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Look, Keith knows it’s not a wonderful choice, okay? He knows shoplifting isn’t great. But his student aid application was denied again, and sue him for wanting to eat a fresh vegetable once in a while. (That being said, maybe he should’ve gone for something a little less obvious than fucking cabbage. A carrot, or something, Jesus. He’s not dumb, but he’s a bit of a dumbass.)
“I’m so sorry. I don’t usually do this,” he says to the employee who’s just walked in on him stuffing the damn cabbage into his hoodie pocket.
The employee — a tall lanky guy, maybe like an inch shorter than Keith, with curly brown hair and the largest eye bags he’s literally ever seen — barely even glances at him.
“I’m gonna be honest with you,” he says, shoving some cans on a shelf, “I get paid less than minimum wage, which is legal because I am a student. My manager has yelled at me no less than four times since I clocked in, one of which was for the fact that it was raining and I did not beg god hard enough to stop it. If you fold your hand into the shape of a finger gun and inform me that you’re robbing the store, I will personally put every dollar from the register in your pocket and then ask you to pull the trigger. My soul is so dead that I don’t even have a joke for it. I don’t give even an eighth of a shit if you steal that cabbage.”
For the first time since his speech, the employee glances at Keith, and then does a double take. Some light seems to return into his deep brown eyes.
“Actually, you’re cute as hell,” he says, and Keith goes red. “Take two cabbages.”
Keith dutifully takes a second cabbage. The employee grins at him. His smile is so beautiful that Keith genuinely feels like he might die, a little.
He runs out of the shop.
———
“You did what?”
“I know, I know, stealing is bad —”
“No, Keith, I don’t give a shit about that. Stealing from Wal-Mart is fine; you can do that more if you want. I’m concerned about the hot employee. He called you cute, encouraged you to steal a cabbage, and you didn’t get his number?”
The judgey incredulousness in his annoying brother’s voice makes Keith’s hackles rise, a little.
“What do you know! It took you seven months to realise Adam liked you, and he wrote you a ‘do you like me yes/no’ note!”
There’s a pause on the other end of the phone.
“That’s different,” Shiro says haughtily. “I’m autistic.”
“He told you to your face that he liked you and your lips were kissable —”
“…My oven is exploding. I have to go. Goodbye.”
And Keith doesn’t even have a chance to give him even an ounce of shit before the dial tone is ringing in his ear.
“Bastard,” he mutters.
Coincidentally, as he’s glaring at his shitty Acer phone he bought for 97 dollars at Costco four years ago, he notices that it’s 2:36 in the morning. The same time the hot employee was working last night.
He bites his lip. He really should not return to the scene of his crime.
But he found a dollar on the subway today. He can buy a poptart, this time.
He likes poptarts.
———
“I see you’re paying this time,” the employee — who’s name tag says Eatyay Ymay Assyay, but Keith knows enough pig latin to assume that it’s a, ahem, pseudonym — says, scanning Keith’s singular package of chocolate poptarts. Keith flushes a little and looks down.
“Found a loonie on the subway,” he mumbles.
Hot Employee snorts. “I’ve always wanted to marry a rich man,” he teases.
Keith can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in his throat, which makes a pleased smile grace Hot Employee’s handsome face.
God, his eyes are so gorgeous.
“You have a nice laugh,” Hot Employee says. His voice is very earnest, and only a little dead inside. Considering the fact that the guy is working the night shift at Wal-Mart, Keith thinks it’s the equivalent to dancing a jig and clicking his heels.
Keith coughs. He doesn’t know what to say. He runs out of the store, again, a little.
When he reaches into his bag to stress-eat the poptart, he notices an orange that he did not purchase. Hot Employee must have thrown it in.
He wonders if that’s flirting. He’ll have to ask Adam.
———
“I hate gay people,” Adam says.
Keith snorts. “Interesting.”
“Seriously. We’re all so annoying. Especially you. Is it flirting, he says. Of course it’s flirting! He called you cute to your face! He said you have a nice laugh! He stole you an orange!”
“That could be platonic!”
Adam takes a long, noisy sip of tea. He levels Keith with a glare as he sets the cup back down to angrily bite a cake pop.
“Is it Shiro’s turn with the braincell today?”
“It’s never Shiro’s turn with the braincell. Besides, I sold it for profit six years ago.”
“I see.”
Keith sips his coffee that Adam bought him, because Adam is a Real Adult with a Real Job. (Accounting, or something. He’s explained his job maybe seven million times, and even took Keith to his office, once, when Keith was maybe nine, but if you put a gun to Keith’s head and asked him to tell you what Adam does then that would be it. Hello, fiery depths of hell. (Keith would say pearly gates, but he once had a wet dream about Jesus Christ Himself when he was like fourteen, so his fate is sealed.))
