Archive of Our Own

The Grounds was a tiny coffee shop tucked neatly in between an athletic sportswear store and an authentic gyro restaurant. Despite its size, it was often times filled to the brim with patrons all clamoring for a seat within the popular coffee shop. Still, it wasn’t the customers that attributed to most of the noise in the cozy atmosphere – no, that award definitely belonged to Lance McClain.

He wasn’t loud enough to be obnoxious or needlessly distract any of their customers, but Keith was determinedly convinced that it was solely because of his loud voice that his attention was so often drawn to his fellow employee.

“Julia?” Lance called out, standing off at the end of the bar. The Grounds was different from most coffee shops in that, not only did it have an array of tables scattered around, it also had a lengthy bar that customers could sit at. Unfortunately, in Keith’s opinion. All the coffee making equipment was directly behind the bar, which made him feel like he was being observed at all times, even though most often people were just minding their own business, having conversations or typing away on their laptops.

When Julia didn’t come, Lance called again. “Julia? Small iced coffee?”

“Sorry!” the customer said, hurrying up to the counter and taking the coffee from Lance’s hand.

“Don’t be,” he answered with a grin, before telling her to, “Enjoy!”

Keith still didn’t know how he did that. He’d been working here for a while now himself, but he couldn’t seem to replicate Lance’s special way with customers. He was always polite, even when they were deliberately rude, and he somehow managed to hear whatever anyone said on the first try, meanwhile Keith felt like he was constantly asking people to repeat themselves.

“What’re you standing around for, Mullet?” Lance said, reaching up to tug on a strand escaping from Keith’s bun as he walked by. “Pretty sure some tables need busing.” Lance had never even seen Keith with his hair down, but somehow he’d found him on Instagram (something he only had because Shiro was both obnoxious and persuasive) and commented on Keith’s most recent picture: no WAY you have a mullet??!?!

“Don’t call me that,” Keith said habitually, and he refrained from giving Lance the finger, though solely because a girl at the bar before him had looked up from her book, apparently interested in their interaction.

Keith liked working at The Grounds. Sure, he complained about having to go to work as much as anyone else – he was an employee in the service industry, after all – but he really did love the tiny coffee shop. Before he’d been an employee, he’d been a semi-regular, often stopping by for coffee after his morning runs. And then he’d started coming in the evenings, spurred on by the turn of the semester.

He didn’t go to college – sitting in a classroom without any real idea of what he wants to do in life wasn’t really his forte – but Shiro, his roommate and older brother, did. This semester, Shiro didn’t have any evening classes, which he was ecstatic about and Keith dreaded. It was just that Shiro had his entire life together, meanwhile Keith felt like he was constantly struggling to do anything with his own. He’d lost more than a few jobs for yelling at aggravating customers, and he’d never expected to end up in the service industry again – voluntarily, at that.

But then he’d started coming to The Grounds to get away from Shiro for a few hours in the evenings, which was when he came across the night staff for the first time. Keith spent a little longer than a week sitting at a table in the corner and watching Lance from afar before turning in his application.

The owner of The Grounds was a man with a loud personality and an even louder mustache. He’d plucked Keith’s application right out of his hands and told him that the fact he could recognize him already gave him a better chance. The next night, Keith got a phone call.

Adjusting from being a customer to an employee wasn’t so difficult. Plus, getting another job had made Shiro proud, and now Keith really wasn’t avoiding him, he was just going to work.

So yeah, he liked his job. He liked the atmosphere and the employees and the coffee. What he didn’t like was that with Christmas approaching, business was steadily picking up, everyone suddenly craving coffee in order to get into the holiday spirit. To make matters worse, everyone wanted them to make weird crappy concoctions the likes of Starbucks, which they didn’t do. If Keith had to tell one more customer that…

“Excuse me?” someone said. Holding three plates and two cups – one still half-full, though its owner had long since left The Grounds – Keith turned around, searching for the speaker. He was pretty sure his thumb had ended up in some sort of jelly on the plate or something. Yuck.

“Can I help you?” Keith said, and mentally applauded himself. Despite having had many jobs in all kinds of places since he was 16, Keith had never really gotten good at the whole ‘being polite to customers’ thing. He usually just spoke to them the way he would speak to anyone. Lately, though, Lance’s cheery attitude had been rubbing off on him. Plus, sometimes when customers talk to Keith, he can see Lance over their shoulder, digging his fingers into his cheeks and pantomiming for him to smile.

The girl’s face looked oddly pink. Keith wondered if she was having an allergic reaction to the coffee. “Sorry, it’s just – I’ve been coming here for a couple weeks now, and I was wondering if you have a girlfriend?”

Keith blinked. What did her coming here for a couple weeks have to do with wondering if he had a girlfriend? And why was she wondering that anyway? “Uh, no,” he said. He thumb was definitely in jelly. He tried to adjust his grip but just ended up planting it more firmly into the mess.

“Okay,” the girl said, smiling now. She tilted her head down, hair falling in front of her face. “Can I ask you for your number, then?” she asked, looking back up at Keith. He was gaping, his face steadily growing hotter. God dammit. Who even asks people out at their place of work? That’s just awkward for everybody.

