Chapter Text
“Shiro, why do you do that?” an eight-year-old Keith asked, patting the snowball he had created, smoothing the surface out. He glanced up from his work to stare at his brother through the snowflakes fluttering from the sky. There was a faraway look in Shiro’s eye as the older boy stared off into the middle distance, lost in thought.
Registering Keith’s voice, Shiro turned, straightening his back up from where he had slouched against the side of the house. “Do what?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Without thinking much about it, he brought the cigarette in his hand to his lips, taking a drag before pulling it away. Keith, watching in frustration, narrowed his eyes as his brother released the smoke into the air above them.
“That.” Keith pointed. “Why do you smoke?”
Shiro glanced back at his cigarette in surprise for a moment, then he sighed, “I don’t know…”
“Do you like it?” Keith asked, returning to his snowball.
Shiro huffed a laugh, his breath visible in the air as it swirled around and dissipated. “No, not really, Keith,” Shiro responded, smiling down at his younger brother.
“Dad says he doesn’t like it either,” Keith muttered, snuggling farther into the red scarf wrapped around his neck. His nose felt cold in the icy air but it was difficult to speak with the fabric covering half his face.
Nodding, Shiro watched Keith scoop handfuls of snow up with his mitts and press them into the lopsided snowball. He smiled sadly, “It’s a bad habit to get into, that’s for sure.”
Keith paused, inspecting Shiro through his long black bangs. “Can I try it too?” Keith asked, turning through the snow in his heavy boots to face Shiro.
Shiro laughed, reaching out to ruffle the trapper cap adorning Keith’s head. “No, you’re too young.”
Keith adjusted his hat, shifting it around from where Shiro had messed it up. He grumbled, “You’re too young too.”
“I’m fifteen,” Shiro reasoned.
“What about Acxa?” Keith interrogated, reaching out to pick up some more snow to pack onto the round ball he was forming.
“She’s too young.”
Keith huffed, irritated. Dropping into the heap of untouched snow on Shiro’s other side, Keith bunched together a tiny snowball. He began rolling it through the snow, collecting as much as he could to form a second snowball. “Did dad tell you that?” he griped.
Shiro, who was taking another drag of his cigarette, began shaking his head as he watched Keith play in the snow. “He didn’t, and you better not tell dad,” he said, gesturing to the cigarette.
Keith glanced up at Shiro again. “Why?” he asked.
His brother’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Keith. “Because…”
“Because you’re too young,” Keith grinned, smug at having caught Shiro.
Shiro stared at Keith, unimpressed. “Nobody likes a smartass, Keith, it’s not cute.”
Keith laughed, continuing to roll his snowball through the sludge of the backyard. “I won’t tell dad,” he promised, giggling through the words.
Shiro sighed in relief. “Thank you. And Keith,” from the snow, Keith met Shiro’s eye once again at his name, “don’t start smoking. You won’t like it either.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Smoke plumed through the air beyond the threshold of the window frame. It shifted as it ascended, dissipating into the late-night air. The sun hadn’t gone completely over the horizon just yet and was still visible through the haze of the sunset. He watched it, content and yet unsatisfied all at once. Memories of when he was younger, hanging out in the snow with his brother like there wasn’t a single worry in the world, like the whole world would wait for them, those memories always hit a soft spot for him, bittersweet in the flavour they left behind on his tongue.
There was a jingle at the front door. It wasn’t a customer, the shop having closed around an hour ago, but he turned instinctively, knowing exactly who was there anyways. A short girl with wild blonde hair and wiry glasses strolled through the store, passing all the potted plants on shelves and the floor, ducking underneath hanging planters and signs. It was difficult to see the back of the store from all the way over there, but she knew her way around from how many times she had visited him. It also didn’t help that he liked to keep all the lights off once the store closed and let the only light be the sunset from the window.
“You need to clean up in here, Keith, I seriously almost tripped over that stack of fucking planters,” she complained, stumbling forward a bit and glaring back at her shoe. She flicked some dirt off her shoe, then continued to make her way to Keith in the corner window.
Keith watched her on the other side of the counter with a grin on his face, still sat in his stool by the window. “I haven’t moved them yet, but I’ll get to it, Pidge,” he called before taking another drag on his cigarette.
Pidge grumbled as she made the rest of her way over to the window. “These stupid fucking planters are always in the fucking way. You never move them,” she groused, irritated.
Keith hummed, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I steal your cigs with this mouth.” She glared, grabbing the cigarette right out of Keith’s hand – although he let her – and taking a puff. She blew the smoke out the window before handing it back to Keith.
Pidge was Keith’s best friend, always had been. Sure, he had other friends, but none of them connected to Keith in the same way Pidge did, like a puzzle piece to his life that he wasn’t even sure he was missing until the slot had been filled. They did everything together when they were younger; cryptid hunting, binge watching shows, shitty board games at three in the morning. Keith used to own a scooter that Pidge would ride on the back of when they went to the corner store to get ice cream. Not much had changed since they grew up though, they still did that, just on Keith’s motorbike instead.
