Work Text:
There’s something in the colors that remind him of Keith’s eyes. Shiro knew, as soon as he saw the tutorial online, that he was destined to make this particular cake. Placing the large tupperware container gently down on the front passenger seat of his car, he does the seatbelt up carefully around it, making sure it’s fully secure. He gives it a final check, quietly proud of the best thing he has ever made, and stows his bag in the footwell before carefully closing the door.
On this journey at least, Shiro is the model driver. Given his precious cargo on board, he takes no chances, leaving a full thirty minutes earlier than usual, taking no chances. Getting to his office earlier means the parking lot is quieter, and he smiles to himself as he pulls into the space next to Keith’s red truck.
Being the only member of the team to cover the late shift means that the rest of the team is there before him. Today, instead of being at their desks, everyone is surrounding a table in the corner of the room. Shiro dodges the colorful bunting put up across the doorway for today’s bake sale as he greets them all. Posters have been on walls and doors around the department for the last two weeks, and Allura has been ending every call by telling whoever is on the other end of the line about their fundraiser for the local animal sanctuary, so they’re hoping for a good crowd.
Working as part of the facilities team in a small room on the top floor of the building doesn’t exactly bring much footfall. Visitors to their office tend to be either lost, or from the team of grounds and maintenance operatives down the hall. The most frequent visitor to their office also happens to be the same person Shiro sat next to during orientation. He’s not quite sure how spending time with Keith came to be the best part of his day, just that the silences between them are as comfortable as the conversation. They talk about everything, but there are no demands or expectations. No conditions. For the first time, Shiro has something in his life that’s easy.
Keith’s supervisor, Kolivan, comes into the office most mornings to grab stuff off the shared printer, which sits behind Shiro’s desk. This morning is no different, except that he is scoping out the baked offerings already set up. He towers over Allura, but carefully folds the ten dollar note into the donation box before delicately taking a plate from her. His expression rarely changes from stoic, so Shiro finds him hard to read sometimes, but Keith insists he’s a good guy. He nods at Shiro as he exits the office, chewing on a rogue strawberry slice.
“What time did you get in to do all this?” Shiro asks Allura, putting the box down on the sparkly tablecloth.
There’s a lot of glitter and even more turquoise. She doesn’t answer except to smooth down the front of her dress with both hands before shooting him a big grin. There’s a slice missing from the elegantly decorated cake with white frosting all around and fresh fruit on top, and Shiro is suitably impressed with Allura’s contribution. Lance’s bragging is, for once, wholly justified, as his cake made to a secret family recipe looks delicious. There are five more already on the table, and Hunk shrugs his shoulders.
“There’s chocolate, carrot and walnut, coffee, lemon, aaaand apple cinnamon,” Hunk says.
Shiro raises his eyebrows.
“What? I like cooking. And anyway, one of them is from Pidge.”
“It’s kind of her to think of us while she’s on leave,” Allura says, rearranging the display so that there’s enough space. Shiro lifts the lid off the container, and she gasps in surprise, leaning in to take a closer look. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”
Lance wolf-whistles, and Hunk pats his shoulder a couple of times. “Yeah man, that’s super cool.”
There’s a small pile of cocktail sticks made to look like little flags that can be written on to tell people what the flavor the cake is, but instead of handing him one, Allura picks up a pen and paper.
Shiro looks at her in confusion.
“I don’t want to spoil the effect,” she explains. “What flavor is it?”
“It’s...red velvet with a galaxy mirror glaze,” Shiro says, a little embarrassed. He looks down at the nebula of blues, pinks and purples, hoping no-one else gets the reason why he chose this recipe.
Allura nods and writes it out, taping the paper to the table just in front of Shiro’s cake. He smiles at her and sits at his desk, getting his computer started and putting on his headset. Hunk and Lance also get back to their stations, while Allura spends a few more minutes adjusting the display.
Work-wise, it’s a pretty uneventful morning. The pneumatic tube system gets stuck again. Twice. In between taking calls for breaks, blockages and leaks, Shiro fills the rest of the time by with data entry and re-ordering stock. It’s no stretch to cover for Allura when she’s away from her desk to make a sale.
===
Business is brisk. By eleven, over half of her cake is gone, and all of Hunk’s are selling well; Sal from catering seems particularly impressed by the carrot and walnut. Romelle from medical records drops by, taking two slices of the Tres Leches with her when she leaves. Shiro is torn between wanting his cake to sell so they can raise lots of money, and wishing Keith could see it before gets sliced up. He’s had a lot of compliments about the cake, but as yet, no buyers.
He comes back from a bathroom break to an almost empty office. Both Lance and Hunk are on a training course for the rest of the day. The resulting quiet amplifies Allura’s voice, even though she is trying to be discreet.
“I can reserve you some, but I won’t be cutting it until after lunch. I’m sorry.”
Ulaz raises his eyebrows, and she angles her head to nod slightly in Shiro’s direction, and then again towards the window, in the direction of Keith’s truck, before silently mouthing something. Shiro pretends not to see any of this, and Ulaz leaves without uttering an audible word. Shiro focuses his attention on his in-tray, stapling and hole-punching his way through any embarrassment. Shiro finds his mind drifting to thoughts of Keith. It’s time for his break soon, and Shiro wonders if he’s brought Kosmo to work today. He’s not strictly meant to, but he pushes the rules sometimes if Krolia can’t dog-sit. Keith works outside, so Kolivan overlooks it for the most part.
Right on time, Keith walks in to the office, sipping thoughtfully at his cup of coffee.
“Hey,” he says quietly. It’s a greeting to both of them, but he first makes eye contact with Shiro, a shy smile playing on his lips.
“Hey,” Shiro manages to answer, just before Allura goes straight into her sales pitch.