“Um,” he said, already shaking his head. Her expression was quickly falling but Keith couldn’t seem to find it in himself to feel guilty. “Sorry,” he just said, before abruptly turning around and retreating behind the counter. They had a dishwasher right up here, but there was also one in the back. The decision was easy. Keith disappeared into the back room in an attempt to hide, still feeling like he was going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Distractedly, he shoved the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, dazedly washing his hands when Lance burst into the back.

“Dude!” he said.

“What?” said Keith, realizing he’d been washing his hands for more than a minute now. Technically, you’re supposed to wash them for two, right?

“That girl was totally flirting with you! Did you ask her out?”

Keith frowned. Why was everyone so interested in his love life today? “No,” he said.

Lance scoffed, planting his hands on his hips. “She’s into you, dude. She was packing up her stuff when you came back here – if you hurry, you could probably catch her before she leaves. Ask for her number or something.”

“She already asked for mine,” Keith admitted for some reason.

“So you’re going to ask her out?” Lance concluded.

“I said no.”

“Uh, the fuck? Why?”

Huh. Somehow, Keith hadn’t realized the very obvious direction this conversation would turn. Whatever. Shrugging, he said, “I’m gay.”

Lance gaped. God, he wasn’t a homophobe, was he? That would totally ruin how much Keith loved The Grounds. Especially since he was already busy trying to ignore the horrible crush he had on Lance.

“Well, that explains it,” he finally said. And then, swiftly derailing the conversation, “You wanna take orders for a while?”

Keith didn’t – he hated taking orders – but he said yes anyway. Besides, Lance’s question wasn’t really a question. He was the oldest employee during the evening shifts – oldest meaning length of employment, not age – so he was technically in charge. He didn’t abuse his power or anything, and he was good at running the shop. He knew where people were needed most, even when it grew later and later, until most of their coworkers clocked out and it was just two or three of them left running the shop.

On the weekends, and during finals week of the nearby university, they stayed open until two in the morning. Most people hated those shifts – claiming no one came in for coffee in the middle of the night anyway – but Keith loved them. He was a night owl anyway, and while people did still come in for coffee (it was surprising, how many people did their work late at night), it was a significantly calmer atmosphere than during the day. He liked the quietness of the shop, the gentle crackle of music on the old record player they kept around for times like those, and the fact that most of the time, it was just him and Lance.

Most people listed themselves as unavailable for these late night shifts, but Keith had told Coran right off the bat that he didn’t mind doing them. Apparently, neither did Lance, not that Keith could make sense of it. He was always dead on his feet by the time 11:30 rolled around, and Keith usually ended up making him coffees to help him make it to closing.

“Thanks,” Lance had mumbled, surprised, the first time Keith had done it. It’d been his first night shift, and he hadn’t known what to expect from the little coffee shop. Except the biggest task had been keeping Lance on his feet instead of letting him sit on one of the barstools on the opposite side of the bar (and then lay his head down on his arms, and then close his eyes…)

You’d think Keith wouldn’t like these shifts, what with the extra work of keeping Lance alive to the world, but that was just it. Lance looked horribly adorable when he was tired. All yawn-y and sleepy-eyed. His hair would get totally messed up from him running his hands through it, and he’d have perpetual marks on his face from propping it up on the counter, his knuckles imprinted on his cheeks.

It was Friday, which meant Keith would go into work at six and leave at two (two-thirty, if he had to keep waking Lance up as they cleaned the kitchen). For now, though, what he wanted was lunch. There was nothing in the house –he and Shiro had been avoiding the task of buying groceries, which was definitely coming back to bite both of them in the ass – and still not feeling up for grocery shopping, he headed into town.

He ended up traipsing into a little sandwich shop not too far from The Grounds. He’d been here once or twice before, so he knew it was good. The bell tinkled as he entered, sounding far too much like that of The Grounds, and he made his way up to the counter. There weren’t very many other customers around, but then again, most people didn’t eat their lunch at three in the afternoon.

“Hey, what can I get for ya?” said the guy at the counter. He had a friendly face and demeanor, and Keith recognized him from his past trips to the sandwich shop.

“You got a daily special?” Keith asked. He wasn’t picky and he also wasn’t good at decisions, which usually worked out well pretty well, in the end.

The guy smiled, looking amused. “You asked that last time,” he said. “We don’t, but I can whip you up a surprise, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great,” Keith said, before handing over his card and paying. He settled into a seat towards the back of the room as the man started making his sandwich, scrolling through his phone absently as he waited.

Only a minute or so later, the bell tinkled, announcing the arrival of another customer, and then a familiar voice called out, “Hunk, my main man! I demand sustenance!”

Keith’s head jerked up as he stared at the customer – at Lance – in surprise. He’d never seen him outside of The Grounds before. He’d never seen him outside of his uniform before.

Fuck. This was not doing good things for Keith’s heart.

