Work Text:
“What did you say again, Pidge? Two tablespoons of agave nectar?”
Shiro bent down, taking another snap of the pre-workout smoothie, dark purple with a mix of foreign berries he could barely remember. He took a sip, nodding his head towards Hunk in approval of the taste.
Takashi Shirogane, known for having over 50 thousand followers on Instagram and counting, with abs of steel and a heart of gold to match, was completely and utterly unable to cook. Miraculously, he got by on the first 20 thousand with his gorgeous, toothy smile and surprisingly solid workout tips, but when it became clear with every brand deal that he had to add in the odd meal prep plan here and there, he was at a loss.
So Shiro employed a trio: Pidge as his social media expert, Hunk as his meal prep consultant, and finally Lance as his on again off again skin care routine assistant.
His tiny social media consultant gave herself a solid smack in the forehead, hand running agitatedly down the side of her face. “Two teaspoons of agave nectar, Shiro. What are you going to do if your fans realize their fitness god can barely get by without burning water?”
Strangely, she heard no exasperated quip in response to her mentioning of his cooking skills, or lack thereof. Instead he stood next to his kitchen island in his brand new promotional Nike’s, custom colors to match his black and white aesthetic. His expression was troublingly familiar, far off and forlorn.
“Shiro, you better not be looking at Keith’s Instagram page again.”
A sputtering, unflattering noise left his mouth, one hand out to swipe his phone out of a straight dive into his berry smoothie, somersaulting in the air after it had slipped out of his grasp. “Of- of course not Pidge. I’m not- following him or anything.”
She squinted at him, allowing him to squirm under her bespectacled gaze. Pidge knew he hadn’t followed Keith, given that she had access to each and every one of his social media accounts. Still, it didn’t account for the fifteen times he had accessed Keith’s Instagram last night alone. He had only six pictures on it, and nearly all of them were of his knife collection and progress on his bike mods.
Keith did have one photo of himself though. Backlit soft black hair, purple eyes, and an expressionless appearance, he looked like “The Emo Who Leapt through Time”. Begrudgingly, she had to agree he had a pretty face, one that she wished Shiro didn’t spent his time from 1:00 am to 2:30 am looking at.
He had shown up one day out of the blue, in the comment section of a picture where Shiro had asked his followers for workout advice.
“I recommend the Lateral Band Walk-out.”
And it had done wonders to Shiro’s already godly butt and thighs (rumored to be insured for over five hundred thousand dollars each asscheek. All absolute bullshit, but maybe Pidge really had to start looking into that). That single correspondence had lead to a fixation, and often times he scrolled for ages until he found that single comment he was looking for.
“Looks like the Lateral Band Walk-out worked out for you.”
Hunk and Lance didn’t get it, but Pidge knew. It was obviously love at first sight for the both of them.
She wrinkled her nose. Disgusting.
“Shoot!” Hunk groaned, digging through the grocery bag with desperation in his eyes. The two of them turned to him as he slumped dramatically over the kitchen counter. “I forgot to get the red peppers to go with the Harissa for the seared salmon.”
They shared a worried look before Shiro shrugged a single, beefy shoulder. “Don’t worry about it Hunk, I could run to the grocery store and get them.”
Ever the good guy, of course Shiro volunteered first to go into the dry heat of a Los Angeles summer. He was already shoving his wallet into his pocket before Hunk had the chance to protest.
“Shiro!” Pidge called out as his fingers turned the doorknob. He swiveled, grey fitted tee stretching over his perfectly sculpted biceps.
“Remember what I told you, alright?”
He sighed, worryingly disappointed. “No following any of my fans.”
The door slammed shut, and she ran her tongue over her teeth. This was getting to be a problem.
Maybe she should stick reminders on his bedroom walls.
#SHIROISNOTFOLLOWINGKEITH
Maybe wearing black gloves at noon in the middle of summer was a bad idea, Keith thought to himself as he wrenched his helmet off, hair plastered to his cheek in sweat. He had only meant to go to the store for something quick, but maybe he should have suffered the extra charge of getting someone to deliver his groceries to him. He peeled his fingerless gloves off and shoved them into his pocket, trudging towards the supermarket.
As he reached the bastion of air-conditioned retail, his phone buzzed, alerting him that his favorite Instagram page had updated. He eagerly swiped the notification, excitement rolling over him like the cool wind coming from the vents. It was an image of a drink with a violet hue this time, the short caption of “Pre-workout smoothie!” and a couple fruit emojis trailing after it. Below was the recipe to those who were interested, of which Keith was definitely one of.
He leaned on the display case of doughnuts, ignoring the whining of children begging their parents for an ice cream cake as he focused on writing a comment. Keith’s heart pounded in his ears as he composed his thoughtful response:
“Looks like it tastes good.”
He hit send, adrenaline surging through his veins, hoping that his reply wasn’t too forward or overbearing.
Keith hadn’t meant to follow a Social Media Influencer, or whatever they liked to call themselves. Hell, half the time he didn’t understand how Instagram even worked, finally creating an account after Lotor’s endless prodding.
But late one night he happened on him. Takashi Shirogane, deadlifting 400 pounds, a triumphant grin and a hand reaching to pull back his glorious, white bangs out of his face.
“This guy’s a genius.” Keith whispered, stars in his eyes.
He had a celebrity crush for the first time in his entire life.
What was he here for again?
Right, ingredients for tonight’s dinner.
He spun around, walking towards the produce section with the tiniest upward quirk of his mouth. Keith knew that Shiro had thousands of other comments from adoring fans to sift through, he was one in the sea of voices, and he couldn’t expect to be seen. Still, with every youtube video and Instagram photo, he couldn’t help but feel connected to him even in the tiniest ways.
Maybe one day he would think of something impressive enough to say to Shiro to finally earn a response.
Rounding the corner, Keith finally spotted the last thing he needed before heading off to the cereal aisle. He reached out, hand coming in contact with another’s.
Instantly he recoiled, turning to see who had managed to grab for the exact same red pepper at the same time.
“Shiro?” Pidge called out, wandering through the heaps of onions and shelves lined with perfect three piece packages of romaine lettuce. “Shiro we need to get going. Matt and Lance are here for your skincare routine shoot-”
Holy fucking Christ on a non-gluten cracker.
She rubbed her eyes, hoping her vision was finally failing her after the endless years of their abuse in the cold blue light of a computer screen.
There Shiro stood, hand in hand with another guy just a head shorter than him. The mystery man had a strangely familiar, yet horrifyingly outdated haircut, black hair just barely touching his shoulders, studded belt around his black jeans to match and everything.
It couldn’t be.
#HEISLOOKINGATKEITH