For all her talents with computers, she couldn’t keep a plant alive to save her life. Keith, being the complete opposite in that regard, had tried to convince her that plants weren’t that difficult. It seemed, however, that Pidge just really didn’t have a green thumb. Whatever the opposite of a green thumb was, that was what Pidge had. But she wanted plants, not just for their benefits, but also to support Keith in his plant shop and understand better what it was that he did. Keith appreciated that on levels that he would never be able to express through words, so he expressed it through plants.
“I need some help with Rover,” she frowned. “He’s not working properly.”
Keith snorted, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill, “He’s a plant, Pidge, not a computer. He can’t just ‘not work properly.’ What’s the issue?” Keith rolled the sleeves of his sweatshirt up, cracking the joints of his hands before getting out of his stool.
“He’s covered in these little white things, I don’t know what they are, but they look bad,” Pidge supplied, looking worried.
Keith grimaced, “Yeah, that’s mildew.”
“Mildew?! Plants can get that?” she cried, following after Keith as he ducked and swerved through the shop until he reached the back room.
“Of course! I gave you a Caring For Your Plant pamphlet when you got him, didn’t you read it?” Keith furrowed his eyebrows as he paused walking to look her in the eye.
She stared at him wide-eyed. “Uh…”
“So, no,” Keith sighed. He turned back to the storage room and rummaged through some shelves. “How many leaves are affected?” he shouted out to her, still reaching up to a shelf.
Pidge called back from the doorframe, “All of them, I think…”
“All of them. Great,” Keith deadpanned. “Are any of them deformed or damaged in any way?”
“No, I don’t think so…” she answered, her voicing tinting with uncertainty.
Finally finding what he was looking for, Keith pulled the bottle off the shelf and made his way back to Pidge, who was still generally in the main shop. “Here,” he handed the bottle to her, “put that on Rover, he should be fine. If any of the leaves are damaged, you need to pull those off.”
“Pull them off?” Pidge echoed.
“Yeah.” Keith closed the door to the storage room, glancing over his shoulder when he addressed Pidge.
Her face scrunched up, bothered by the notion. “Won’t that hurt the plant?”
“Not if you’re gentle,” Keith assured.
Pidge stared down at the bottle in her hands, frowning. “Rover is the best plant a girl could ask for.”
Keith huffed a laugh, “Yeah, I understand that feeling. Don’t worry, Rover’ll be fine.” He patted a hand to her shoulder as he smiled down at her. She glanced up, meeting his eye, and smiled back at him, illuminated under the heavy purple light coming from the window.
“You’re going to come to the coffee shop tomorrow, right? It’s good to get out instead of being cooped up in here with your plants constantly,” she asked, giving him the same disapproving stare that Keith had grown used to from Shiro.
He stepped past her, clicking his tongue as he did. “I’ll be there, I promise. I’m out of coffee anyways,” Keith grumbled. He made his way to the desk in the middle of the store and picked up the stack of potters from the ground. Careful not to step on any of his plants, Keith hauled everything back to the shelf near the storage room and set the pots down. He wiped his hands off on his red apron, smearing dirt all over it.
“Good!” Pidge grinned. “I have some questions to ask you about my biology homework anyways, so this is perfect.” Her gaze drew to the window as the end of the sunset grew nearer. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to get stuck out in the snow,” Pidge muttered. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Keith!” She hugged him briefly, which he returned. She grimaced at the dirt that was transferred onto her green hoodie.Then, she wandered her way back through the store until she reached the front entrance.
“Stay safe!” Keith called.
“I will!” Pidge shouted back in an exasperated tone. The door jingled again as she opened it, then she was gone.
Keith stood in the middle of his darkened shop, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. He sighed, content. Keith didn’t leave his shop a whole lot, mostly because his work and his house were in the same building, one on top of the other, but also just because Keith didn’t have a whole lot of places to go. He’d go to the coffee shop, the library, the corner store, and the park, but that was about it. And he was happy, he knew his friends were worried that he was too reclusive, but Keith was happy. Well, maybe not happy, but content.
He glanced over at his cigarette in the ashtray by the open window, debating whether he wanted to go to sleep just yet or not, when a loud clambering out front of his store drew his attention in. Keith paused, listening to the sounds of someone stumbling around, then a thud as though they were collapsing. There was a breath of silence. Keith waited, but no more sounds came from beyond the door. Slowly, Keith wandered over to the door, ducking under planters and stepping around shelves, but never taking his eyes off the door. He pulled a knife out of his back pocket, just a little switchblade, but it was enough to protect him should it come to that.
Keith gripped the doorknob as quietly as he was able, moving a little bit closer to the door to better hear any noises on the other side. Nothing. Keith turned the handle, ready for whatever may be on the other side. He flung the door open.
