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Keith was not short. 5’3 was a perfectly normal height for a 19-year-old man-boy.
Okay, so maybe he was a little short, but he would never say that out loud. As far as he was concerned, you weren't short unless you were Pidge and below. Keith was taller than Pidge, so he was far from short. Maybe even tall.
Someone who was definitely not short was Lance. This bitch was 6’4 and loved to rub it in Keith's face. He would constantly be reaching for things two shelves higher than Keith could ever possibly imagine, and it was really starting to piss Keith off.
Scratch that, it was pissing Keith off. In fact, it was pissing Keith off to the point where even looking at the top shelves pissed him off.
The annoyance had been building up over the past months, all starting when he got a job at the new Starbucks. Lance had immediately noticed Keith's disadvantage and has been picking on him since.
This particular day was no different. Keith was trying to reach up on top of the shelf to grab his bag, which contained a pack of hair ties that Keith really fucking needed. It was the middle of June, and his hair was sticking to his neck. Not fun. He was close to giving up before Lance swooped in, snatching the bag up and handing it to Keith.
“Here you go. Maybe you should try growing a few inches,” Lance said, and Keith swore the only face Lance knew how to form was a smirk. “Or… a few feet, perhaps.”
Keith huffed. “I would if I could. Why the fuck was my bag on the top shelf, anyway?”
Lance watched Keith fish inside the bag, pulling out what he needed. “You're cute, you know that?” He said, completely ignoring Keith's question.
“As if you don't tell me every single time you see me.” Keith sat his bag on a shelf that was actually suitable for his height and pulled his hair into a small bun on the back of his head. He turned, facing Lance. “Stop putting my shit on the top shelf.”
Lance snorted. “Sorry, mullet. No can do.”
“You're going to stop putting my stuff in places I can't reach, or you're going to have to get me a stool,” Keith said, finger jabbing Lances chest. He walked out, abandoning a smirking Lance, as he went back to taking orders.
That had been six days ago, and Keith hadn’t thought about the moment since.
Lance, on the other hand, had definitely been thinking about it. Clearly, he took the whole “stop fucking with my shit or get me a stool” comment very seriously.
Now, Keith was staring at a bright blue stool covered with heart stickers. In addition to this stool was a sticky note reading ‘ur bag is on the top shelf, cutie.’
Keith rolled his eyes and shouted, “Lance, what the fuck is this?”
Lance came sauntering in, just as obnoxious as always. “I made you a stool. Do ya like it?”
“It’s fine,” Keith said. He couldn't lie, the stool itself was decent, but the heart stickers are what got Keith. “I, uh, I like the stickers. They're… cute.”
Lance smiled as Keith used the stool to grab his bag off of the top shelf. “Almost as cute as you.”
Keith allowed himself to laugh at this, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Wow, Lance. That was absolutely terrible.”
“You don't like my pickup lines?” Lance asked, mocking offense, watching Keith pull out some chapstick.
“No, I love them,” Keith said, dropping the smile as soon as he realized what he had said. “Or-uh, no. They're stupid and I hate them, goodbye.”
Lance laughed as he watched Keith scurry out of the back, walking over to his place at the counter. “Oh my god. Have my good looks and charm finally won over the great Queef Cocaine?”
“Fuck you, Lance. I do not like you. That's ridiculous.” Keith rolled his eyes. “Go do something, stop watching me.”
Lance looked around the cafe.” There are currently no-” Lance was cut off by the ding of the bell. “There is currently one customer.”
Keith stuck his tongue out at him, then turned around to the customer, plastering on the fakest smile Lance had ever seen. “Hello, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get started for you today?” Then the smile was dropped, replaced by a face that just screams “Please stab me 4,392,874 times.”
“Um, I'll take the Cinnamon Chai Latte,” He said, flipping his so-blonde-it's-basically-white hair out of his dark blue eyes. He either didn't notice Keith's mood change or didn't care, continuing his order in his snobby voice, “as well as a blueberry muffin.”
“Is that all?” Keith grumbled.
“Keith, dear, please do speak up. I can hardly hear you.”
Keith rolled his eyes. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that will be it.”
Lance figured he may as well help Keith out, he did tell him to get busy, after all.
“Oh, Keith, I'll handle it. Why don't you talk to your friend?” He said, taking the cup out of Keith's hands.
Keith stared at Lance, dumbfounded, for a few seconds. “I am not friends with Lotor. I want to cut his dick off, not hang out with him.”
Lance turned around, seeing if the man, Lotor, had heard him. He hadn't. He was on his phone, waiting for his muffin like any normal citizen. “Will you tell me why?”
“Yeah, after he leaves.” Keith huffed, snatching the cup back from Lance.
Lance obviously wasn't being much of a help to Keith, so he decided to head to the back. What was he gonna do? Fuck with Keith's shit, probably.
In reality, it was less of a probably and more of a that's exactly what he’s going to do.
He had taken to hiding the short boy's bag in random places from the beginning. Now was no different. Lance grabbed Keith's bag from his normal spot and placed it in the top corner of their supply closet.
As he was shutting the door he heard Keith walk in.
“Are you gonna get it down for me, or will I need to use my overly-decorated gay stool?” Keith asked.
Lance sighed, opening the closet back up and grabbing it out. He handed it to Keith with a huff. “Can't I just have a little fun? I mean, you're itty-bitty! You're perfect to tease!”
Keith rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You have plenty of fun. Maybe too much fun, really.”
Lance ignored Keith. “So who was that guy? What's your problem with him?”
“We dated in high school. He cheated on me with some bitch named Acxa or something.” Keith said, crossing his arms.
Lance made a small ‘oh’. “Sorry. Anyways, why the fuck does he speak with a British accent?”
Keith snorted. “I have no idea.”
“You probably had his dick in your mouth at one point and you never thought to, I don't know, ask him about it?”
God, Lance was so dramatic.
“No, Lance. I never asked him about it. Just because I gave him a handful of blowies doesn't mean I was worried about his voice.” Keith said, giggles coming to a stop when Lances jaw dropped. “What?”
Lance pulled his jaw back up, furrowing his eyebrows at the ground. “What the fuck, Keith. You can't just say that.”
Keith cocked his head. “Why not?”
“You just…” Lance interrupted himself with a huff. “You have no idea what you're doing to me, man. You're so oblivious.”
“Oblivious to what? What do you mean?” Keith asked.
Lance shook his head. “Nothing, don't worry about it. Let’s go out front, you know Shiro’d get mad if we left a customer waiting for too long.”
Keith grabbed Lance's arm when he tried walking out. “No, Lance. What do you mean?”
“I like you, Keith. I like you and I like your hair and I like your face and I like that you're the size of a toddler. I sorta thought I was making it obvious, so at first, I just thought you weren’t into me but now I just feel like maybe you haven't caught on.” Lance said, and, wow.
Keith just kind of stood there for a second before realizing that he should probably respond. “I-uh-same.”
Lance laughed. “Same?”
“Yeah. I like you. I'm not sure why, I should probably hate you.” Keith said eyebrows scrunched. “You're really fucking annoying, and you're always moving my shit. You also-”
“Okay, okay. That's enough, holy shit.” Lance cut Keith off. “Do you, uhm. Would you like to go on a date this Saturday?”
Keith chuckled. “Yeah, sure. You're paying.”
“Okay, whatever you say, Shortcake.”