Instead of their usual all black ensemble coupled with an apron and a hat (which nobody wore when Coran wasn’t around), Lance was wearing jeans and a hoodie. The hood was pulled up over his head and the shoulders of his sweatshirt were dark with water – when had it started raining? As Keith watched, Lance shoved the hood off his head and hastily ran a hand through his hair.

“You planning to pay for this sustenance?” Hunk joked. Keith’s phone was totally forgotten. Should he say hi? Were he and Lance even friends? He’d like to think that they were, but they only ever talked at work. Their sole interactions outside of work consisted of likes and comments on Instagram.

“I mean, I could,” Lance said exaggeratedly. “But I could also pay you in, like, hugs.”

“Sounds cheap,” Hunk said.

“Worth a shot.”

“What’ll you have?” Hunk asked, and Lance began to rattle off the most complicated sandwich order Keith had ever heard in his life. He didn’t know it was possible for a sandwich to be complicated. Still, Hunk didn’t even write it down, just nodded and hummed before taking Keith’s sandwich out of the toaster and going about the rest of its preparation.

“You working tonight?” Hunk asked.

“Yep yep,” Lance said, before leaning up against the glass. “Woah, is that new?”

“We’ve always had onions, Lance.”

“No, that.”

“Also onions.”

“Hm.”

“Haven’t you saved up enough for a PS4 yet?” Hunk asked, and Lance’s head jerked up.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But, I mean, the extra money’s not bad.”

“Mhmm,” Hunk said, clearly disbelieving.

Lance coughed. “Plus… yeah, the guy.”

Keith’s interest was piqued. What guy? There were a couple nighttime regulars. Was Lance talking about one of them? Was he not straight?

Hunk laughed. “Think you’ve got a chance?”

“Ugh, I can’t tell. He’s so… broody. And stoic.”

“And cute,” Hunk added, clearly imitating Lance.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Order’s ready,” Hunk called, leaning around Lance.

“Thanks,” Keith said, standing up. He nodded to Lance, then. “Hey Lance.”

“Keith!” Lance exclaimed, his face red. “What’re you— uhhh… you like sandwiches?”

Keith blinked. “Who doesn’t?” he asked, and Lance nodded wisely.

“You know, when you’re right, you’re right,” he lamented.

“O-kay,” Keith said slowly. “I’ll see you at work tonight,” he added, and Lance nodded hastily, thrusting a thumbs up into the air.

“Yep! See you!”

As Keith left the shop, Lance leaned over the counter and smacked Hunk. He couldn’t hear whatever he said over the tinkling of the bell.

Lance was definitely cute, but there was no denying that he was also incredibly strange.

--

When Keith walked into The Grounds, it was bustling with the evening crowd, doubly so because the town center was having some sort of special holiday concert. He was glad to get out of the cold, having neglected to bring a jacket, and he embraced the warmth of the shop as the bell jingled above him, breathing in the familiar smell of coffee.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Lance called from the opposite side of the bar despite the fact that he was making a drink. Keith wasn’t like that. If he didn’t focus all his attention on what he was making he’d mess it up.

“I’m only five minutes late,” he protested, slipping behind the counter to pull on an apron. He nodded at their co-worker, Pidge, who seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated with the customer she was dealing with and continued along toward Lance.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

Lance choked on his spit — probably breathed in wrong or something — before shaking his head. “Uhh, we’ve got a lot of drinks lined up right now if you want to help me,” he said, so Keith helped him. He picked up receipts and brewed coffee and poured creamer just right so that he could hand customers their coffee with little hearts decorated on the top. He was really getting better at that, he noted proudly.

Even if he was improving with the decorations, however, he left the espresso-making to Lance. Everyone did. They were hard to make in general — there could be a pretty steep learning curve with an espresso machine — but their espresso machine was cursed. Half the time it didn’t work when anyone tried to use it, and the other half of the time it went haywire and produced creations that were definitely not espressos. For everyone except Lance, that is. He had the magic touch, and the machine always worked perfectly for him.

“You just have to believe in her,” Lance had said once, fondly patting the top of the machine, which gurgled alarmingly. “Isn’t that right, Blue?”

“You named it?”

“I named her,” Lance had said, scandalized. The machine was silver, so the name wasn’t even accurate, but Keith had learned not to question him. Sometimes, it was just best not to.

Now, a couple hours have crept by and the noisy din of The Grounds has calmed down. Most customers coming in take their orders to go, the only seated guests being the ones who’d already been here for a while.

“I’m stealing a scone,” Pidge announced, crossing her arms and glaring up at Lance.

Lance frowned. “Pidge...”

“What? They’re all gonna be stale by the end of the night anyway, so we’ll put ‘em in the back, and when we get here tomorrow they’ll be gone. It’s because the morning staff eats them, Lance.” Despite being a part of the same staff, the evening and morning employees rarely interacted, apart from when they came in to relieve the morning staff. Because of this, a sort of rivalry had formed. It was probably one sided, honestly, but they were always picking on the morning staff (who were never there to defend themselves, and who they didn’t even really know, besides).

“We don’t know that,” Lance argued.

In defiance, Pidge shoved her hand into the display case and pulled out a blueberry scone, only pausing to raise an eyebrow before biting into it.

