miserable.
He checked his phone - at least he could openly use it outside the store where no one saw him - and, as expected because it was fucking 2 am, there were no new messages. Very little facebook updates as well. He allowed himself a couple of funny YouTube videos to lighten his mood; No one'll notice him gone a few extra minutes, right? And even if they will, fuck them. This wasn't even the job he signed up for. Annoyed, he put down his phone on the edge of the cart and pulled it the rest of the way to the huge corporal dumpster, where he spent another good two minutes unloading the trash into it.
One of the bags ripped - and thank fucking christ it came from the office and was full of papers. If he had to deal with used tampons he would have disappeared into the night without a word and never came back. Picking up all the crumpled pieces of paper was annoying, and he was freezing the longer he spent outside, but it wasn't picking-up-tampons bad.
At last, he was done. Dragging the cart behind him, Lance made his way back to the store. What time was it anyway? If, against odds, MWM would make an appearance, he wanted to at least be around even if he couldn't greet him at the register.
Lance reached into his pocket. It wasn't there. Oh, right, of course, he put it on the cart. He turned around to grab it and-
It was empty. Completely empty. His phone was gone. Lance's heart dropped to his stomach, where it lay as heavy as lead.
Fuuuck.
Walking slowly, as if balancing a glass of hysteria on his head and fearing it might spill if he moved too fast, Lance made his way back to the dumpster. He looked carefully on the ground while he walked. Clearly, his phone just fell off somewhere along the way and he failed to notice. Obviously. He'll find it in no time and have a good laugh.
Except the gods hated him, so no, that didn't happen. He made it back to the dumpster without trace of his phone - which should have been pretty noticeable even in the dim light, with its tacky glittery cover.
Hands shaking, he started looking for it around the dumpster as well.
Fuck, I can't... I can't afford another phone... Why didn't I just put it in my pocket? Had to be a smart guy and put it on the cart? Why don't I ever fucking think?! Lance groaned out some of his building frustration, then started patting his pockets again frantically. Not there. He traced his steps again, all the way back to the spot where he discovered the loss. Nothing. He patted himself down again desperately, without real hope. No phone. Unless...
His eyes finally landed on the dumpster itself... If his phone, hypothetically, slipped into the cart... Maybe on top of one of the bags? Maybe it got tangled in the plastic, and when he threw it into the dumpster...
"No..." He whispered helplessly. "Please, no..."
Going into a dumpster and potentially touching a used tampon after all was so high up on his nope list it might as well have been in space. Still... Did he really have a choice?
Swallowing back his dignity, Lance approached the stinking metal container. It was almost his hight, with no holding points, other than the filthy rim. Ugh. Ugghhhh. He pulled his sleeves so they'd cover his hands, then reached up to grab the side of the dumpster and howl himself over.
Well, that was the plan, anyway. In reality, his shirt caught in a loose nail, jerking back the fabric so it no longer covered his hand and he accidentally touched the edge of the dumspter with his bare skin. Startled and grossed out, he pulled it away, lost his balance and fell back. But oh, no, of course that wouldn't be the end of it. It wasn't a soft fall, a harmless one. He landed on his feet all right, but since his balance was so widely off, he somehow managed to twist his ankle in the process and crash to the ground shoulder first. Right into a small puddle of what was either garbage juice or cat urine, probably.
Moving slowly and breathing shallowly, Lance straightened himself to a sitting position, hunched over his throbbing ankle. There was a lump quickly forming in his throat, and it wouldn't go away no matter how much he swallowed against it. His vision grew cloudy, defying his desperate attempt to blink back the wetness in his eyes.
His ankle wasn't that bad, he knew what a sprained one should feel like and that wasn't it. However, the trauma was still fresh, and it hurt like a bitch. Not to mention his entire left shoulder was soaked with something so gross he didn't even want to think about it, his phone was still gone so he couldn't really call for anyone to help, everything sucked, and he just wanted to be home in his bed, showered and warm and... To have someone by his side to comfort him and tell him he's loved.
Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, falling on his jeans. A long coming sob racked his chest, his throat squeezing around it so tightly it was getting hard to breath. Tilting his head back, he tried taking a steadying breath. Not here. Not now. Later, later you can fall apart and put yourself back together... Inhaling was easy enough. But then a flash of pain shot through his leg and he doubled over it, the air leaving him in another series of sobs. He gave in, letting the wave of misery wash over him. Fuck work, fuck college, fuck everything, he was going to sit there in the dirt and cry and not give a single fuck for once in his life.
And he did, until his eyes felt puffy and were probably bloodshot red, until his throat was raw, until his sleeve was wet with tears and snot he periodically wiped off his face, until he felt lighter, relieved.
He was mostly just sniffling with the occasional pitiful whine, thinking about how the hell he's going to retrieve his phone with his leg still messed up when he heard a voice call behind him, "Hey! Are you alright?"
Probably one of the stock people sent to check up on me... About fucking time too, I've been here what- at least thirty minutes now?
The truth could not be further away. Twenty meters away but closing the distance quickly, walked no other than his very favorite costumer: MWM himself. For a moment, the sight of him brought a cheerful song to Lance's heart. Then he realized how unattractive he must look, after a crying bout and stinking of whatever he fell into, and prayed for whichever god was listening to just open the ground and swallow him up for good.
"I thought I saw someone here, and then when I got closer it almost sounded like you were... Crying..." Recognition sparked behind his eyes. He crouched to Lance's eye level.
Lance was still too mortified to do anything but stare at him wide eyed.
"What happened?" The man's tone was so gentle, held a promise of comfort so tempting that Lance found himself spilling the story before he even had a chance to filter anything.
"I might've threw my phone into the dumpster so I was trying to climb it, you know, so I can find it, because I need to find my phone even if it means touching a used tampon. But I can't even do that right. I just... Fucking fell, and twisted my ankle, and then I fell into that puddle," he pointed at it, "And it's probably like, cat piss or something, and naturally that was pretty upsetting, so yeah I cried a little."
"It's not cat piss, probably just rain water. A little dirty, maybe, but not as bad."
A surprised snort escaped Lance, then turned into a chuckle. He had a point, actually, but... "Of everything, that's what you decided to comment on?" he teased.
"Well, you said that was what made you cry, so..." MWM shrugged.
Lance snorted again. "I guess it might be rain water."
"I'm sure it is, don't worry." MWM's smile was wide and assuring.
Suddenly Lance became very aware of how close they were, and of the fact this was the first time they had ever interacted outside of their cashier-costumer roles. Asking for his name seemed so easy now. Not inappropriate, not weird or creepy. Why had he ever even worried? "I'm Lance." He said, holding his hand out. "I get if you don't want to touch my hand though, it's kinda dirty."
"I'm Shiro." The other grabbed his palm without hesitation, shaking it firmly. His hand was warmer and bigger than Lance's, and he'd be lying if he said that wasn't a turn on. Without leaving his hand, Shiro asked, "Can you stand?"
"I'm not sure, I haven't tried yet, but I think it'll be fine."
"Alright, we'll try. If it hurts too much tell me, I'll carry you over somewhere cleaner to sit."
Lance noted how casually he seemed to talk about carrying a full grown man at least a couple of dozen meters. Those guns weren't for show only, then. Damn. He nodded, and Shiro stood up, then pulled Lance right after him.
He winced when the sudden motion sent a jolt of pain through his leg, but it quickly subsided and he steadied himself.
Shiro was fast to grab his side and help balance him. "You good?"
Pressed against him, Lance could only choke out, "Mhmm, yes, very good." Damn his lack of filter. "It doesn't hurt that bad anymore."
Did he imagine that little amused smile in response? It disappeared quickly, but for a moment... Shiro slowly pulled away, almost making him wish he'd have lied just so they'll stay pressed together.
"Thank you." Lance said honestly. "I should get back to looking for my phone, though. I've been gone for a while now, I should probably get back as soon as I can."
He almost turned to the dumpster again when Shiro stopped him. "What? You can't go in there, you'll fuck up your leg even more."
"Well, I kind of have to, you know. My phone is still in there and everything."
Shiro was silent only for a moment before - "I'll find it for you."
"What? No, I can't ask you to do that-"
"You didn't ask me, I volunteered. Problem solved."