“If you don’t ask that boy on a date I am going to pay Pidge to hack your Spotify and play country music for one hundred consecutive hours to permanently destroy Wrapped day for you,” Adam informs him.
Keith chokes on his coffee, a little.
“That’s a hate crime.”
“Correct.”
———
Keith would like to say he’s up late again because he’s doing homework. In reality, he’s been drawing Pidge as the poop emoji from The Emoji Movie in as much detail as possible because that’s what you do with your friends.
He glances at the clock. 2 something in the morning.
It’s probably weird to go to Wal-Mart again for no reason.
But, like. It’s not like he’s busy, or anything. Besides, he could use some butter.
(The brick he already has is lonely, or something.)
(Whatever. He doesn’t need an excuse. He’s a grown ass adult.)
———
“See, now it’s a pattern,” Hot Employee says.
Keith smiles.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hot Employee — holy shit Keith needs to learn his name — rolls his eyes, but his expression is playful, almost excited.
“You see, Hot Criminal Boy —” Keith flushes a little at the name, although he supposed it’s no worse than Hot Employee — “the first time we met was obviously an accident. I was an unwilling witness to your crime.”
“I barely even shoplifted! And you encouraged me!”
Hot Employee waves his hand. “Eh, semantics. Every time I try to remember the incident I am distracted by my own memory of your dazzling eyes and ridiculous hair.”
Keith goes redder, both because he’s flattered and a little indignant. He touches his hair, loose because he forgot a hair tie again.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” he mumbles. Hot Employee grins at him.
“Never in my life have I seen someone pull off a mullet. I am truly bamboozled. But no question that you do, caliente. Dios.”
Sultry brown eyes and a saucy wink paired with smooth, unhesitant Spanish just shuts Keith’s brain the fuck down. A beeping noise echoes through his head. Error 404. He’s sure his face must be near purple now, gods above. He thinks of any possible way to divert the subject so he has even half a chance to come out of this conversation as a cool person.
He’s desperately wracking his brain, trying to think of a pickup line he saw online or something, but is saved from entering that clusterfuck of a situation by a crackling noise coming from Hot Employee’s walkie talkie.
“Lance, come in.”
Hot Employee — Lance, apparently — sighs deeply, all traces of joy vanishing from his expression. He holds up a finger.
“Just a sec,” he says. “Duty calls. Yeah, Martha?”
“You better not be fucking socializing, Sanchez,” the voice growls.
Lance rolls his eyes.
“Of course not, ma’am. Helping a customer, is all.”
The voice scoffs. “Yeah fucking right. Get to work before I fire you, lazy ass.”
“It’s funny she says that,” Lance says, tucking his walkie talkie back into his pocket, “since I know what she is currently doing is watching T.V. in the back, on her fourth hour of her thirty-minute break.”
Keith snorts despite his worry.
“Sorry for keeping you,” he offers. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Lance laughs, some of the humour bleeding back into his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m the diversity hire, she can’t fire me. Besides, if she fired me then she’d actually have to work, so. I’m good.”
“Still. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Lance grins at him. “Very sweet of you, Hot Criminal Boy.”
“Oh — um, my name is Keith. Keith Gyeong.”
“Cute name for a cute face. Now, back to my theory — what’s your excuse for coming to visit me now? Because the third time is a pattern, you know. Second time I figured it was a coincidence, but c’mon. No one wants to visit Wal-Mart three nights in a row except for gay reasons.”
Keith laughs, because Lance clearly sees right through him.
“I’m here for butter,” he insists anyway.
Lance raises an eyebrow, studying him for a moment.
“I have a proposition for you, Keith Gyeong.”
“I’m listening.”
“You are very clearly into me at least a little. I am very much into you. My shift doesn’t end for another three hours. How would you like to go on the worst date of your life, mójol?”
Keith grins. “Pretty high bar for yourself, huh?”
Lance grins right back. “Maybe. You want to follow me around as I pretend to stock shelves and ignore real customers?”
“If you think that’s the worst date I’ve ever been on, you’re kidding yourself. I’d love to.”
To say Lance lights up is an understatement. His smile glows, illuminating the dreary misery of the store and also Keith’s heart. It’s incredible.
“C’mon then, Keith Gyeong. Tell me about your worst date as I open and close the freezer doors.”