“Pidge!” Lance reprimanded. “You have to pay for that!”

“Eat my ass, Lance.”

Keith snorted — on accident, truly — and Lance whirled on him with a glare. “I’ll fight you, Mullet.”

“Not a mullet.”

“It’s kind of a mullet,” Pidge said unhelpfully.

Business died down until it was just a slow, steady trickle, customers occasionally arriving in groups. For the most part, they had time to themselves, which they used wisely. Keith and Pidge had a latte art competition (Pidge won by a landslide — her creations were always beautiful), and then Lance taught Keith how to make a slow brew, which was how they made their decaf coffee at The Grounds. At one point, Pidge disappeared into the back room only to return fifteen minutes later through the front door, three sandwiches in hand. They were from Hunk’s shop.

Pidge was the last employee to leave that night, and then it was just Keith and Lance, the sun having set long ago.

“Are you doing anything fun for Christmas?” Lance asked him, leaning against the counter and already fighting off sleep, it looked like.

Keith shrugged. “Shiro and I usually get McDonald’s for breakfast,” he said. “Then we watch a bunch of movies. Except sometimes we binge a show instead.”

He was expecting Lance to frown. He was aware his Christmas plans didn’t sound that exciting, and most people seemed to think there was something sad about them, but in all honestly, Keith loved the way they spent Christmas. It was always just the two of them, ever since the Shiroganes had moved back to Japan after Keith had started college, and Keith liked it that way. They always promised that they weren’t going to do presents, too busy and too broke, but a couple days before Christmas Keith would manage to convince himself that Shiro had gotten him something and he’d go buy him a gift. Shiro would always put on a really big show of huffing and sighing and didn’t we say no gifts this year? when Keith pulled it out, but then he’d reveal his own immediately after.

Lance’s reaction wasn’t like how Keith expecting it to be, though.

“Shiro, like, Shiro Shiro?” he said, eyebrows raised incredulously.

“I don’t know what that means,” said Keith.

“Well, I don’t know his last name,” Lance said, frowning thoughtfully.

“Shiro is his last name,” Keith said. “Takashi Shirogane. Do you know him?”

“Is your Shiro like, super buff? With a sick prosthetic?”

“He’s not that buff. He doesn’t even work out that often – it’s just good genes.”

“What the fuck,” Lance muttered to himself. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my brother,” Keith said, weirdly defensive. “How do you know him?”

“He goes to my school!” Lance exclaimed. “He’s, like, famous on campus. Everyone knows him. And I’ve talked to him maybe five times in my life, but somehow he knows my name.”

“Oh yeah, he’s really good with names,” Keith said, before, “I didn’t realize you went to school.”

Lance waved a hand flippantly. “Only part time,” he said. “I’m taking two classes right now, so I’m only there on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My brain can’t handle more than that. And I can’t afford a full course load, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said automatically. It’s what people always said to him when he said he’d dropped out of college, not that it’s what he really wanted or needed to hear. It was just a fact, after all.

“Don’t be,” Lance said. “I like it this way, honestly. I’m actually passing my classes now. Plus, I figure I’ve got all the time in the world, you know? For now I can just learn and work and spend time with cute coworkers.”

Keith blinked. Lance gaped.

“You like Pidge?” Keith said. No offense, but she just didn’t seem like Lance’s type. She was a couple years younger than him, for one thing, and just… not like the kind of girls Lance usually flirted with.

Lance laughed awkwardly. “Uhh,” he said, drawing the word out. “What, you can’t tell when I’m joking anymore, Mullet?”

Keith forced out a chuckle. His heart had been pounding a staccato rhythm in his chest. For a second, he’d thought Lance might’ve been flirting with him. Which would’ve been, you know, perfect. And also probably disastrous.

Soon, it began to reach Sleepy Lance hours, which meant Keith made Lance a coffee when he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t know how, but Lance was somehow still surprised by this. Also, Keith was pretty sure they were playing a game every time he did it. He swore Lance always started to watch him more doggedly when it began to approach midnight. He’d never caught Keith making him the coffee, and he usually ended up getting distracted one way or another, at which point Keith would plop the drink before him on the bar. Lance always said thank you through gritted teeth.

“All right,” Lance said grandly, thirty minutes past midnight. It’d been a while since they’d seen hide or tail of a customer. “I know how we’re staying awake tonight.”

“I never have trouble staying awake,” Keith pointed out.

“And I don’t think I resent you for that,” Lance said in consideration. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because we have a mission.”

Keith shook his head, fighting back a smile. Lance often had these. He’d pit himself against Keith in some sort of competition or plan an obscure activity to keep them occupied. Once, he’d made Keith participate in a dance party, at the end of which he’d been sweaty and breathless – mostly because Lance looked stupidly pretty when he was dancing to overplayed pop music. Another time, he’d convinced his parents to bring his younger siblings to work, and there was nothing like a pair of eleven-year-old twins running around a coffee shop to keep you awake. Then again, Keith probably shouldn’t have given them coffee.

Before Keith could ask Lance what exactly their mission was, Lance had disappeared into the back room. He reappeared moments later holding a cardboard box.