“Ahh, Keith, you’ll buy some cake, won’t you? We’ve only seen Kolivan and Ulaz from your department this morning. Tell the others that we have a good selection and it’s for an even better cause. The sanctuary saved my mice, you know.”
“Yeah, I'll buy some,” he answers, as Allura guides him to the table and places him directly in front of Shiro’s cake, somehow managing to make it seem like the best and only option. Keith turns to look at Shiro, eyes wide.
“It’s even better than the picture you showed me,” he says earnestly. “I don’t want to ruin your work...maybe I-”
“He can bake you another one,” Allura answers before Keith finishes speaking. It’s a fair comment, Shiro thinks. He’s had enough practice; it took eight previous attempts over the course of a week before he was happy with his results, although no one needs to know that.
Keith keeps his attention on him as if he’s making sure Shiro won’t be hurt by his cake being cut.
“It was made to be eaten,” Allura encourages, and Shiro nods in agreement. Keith puts down his coffee, takes out his wallet, and hands Allura three tens and a twenty.
It takes a moment for her recover from the shock before she clarifies that it is just one slice that Keith wants.
“Yeah, just one. I wanted to do something to contribute, but it didn’t work out, so….” he waves his hand in the direction of the donation box.
“That’s very generous, Keith, thank you.”
Shiro gets a beep in his ear and answers the call. Focusing on taking the necessary details of the repair, he is aware of Allura making small talk until he is finished.
“I thought you might like to cut Keith a slice,” she says, sitting down at her desk and putting on her headset.
Shiro removes his and takes Allura’s place to serve. He won’t let his nerves take over as he cuts what he hopes is a decently portioned slice. Shiro has practiced this recipe and researched it enough to know what it should look like inside. He takes a silent deep breath, and looks down to see that the crumb is light and fluffy. The relief he feels spreads from his chest to his toes, and exhales, allowing himself a moment of happiness before the next test. Will the buttercream be too sweet? Not sweet enough? Too bland? Carefully, he plates up while Keith gets himself a fork.
“It looks amazing,” Keith says, accepting the plate from him. He cuts off a small corner using the edge of the fork and opens his mouth, not giving any hint of an opinion until he has finished eating the first bite.
It’s not until Shiro sees the grin on Keith’s face that he realises he has been holding his breath.
“You really like it? It’s okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Keith says, the second bite already on the end of his fork.
Shiro laughs, almost giddy. He’s not sure how much of it is joy that he successfully made something, and how much of it is at seeing Keith so radiant.
Keith’s radio beeps in his pocket, and it’s time for him to get back to work. Before leaving, he asks if Shiro wants to meet up after work to walk Kosmo. It’s something they usually do a few times a week at least, and always on days when their lunch breaks are at different times.
Keith gets two steps from the doorway before Allura very diplomatically and unobtrusively reminds Shiro to cut another slice so that he can take it back for Ulaz.
===
Sales taper off completely after three. Any remaining slices are left in the mess room with a note to pass any donations to Allura. That gets another seventeen dollars, and the total at the end of the day is almost one hundred and sixty. Shiro sends Keith a quick text to let him know.
After work, he follows Keith’s truck out of the parking lot. Even though he’s been working at the hospital now for almost seven months, Shiro still can’t quite believe that he is one of the staff now instead of one of the patients. He thought it was the last place he would end up working, but he couldn’t get hired anywhere else for whatever reason. He had a feeling he knew why, but could never prove it. In the end, his choices were between going for the interview or lose his independence, and the second option was and is unthinkable. He won’t give up, no matter what. Slowly, all the fears he keeps hidden about being unable to cope are losing their power over him.
In a way, he’s still healing both physically and mentally. The first few times he saw a member of the surgical team in their scrubs ahead of him in the line for coffee, he froze, and it took everything he had to keep it together, but it’s getting easier. It’s not something he’s ever told anyone, but if he did, Shiro would tell Keith. He never let himself hope that he would find someone who could see past the arm, and the hair, and the scar. Someone gentle and kind, who doesn't ask about the things that Shiro feels most self conscious about, but accepts him as he is. Shiro knows that if and when he is ready to talk, Keith will be there to listen.
They spend most of their walk throwing sticks for Kosmo, who seems to have almost boundless energy. It’s a cold October evening, and the park is quite empty when they sit on their usual bench underneath the cherry tree. Shiro opens his bag and pulls out a small container, offering it to Keith. As he takes it, his brow creases in confusion, and then his expression changes to quiet delight as Keith realises what he is holding.
“I made these….for Kosmo. I didn’t want him to be left out, especially when we were raising money for his former home.” Shiro says, with a shrug, suddenly embarrassed.
Keith takes out a small, brown, bone-shaped biscuit and offers it to Kosmo, who chews it carefully, as if he is judging not only the taste but also the texture. After what feels like an eternity, but Shiro knows can be no more than a few seconds, Kosmo wags his tail.
“I think he likes them,” Keith laughs, throwing another one up in the air. Kosmo jumps to catch it, earning a pet on the back of his neck once he’s eaten his prize.
“I’m glad,” Shiro says, feeling himself blush despite the cool dusk air. Their fingers brush as they both reach for a biscuit, and neither Keith nor Shiro pull away.
“Thank you, Shiro,” Keith says quietly, running his thumb over Shiro’s index finger. Keith is a constant source of warmth in his life, and Shiro is convinced there is no one else in their orbit, until Kosmo launches himself into Keith’s lap, planting a sloppy lick on Shiro’s cheek.
Both Shiro and Keith burst out laughing, and when their fingers end up entwined on the walk back to the parking lot, Shiro makes two silent promises. One to thank Allura, and the other to bake Kosmo as many treats as he likes.