"But..." Lance whispered, haunted, "What if you'll touch a used tampon?"
"Why are you so worried about used tampons anyway?" Shiro asked, buffled.
Lance shuddered. "You don't want to know."
"You know what? You're probably right. I'm still going in there, so-" he pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it over- "Put in your number."
"Oh, is that how it works? My knight in shining armor embarks on a quest in a pile of trash to bring me back my phone, and all he asks in return is my number. Very symbolic." Lance mused out loud as he punched in the digits.
"I meant so I could call your phone, it'll ring and the screen will light up and it'll be much, much easier to find." Shiro explained, his expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
Lance paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, "Oh. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I thought-"
"That doesn't mean you're not welcomed to save your number on my phone, though."
Damn. Even through the shrill scream filling his brain, Lance could appreciate how fucking smooth that was.
Nodding weakly, he typed in the rest of his number, then, before Shiro would change his mind, saved it under "Sir LANCElot".
"Alright. I'm gonna jump in, then you make the call." He instructed.
Lance nodded. "Yes, sir."
Shaking his head, Shiro walked over to the dumpster, easily flinging himself over the side with just one hand.
Was there anything about him at all that wasn't a turn on? By this point, Lance was pretty sure the answer was no.
He hit the call button, and in moments, the sound of Lady Gaga's blessed voice singing "we were born this way" filled the night air. It was muffled, which meant it was probably covered by bags of trash.
"Do you see it yet?" Lance called after a few moments of Shiro waddling inside the dumpster, moving trash bags from side to side.
"Not yet," He called back. "But the sound is getting stronger, so I think I might be close."
Lance bit back more questions, fidgeting silently in place instead until Shiro suddenly rose, victorious, holding his phone in one hand above his head and declaring, "Aha! Found it!"
He was out of the dumpster as quickly and swiftly as he went in, and Lance limped forward to meet him, a huge grin plastered on his face.
"You really did it!"
"Yeah. And no used tampons were touched, if you're still worried about that." Shiro assured him, handing him his phone.
Lance returned Shiro's phone before taking his own and putting it into his pocket, making a mental note to save his number later. "Thank god. And thank you, Shiro. My hero."
Shiro snorted and shook his head. "Hardly a hero, but I'll take it. Do you need help waking back to the store?"
Lance was always a quick learner, and he wasn't about to repeat his mistake and refuse, even though he was pretty sure he could manage it alone. "Help would he nice."
Shiro stepped forward and easily slipped an arm around his waist, taking some of the weight of his foot. Lance leaned further into him, and it didn't look like the man had any complaints about it.
"Hey, can I ask you something else?" Lance said after a moment.
"Sure."
"Your hair-"
"I was born like that, I don't bleach it or anything-" there was a shadow of self consciousness in his tone.
"I didn't mean that." Lance snorted. "Well, that too, but... How come it's always wet when you come here?"
Shiro stared at him, suprised. Probably by the fact he noticed. "My gym is nearby. The only one open 24/7 in this area. And this is the closest supermarket, so... I work out, shower, then come here."
The explanation was so simple, made so much sense that Lance was almost mad at himself for not thinking about it himself. But then something else occurred to him... "What about today? Or about a week ago? When you wore the eyeliner?"
Shiro avoided his eyes. "You sure do watch me closely."
Lance's cheeks reddened, but he had a hunch about this, so he pressed on. "So what? A fine man like yourself... Did you especially come here? Even though you didn't go to the gym before?"
"So what if I did?" Shiro was still looking away, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was a faint blush high on his cheeks.
"So nothing." Lance almost sang out the words, clinging to Shiro tighter than ever.
Later that night, or more like day, really, since it was almost 8am by the time he got home, Lance lay in bed, staring at his newest contact: Shiro the Hero.
It took a little while, but finally he managed phrasing a message he was satisfied with, and gather the courage to send it.
Hey, wondering if you were free later today? I'm off work tonight :)
The reply came not even half a minute later:
Actually, I already had plans...
Swallowing back disappointment, Lance begun to type that it's fine, but received another message before he could finish his own.
How about Friday, though?
Smiling down at his phone, he sent a single word -
Perfect.