“Should I be scared?” Keith asked.

“No.”

“There’s not an animal in there, right?”

“Keith, what the fuck? Why would I have an animal in here?”

“Just seems like something you would do,” Keith said with a shrug, and Lance spared half a second to look offended before a considering look came across his face. He got rid of it with a shake of his head, holding up the box more determinedly.

“We’re going to decorate,” he said, shaking the box for emphasis. “Like, why haven’t we already?! It’s Christmas.”

“Did you even ask Coran?”

“No, but if he doesn’t like it he’ll make the morning staff take it down.”

“Evil.”

“Exactly,” said Lance with a grin. “So? You’ll help me?”

“Pidge’ll kill you if there’s nothing Hanukah in there,” Keith pointed out, and Lance immediately fished a menorah out of the box.

“I know Hanukah’s over, but whatever,” Lance said, raising it triumphantly. “It can be the month of Hanukah, this year.”

Keith shook his head with a laugh. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll help you decorate.”

They spent the next hour decorating The Grounds with an absurd amount of stupid Christmas shit. A couple times customers appeared, looking amused by their antics, but they were easily served and appeased.

They strung lights along the bar and arranged garland on the front table where they took customers’ orders. Plush reindeer were tucked up by the large jars of coffee beans decorating the shelves, and Lance even stood on the bar and hung one from the ceiling with string and an obnoxious amount of tape, just for fun.

By the time they were done, Keith’s arms (pathetically) hurt from reaching up to hang things from the tops of shelves, and his pride similarly hurt from Lance continually leaning past him to help him with said task.

“Uh oh,” Lance said dramatically, leaning next to Keith on the counter and staring at him with wide eyes. Keith whipped his head around frantically, looking for some sort of decoration going awry. Had the lights caught on fire? Were their string of snowflakes falling from the cabinets?

“What?” he finally demanded, after failing to find the problem.

“Mistletoe,” Lance said dramatically, pointing at the ceiling. Keith’s head whipped up, his face and neck and ears burning, but there was nothing up there. Lance burst out laughing, bending in half as he gasped for breath.

“Oh my – oh my God!” he cackled. “Your f-face! Keith your face, I can’t – I can’t breathe!” he wheezed. Keith kicked him in the shin.

“You dick!” he said.

“How could I have hung that without you noticing?” he demanded, finally managing to stand back up, though he reached up to wipe away the wetness at the corner of his eye, and his hair was messed up from being upside down.

“I don’t know!” Keith said, and then he shoved Lance for good measure. He spun around then, planning to stalk off with a pretend pout, which was when he caught sight of a customer.

And not just any customer – Allura. Oh, hell.

Allura was Coran – the owner – ‘s niece. She was also a regular at The Grounds, and an occasional fill-in when someone wasn’t feeling well and no one else was available to cover their shift. She was easily the most beautiful girl Keith had ever seen in his life, and Lance enthusiastically agreed, often pointing this fact out when he saw her.

She was probably the only person in the word who could show up at a coffee shop at nearly two in the morning and look completely put together – in sweats, no less.

Keith had nothing against Allura, not at all. But that didn’t mean he didn’t dread her presence. It was just that she saw right through Keith, he was sure of it. He couldn’t really explain it, but the way she looked at Keith seemed to say I know. And now, face flushed from Lance’s mistletoe mishap and his walls-for-dealing-with-customers completely down, he could see that Allura was looking right through him. Could probably see Keith’s heart beating a rhythm of Lance, Lance, Lance.

Her smile was beatific. And knowing. Ugh.

“Allura,” he greeted anyway, smiling pleasantly. “You’re here late. How can I help you?”

“This paper is not going well,” she said, her voice giving nothing away about the information she was somehow privy to. For that, Keith was thankful. She knew Keith’s secret, and Keith knew that she knew his secret, and she probably knew that Keith knew that she knew his secret – but Lance didn’t know. And he was fine as long as it stayed that way. “I need coffee and a good atmosphere to get me through it.”

“And both we can provide,” Lance said proudly, already moving along the bar behind Keith. He had Allura’s order memorized, but then, he had most regular’s orders memorized. He was crazy talented, like that. “Do you like the decorations?”

“Love them,” Allura said. “Isn’t Hanukah over?” she then asked, eyes roaming around the store. There was a menorah on every table. Keith had pointed out that that might be going a little overboard, and what if it was actually offensive to have more than one set out? But Lance had loudly protested, convinced that “the more, the merrier, Keith!”

“Not in our hearts, Allura,” Lance said fiercely, before placing her drink down on the counter before her. The latte had a picture of a cat sitting in the foam. Allura immediately took out her phone and opened the camera app, which made Lance lean against the counter with a grin.

Having Allura in The Grounds seemed to make the last of their shift pass even faster. They didn’t talk to her too much, not wanting to distract her from her paper, but she piped up every once in a while, usually to comment on whatever they’d been talking about.