Keith does. He lightly embellishes the story of the man who asked him to dinner, took him to McDonalds, made Keith pay, took Keith’s change, and then tried to rope him into a pyramid scheme. He puts every ounce of high-school-drama-class he has into that story, and by the end of it Lance is crouched over with tears in his eyes, begging him to stop. Keith realises that he would do literally anything to hear that laughter every day for the rest of his life.
Lance, in turn, tells him about the time he put maple syrup in between the mattress cover and fitted sheet of his brother’s bed after he found out the man sold his favourite pokémon DS game to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who worked at the GameStop. He claims he hid in the attic for two days after because he thought his brother might kill him. His tone is so serious that Keith would believe him, but the sparkle in his eyes and the twitching of his mouth gives him away.
Keith wants to kiss him so bad he can barely think straight.
(It’s ridiculous, feeling this strongly about a stranger he’s only met three times. But Lance is funny, and charming, and sweet, and he’s proven to be an ideal provider. Keith wonders if this is how those Victorian woman felt, because he genuinely feels like he’s gonna swoon, a little.)
“You a student, too?” Lance asks.
“Yeah. Visual arts.”
“Oooh, tortured artist. I’ve heard you guys kiss better than anyone else.”
Keith snorts, even as his heart pounds. “Yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”
“…Okay, okay, you got me. I made that up. I think it’d be a fun theory to test, though.”
Keith knows he’s not hallucinating Lance flicking his gaze to Keith’s lips.
“I’m a physics major, you know,” Lance continues. “I’m big on testing theories.”
Keith swallows. He flicks his eyes to Lance’s lips, full and pink and maybe a little shiny.
“Physics major?” he asks, a little breathy. “You must do a lot of math, huh.”
Lance hums. He leans closer, a little. “Lots.”
“I’ve got a math question for you, then.”
“Hit me.”
He’s definitely leaning closer. Keith does, too. He can feel the warmth of Lance’s breath on his face. It smells sweet, like strawberries.
“What’ll we get if I add your lips to mine?”
“Let’s find out,” Lance breathes. He finally closes the distance, pressing their lips together.
Keith gets all those corny romance novels he pretends he doesn’t read, now. Sparks really do fly.
———
“Someone is looking chipper,” Allura comments drily as they set up their easels.
“I had a good night,” Keith says. He can’t stop his smirk.
“Clearly. I’ve never seen someone look so smug with so many bags under their eyes. What did you do? Or who, rather.”
“I didn’t fuck anyone. I went to Wal-Mart.”
“No one is that happy about going to Wal-Mart at night, you liar.”
Keith sighs dreamily. He can’t help it. All he can think of is Lance, Lance, Lance. He wants to yell it from the rooftops. He wants to tattoo his name on his body. It’s insane.
“I met this boy, a few days ago,” he says.
Allura pumps her fist. “I knew it! Tell me everything immediately.”
“He’s just… he’s gorgeous. He encouraged me to steal a cabbage. He gave me an orange. Last night I hung out with him for hours and we kissed in the baking needs aisle. I am in love, Allura, I swear to God.”
“Oh my God, are you Hot Criminal Boy?”
Keith whips his head up, meeting the eyes of their nude model, Hunk. (Hunk’s a cool guy, and Keith’s favourite of all the models they have. He’s really good at staying still, and genuinely a fun guy to talk to. He is building his own bike, which Keith thinks is so fucking awesome. They talk about it a lot.)
“Is Lance really calling me that to other people? Oh my God. It was a cabbage. He encouraged it.”
Hunk manages to laugh without moving a single muscle, which confirms Keith’s theory that Hunk is not of this realm.
“Only to me. And his siblings. And his mom. And anyone who asks at all. He really doesn’t shut up about you, dude, I’ll be honest. He talked about you to the person who was stuck next to us at the red light this morning.”
Keith flushes. Allura fucking dies laughing.
“…Does he really?”
“Yeah, dude. He had the mooniest smile I’ve ever seen when he told me y’all kissed last night.”
Allura chokes on her laughter. “You kissed someone? And you didn’t fucking tell me? Whore! How dare you! I thought we were friends!”
Keith shrugs, smiling a little. “I wanted to keep it to myself for a little.”
“Yeah, clearly, ya gay ass.”
All three of them turn back to focus on their work, the sound of even breathing and brushstrokes filling the air. Keith sinks into the painting, trying to get the curve of Hunk’s fluffy hair just right.
“You really like him?” Allura whispers after some time.
“Yeah,” Keith whispers back. “He really feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Allura smiles softly, eyes never leaving her paint. “Good. You deserve it.”
“Thanks.”
“Yeah. Also, if I had to hear about you whining about how badly you wanted a boyfriend for even one more day I was going to get you one my damn self, ya simp.”
“…And there goes the moment.”