Rather than a serial killer like he – foolishly – suspected it to be, or a robber, or anything of the sort, there was a man in a giant blue coat laying on the steps in front of his shop, breathing heavily. Hair the colour of rich chocolate curled around his ears, framing his face in a way that didn’t take away from his face too much. He was objectively pretty, a gentle face with soft features, which matched his lanky build.
Panicked, Keith immediately put the knife away, dropping down into a crouch next to the man. “Are you alright?” he frantically asked, reaching out for the man’s arm. “What happened? Can you hear me?”
The man’s eyes opened, hazy and unseeing as they met Keith’s worried gaze. A grin broke out across his face and he pressed his wiry arms out beneath him. “Hey, there!” he slurred lazily. “The name’s Lance.” His eyes were pretty too, a bright shade of blue, like the sky.
Keith watched in confusion for a moment, unsure of what he had just witnessed. One moment the man looked distressed and in need of help, the next he was languidly winking at Keith in a dazed stupor. Then it hit him, the smell of alcohol. It wasn’t too strong, but it was there, coming off the man in waves. Keith’s face scrunched up in disgust and he stood back up. “Go home, we’re closed,” he ordered shortly. Keith turned to go back inside, leaving the man to stay out in the biting cold, drunk and alone, when Lance’s whining pulled him back.
“Wait, wait, please!” Lance pleaded. “I can’t get up; my leg is broken.”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “You broke your leg?” he clarified skeptically.
“No!” Lance argued, far too loud for Keith’s liking. “I didn’t break it! That imp broke it!”
“An imp broke your leg…?” Keith really wanted to just go back inside.
“Yeah, she was a green imp with glasses!” Lance angrily pointed down the road.
It clicked in Keith’s mind then, that he was probably talking about Pidge. She would kick a guy’s leg in if he was hitting on her, Keith had seen her do it, and this drunk guy seemed particularly keen on flirtation. His leg probably wasn’t broken though.
Keith sighed, hating himself for what he was about to do, but knowing that he couldn’t just leave him there in the snow, “Alright… C’mon, let’s get you up…”
He reached a hand down to Lance, who readily took it with a bright smile. Keith leaned down, allowing for Lance to wrap his arm around the offered shoulder and heave himself upwards. Lance wasn’t that heavy, especially for Keith. “You’re so strong!” Lance grinned, staring Keith in the eyes. Their faces were centimetres apart, and Keith couldn’t help the way his face heated up under Lance’s attention.
“You just don’t weigh anything,” he grumbled, turning towards the shop. Lance laughed in response.
They waddled along through the plant shop until they got to the stairs which led to the second floor. It was a lot more difficult to get Lance to figure out how steps worked than Keith had the patience for, but eventually they made it. Keith unlocked the door, kicking it open enough for them to fit through.
It wasn’t a very big place, but there was a kitchen, a bedroom, a living room, and a bathroom. He sat Lance down onto the couch in the living room carefully, making sure that he wasn’t about to throw up before backing away. “Do you have anyone that I can call for you?” he asked, still slightly irritated.
“No,” Lance answered airily, sliding down the couch until his face pressed into the cushion.
Keith frowned at him. He was about to complain, tell him that he couldn’t stay there on Keith’s couch, but something about the way he snuggled up and smiled happily into the couch cushion reminded Keith of a kitten, and he just couldn’t bring himself to kick the man out.
Keith sighed, “Do you want some water?”
Lance cracked an eye open, smiling wider. “No, I don’t think I can drink anything else.”
“Alright,” Keith nodded. He stepped away from the couch to return to his room, reminding himself that he was an idiot for letting this stranger into his house and leaving him unattended while he went to go sleep. He was going to get robbed or killed, or something! Keith berated himself as he trudged over to his bedroom. He would have to lock the door to his room, that was for sure. Maybe he could call Pidge and tell her what Lance looked like in case he was kidnapped and couldn’t give the police any leads himself.
A sleepy voice broke through his thoughts, “You’re so kind to me. Thank you.” Lance’s eyes were still closed when Keith glanced back at him, but there was a brilliant blush across his face – most likely from the alcohol, Keith thought – and the softest smile that Keith had ever seen. Whether he was a serial killer or not suddenly didn’t matter, Keith’s annoyance seemed to melt, replaced with a strange feeling of warmth.
He didn’t answer Lance, instead turning to wander back into his own room. The door lock was forgotten as he undid his apron, tossed it onto a hook by the door, yanked off his jeans and sweatshirt, and let himself fall into bed with only his boxers on. He shuffled up under the covers, reaching around blearily in the darkness until he could find the switch for his electric blanket. Then, once more before he fell asleep, Keith glanced to the window of his bedroom and watched the snow fluttering down.
“Fuck…” he muttered, “I left the downstairs window open…” Then he was out like a light.