Finally, but also kind of sadly, the clock struck two. Keith and Lance were ahead on their clean up duties, so they unplugged the fairy lights and wiped down the counters and closed up the cash register. Allura’s laptop shut with a decisive snap, and she slipped it into her bag as she stood up and pushed in her chair. The three of them exited the shop together, Lance locking up the door behind them, before they split off towards their respective cars. Lance had managed to snag one of the spots in front of the store by some miracle of God, but Keith and Allura were both parked in the parking garage down the street, which was how he found himself walking with her alone.

Allura bumped her shoulder into his. Keith turned his glower onto her.

“What,” he said flatly, in response to her smile.

“Nooothing,” she sang, still grinning, and Keith huffed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said finally. “Okay? It’s never going to happen.”

“What a pessimist,” Allura scoffed. “How will you know if you never make a move on him?”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” Keith declared.

“Seems like you are,” Allura said.

“Definitely not,” Keith said, and to punctuate this fact, he pulled out his keys and hit the unlock button, making his car chirp. Allura pouted. “See ya later,” he told her, before slipping into his car with a jovial wave.

--

Keith didn’t expect to bump into Lance outside of The Grounds again. After all, it’d only happened once, and even then it’d happened on the very same street as the coffee shop. But as if running into Lance once had opened the floodgates, he now found himself staring down a figure in the distance that was most definitely his co-worker.

He was on campus, which wasn’t a place he really liked to be – he felt awkward and almost like he was trespassing, just being here – but he’d come by to drop off a paper for Shiro, which he’d accidentally left on the printer that morning. Now, having successfully made the long trek to the library and back to the parking lot, he was ready to go home and shower and get ready for work. Except he was standing still, staring at Lance. Lance, who had the hood of his car up and was staring into it in obvious confusion, his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

And Keith couldn’t just not help out when Lance was so obviously in need. He was holding the hood of his car up, for fuck’s sake, instead of propping it open with the stand. And he was holding the hood with a dainty two fingers, besides.

“Hey,” Keith said, coming to a stop by Lance’s side. Lance shrieked, dropping the hood, but Keith reached out and caught it. To his surprise, the hood was burning hot, and he hissed. Apparently, Lance hadn’t been holding it like that to be dainty.

Ignoring the surprising heat, Keith reached out for the pole, his sleeve pulled over his hand, and propped the hood open with it. Lance blinked.

“I didn’t know that was there,” he said.

“Clearly,” said Keith.

“Dad?” Lance said into his phone. “Yeah, no, I’ve got help now, I think I can figure it out. Yes, he knows about cars.” He shot Keith a furtive look at that, and Keith nodded. “How do I know?” Lance said, and scoffed. “Dad, he found this pole thing in the car and propped the hood up. What? You never even mentioned that! No, I’m gonna be fine – Dad, Dad. I’m hanging up now! Bye!”

Keith was still watching, amused, as Lance hung up the phone and slipped it into his jeans pocket with a huff. “Thank God you’re here,” he said. “I’m not even gonna question why.”

“Shiro forgot his lab report,” Keith explained needlessly.

“So he is human,” Lance said reverently, and Keith rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“I thought you were going to tell me that,” Lance pouted.

“Sure, but did it not start?”

“Well, it did,” Lance said. “And I sat there for a minute picking out my music, but then it went VRRMMMM and died, so.”

Keith nodded. He leaned into the hood a little, bracing himself for the heat. “Pretty sure it’s your alternator,” he said.

“I have no idea what that is,” Lance answered.

“This thing,” Keith said, pointing.

“Ahh,” said Lance knowledgably. “Right. So how do I fix it?”

“You don’t,” Keith said. “You’re gonna need to go to the shop.”

“Fuck,” Lance huffed.

Minutes later, he was seated in Keith’s car (after having tried to refuse to let Keith drive him several times over, claiming he didn’t want to impose) and fiddling with the tricky seatbelt. It often didn’t seem to want to click into place.

“Where do you live?” Keith asked as he put the car in gear. He reached over and did Lance’s seatbelt for him, Lance shooting him a thankful grin.

Why was Keith scared to drive, all the sudden? He drove all the time. Hell, he was a good driver, too, despite what all the jokes on the internet said. It was Shiro that was the bad driver — he’s gotten in three different accidents, over the years.

“All the way across town,” Lance said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He probably worked at The Grounds because of its proximity to school rather than his house, then. Man, that must’ve been a sucky drive home at two in the morning. “You don’t have to take me there, though!” he said hastily. “You could drop me off at The Grounds early, or something, I don’t mind.”

“I love The Grounds, but even I wouldn’t make you go to work early,” Keith scoffed. And, somehow managing to ignore the anxious voice inside his head, he said, “You wanna come over to my apartment? That way you wouldn’t have to Uber to work later.”

“You serious? ‘Cause that would be awesome,” Lance said thankfully. Great. Now Keith was nervous about his driving and his apartment.

Thankfully, the drive wasn’t awkward. Keith has been expecting it to be, even though he and Lance could talk for hours at The Grounds, simply because they were in a new setting. Lance chattered on as per usual, though, and he fiddled with Keith’s radio, too — something he never let anyone do. If Shiro were here right now, he’d be giving Keith so much shit.

At one point, Keith had to concentrate very hard on not crashing the car when Lance reached over and tugged on his hair. His fingers brushed the back of Keith’s neck, and goosebumps exploded all over his arms in response.

“You really do have a mullet,” Lance said, shaking his head, and Keith finally smacked his hand away.

“It’s just long hair,” he protested.

By the time Keith was pulling up to his apartment complex, he felt significantly less nervous. He took Lance inside and showed him around a bit – mainly pointing out the kitchen, walking him through the living room, and stopping in front of his bedroom.

“So, uh, I gotta shower before work,” Keith said awkwardly. “You can chill wherever you want. Watch TV or use my laptop or whatever. Password’s hippo with a zero.”

Lance’s lip quirked up in a grin. “That’s a cute password,” he said.

“Shut up. I’m showering now.” Keith grabbed clothes and a towel from his room, even though he normally didn’t bring his clothes, because he wasn’t about to walk around in his apartment in just a towel with Lance here.

He showered pretty quickly, feeling a little awkward and guilty about leaving Lance in his apartment alone, but when he emerged Lance seemed not to have noticed his absence at all. He was right where Keith had left him – in his room – except now he was laying on his stomach on Keith’s bed, one hand propped under his chin while the other absently scrolled on Keith’s laptop.

“Hey,” Keith said, and Lance’s eyes slid over to him before he smirked.

“I didn’t know you had a Tumblr,” he said, and Keith felt his face go red. He lunged forward and tried to snatch his laptop away but Lance pushed it to the other side of the bed, rolling over to protect it. Keith was forced to climb on top of him in an attempt to get it, trying to salvage whatever was left of his pride.

“You have a good blog!” Lance cried, as if that would make Keith want to squash him any less. They were both laughing as they wrestled, though, and somehow Lance ended up on top, sitting on Keith’s lap as he pinned his hands with only one of his own and propped Keith’s laptop open on his chest, facing him. He continued to scroll.

“I hate you,” Keith said, and Lance’s eyes flicked up, looking at him over the top of the laptop. Keith couldn’t see his mouth from his vantage point, but he could tell Lance was grinning.

“Suuure you do,” he said sarcastically.

That day at The Grounds was one of the best Keith could remember. They walked into the coffee shop already caught up in a conversation. There was no warm up period, no time spent falling into a rhythm around the shop and each other. It was like they were both on the top of their game – Keith even made a random customer laugh because of a joke he said to Lance. Plus, he only messed up two drinks the entire shift, and neither of the customers were particularly mad about it.

Because it was a week day, The Grounds closed at eleven, and they only had to shoo a couple people out when the clock his closing time. Lance and Pidge cleaned up behind the counters and in the kitchen as Keith sorted out the register. He kept scratching his arm against the garland whenever he reached for the money, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. The Christmas decorations really did look great, if he said so himself, and Coran must not have minded them because they’d been up for a few days now.

“Bye guys,” Pidge said way too energetically as they all stepped out of The Grounds. Keith wanted to blame it on the coffee she’d consumed a mere hour ago, but he knew she was a night owl regardless.

Lance pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen, and he didn’t follow after Keith when he turned and took a step away.

“What are you doing?” he asked, making Lance look up.

“Oh, I’m getting an Uber,” he said sheepishly, gesturing with his phone.

Keith frowned. “I can drive you.”

“You’ve already done so much,” Lance said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ask you to drive me home too—”

“I really don’t mind,” Keith said. “Plus, the drive is like, what, 15 minutes? That’d be a pretty pricey Uber.”

Lance tugged his lip between his teeth, clearly feeling guilty. Keith reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him along with him. “Come on,” he said firmly. “I’m taking you.”

In the car, Lance shoved his hands under his thighs, bouncing his knees anxiously as Keith pulled out of the parking garage. His lip was once again pressed firmly between his teeth, and he kept sending Keith side-glances. He’d yet to give him a single direction on how to get to his house, but Keith had a general idea of where his neighborhood was, so he didn’t really need any further direction until then.

“I feel really bad about this,” Lance suddenly blurted. “I could sleep on your couch or something instead. Do you have to get up early tomorrow? I don’t want to keep you up…”

“Lance, we’re friends,” Keith said sternly. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I’m just doing you a favor.” When he looked at Lance, Lance only looked partially reassured. He sighed. “Would it make you feel better if I let you sleepover?”

Lance nodded as he sighed in relief, before sucking the breath right back in. “Unless that’s imposing even more?!”

Keith snorted, and he reached out and slapped Lance on the arm. That seemed to break Lance out of his weird funk and he laughed, shoving a hand roughly through his hair, a nervous gesture. He did end up taking Lance to his apartment, and he was silently grateful to find that Shiro had already gone to bed, so there wouldn’t be any questions about his impromptu sleepover. Or his impromptu desire to have sleepovers.

“Here, you can sleep in my bed,” Keith said as he led Lance down the hall. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Uh, what? No way dude,” Lance protested heartedly, digging his heels into the carpet. Keith just pushed him harder. “I’m not taking your bed!” Lance hissed dramatically.

“Scared of my germs?” Keith joked, and Lance gasped.

“You know that’s not it!” he protested.

“Sounds like you think I’m disgusting. I’m gonna be offended forever.”

“Look, let’s just both sleep in it,” Lance said, turning to face Keith after passing the threshold into his room. “I mean, that’s what we all did as kids, right? And I still do that with my friends now, honestly.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Keith said, nodding. He neglected to mention that the one time he’d ever had a sleepover had been in sixth grade at Nigel Lament’s house for a birthday party, and he hadn’t been able to fall asleep and had ended up calling his mom to pick him up at one in the morning.

He found Lance a spare toothbrush along with a t-shirt to sleep in. By the time they were both crawling into Keith’s bed, he felt stiff and awkward. Lance, on the other hand, seemed totally at home.

“Thanks for letting me sleep over,” he sighed happily, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in his arms. His head was titled to the side, facing Keith, and his cheek was smushed up against his hand. He looked devastatingly cute.

Get a grip. “No problem,” Keith managed, telling himself to stop staring. Stop staring stop staring stop staring stop—

Lance’s eyes opened. Keith’s heart created a racket in his chest, surely loud enough for Lance to hear. His face felt hot, and it only grew hotter when Lance’s lips slid into a small smile.

“You goin’ to bed, Mullet?” he said, sounding not so sleepy himself.

“Yeah,” Keith said, except it came out sounding a little bit like a croak. He abruptly closed his eyes and managed to keep them closed for about thirty seconds. When he opened them again, Lance was still staring at him. He swallowed.

“What?” Keith said, feeling like his breath was caught somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t imagining all this tension, was he?

“Nothing,” Lance said softly.

It felt like all of Keith’s feelings were bubbling up in his chest. I like you. You’re breathtaking. You make me laugh more than anyone else. I’d work a twelve hour shift just to be with you.

“Keith?” Laid said, and for a moment, Keith panicked, thinking he’d actually said all that shit out loud.

“Yeah?” he managed to say, except it came out as a whisper, and Lance was suddenly scooting closer to him. His leg pressed against Keith’s under the covers, both bare, and he propped himself up on his elbow, having turned onto his side to face Keith.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

Keith’s head imploded. And then it went right back to normal, because he begged it to, because he wanted to react to this normally and actually get Lance to kiss him, dammit.

“What do you think?” Keith said, a chuckle slipping out under his breath, mostly from nerves. Lance was practically hovering over him, now. His hair was falling down into his eyes, and one of his hands slid from Keith’s shoulder to his neck to his cheek. There, it cupped his face perfectly, fingers warm and somehow not clammy against his skin – jeez, wasn’t he nervous too?

And then he just stayed there. Touching Keith. Hovering over him. Staring at him. And Keith had never been a very patient person to begin with, so it wasn’t his fault when he reached up, fingers curling against the back of Lance’s neck, and tugged him down.

Their lips crashed together, heat momentarily exploding between them, but it was quickly contained when Lance deliberately kept the kiss slow. He kissed Keith expertly, disastrously, so slow and careful when all Keith wanted to do was pull him against him hard and pant into his mouth.

Except this was good too. This was nice; perfect. Lance’s fingers against his skin, Lance’s weight pressing him down, Lance’s taste in his mouth and his scent in his nose.

God, he smelled like espressos. Which wasn’t necessarily surprising – they all smelled like coffee. Keith’s hamper always reeked of The Grounds. Except Lance smelled like espressos, so not only did he smell good, he smelled fucking impressive. And of course Keith would be more attracted to Lance simply because he could handle the fucking espresso machine. How embarrassing was that?

“You taste like coffee,” Lance murmured against his lips, pulling back just the barest amount to do so. Their noses nudged against each other, and then Lance slotted his lips against Keith’s again – different, better – and Keith sighed into his mouth.

“You taste like tea,” Keith answered, breathless. “I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Well, I don’t like coffee,” Lance said, pulling back enough to look Keith in the eye. Keith frowned.

“But I make you coffee every night shift.”

“And I suffer willingly because of how cute that is,” Lance said, grinning. Keith gaped at him.

“What the hell, Lance! You could’ve just told me you don’t like coffee!”

“And then what?” Lance scoffed jokingly. “Tell you I signed up for the night shifts simply because that cute regular-turned-employee was scheduled for them? Fat chance.”

“Lance,” Keith said, giddy with excitement and exasperation. “Are you joking?”

“No,” Lance laughed, somehow totally and completely unabashed. God, he was so cute. What the fuck.

Keith grinned then, tipping his head back against the pillows and already unable to believe the words that were sitting at the tip of his tongue. Lance took advantage of Keith’s new position and pressed his lips against his neck, which only made Keith want to say it even more. “Well, I only applied because of you,” he admitted, looking at Lance when he stopped kissing his neck, pulling away to grin at him. “That cute employee-turned-friend.”

“Turned boyfriend,” Lance said promptly. “You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Definitely,” Keith said, laughing, before pushing Lance off and rolling on top of him. It was just easier to kiss him that way.