Work Text:
December 1st,
twenty-four days until Christmas
“We’ve been waiting for half an hour, and the line has barely moved!” There’s a woman, leaning over the false-velvet rope to snap her fingers in Keith’s face.
Keith grits his teeth. “I’m very sorry for the wait. As today is our first day open we’re a bit busy. Everyone will get to see Santa, there’s no need to worry.”
“But we’ve got other things to do today,” There’s three squirming kids at her feet, sitting on the false snow of the carpet, dressed in a truly blinding shade of red and fighting over her phone.
“So did I,” Keith mutters. “Look, there’s really nothing I can do. You can either stay in the line and wait your turn or come back another day. Oh, what’s that, Adam? Yep, coming.”
He crosses the Grotto quickly, ignoring the woman’s scoff, ducking under oversized candy canes and nearly knocking his head on the plastic snow-covered branch. The sheer volume of fake snow was ridiculous.
“I didn’t call you over here,” Adam says, as he comes to stand beside him. He’s distracted with the camera, snapping picture after picture. “You can’t just ignore every customer by pretending you hear someone calling you.”
“I can and I will,” Keith says, pretending to fiddle with one of the lights. “I’m gonna invest in a headset so I can have someone calling me whenever.”
“Elves don’t wear headsets.” Adam slaps his hands away from the light, adjusting the bell on the end of his hat as he ducks out of the way.
“Elves aren’t real.”
“Keep your voice down. And go and give that girl a candy cane.”
“This is the biggest tragedy of my life, Adam,” Keith says, as he retreats, scooping up the sack of candy canes on the way. “And you know I’ve been through some shit.”
Keith hates Christmas. He hated Christmas at school, when they’d make cards for their families. He hated Christmas in the foster homes, where they’d eat dry ham and get a plasticky, sympathy gift. He hated Christmas at Shiro’s house, where he was forced into family photos. All the lonely, dark, and downright depressing Christmases are nowhere near as bad as this one, though, stuck, working at a department store, through the busiest time of year, in striped stockings and a hat with a bell on the end.
“Excuse me,” A man calls as he walks past, “We’ve been waiting here for–”
“Yep, everyone has been. Santa can’t be everywhere at once,” Keith says. “Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll bring you some patience this year.”
----
Maybe the job would be tolerable if it wasn’t for the uniform. Candy-cane striped stockings, a pine tree green polyester velvet look alike vest, the shortest shorts Keith has ever had to wear, stupid curled toe shoes and the twisty hat with a bell on the end. If Keith ever meets the person who invented Christmas elves he might kill them.
When Keith returns from his lunch break, the line seems to have grown exponentially. Santa is still smiling and laughing, asking each kid what they want for Christmas, but Keith knows Shiro well enough to know that the creases around his eyes mean he’s stressed. He grabs the bag without a word and moves towards the line.
He makes his way through the line with the candy cane sack. They don’t fare well during the hot summer of Christmas, at least half of them are starting to melt, leaving a sticky, marbled residue on the plastic. He already had to fetch the first aid kit this morning, after one kid sharpened her’s down to a spike that she then used to stab her brother.
“Hey,” calls a voice behind him.
Keith spins on his heel, preparing for a barrage of questions. The guy doesn’t look like their normal clientele. He’s young, about Keith’s age, and wearing a tank top and shorts. At his feet are two kids, a boy and a girl. They look to be about five. Or maybe ten. Keith doesn’t know kids. The man is smiling, bright and warm, and Keith spends only a reasonable few seconds looking at his arms. The crowd quiets, the Christmas lights twinkle.
“Yeah?” Keith says.
“Does Santa’s Workshop not have a dress code?” He asks, nonsensically.
“What?” Keith says. There was probably a more diplomatic, customer service, answer to that question.
“Your hair,” he says, motioning to Keith’s head, “I didn’t know elves were allowed to have mullets.”
“It’s not a mullet,” Keith snaps, immediately. The crowd grows louder and the lights dim. What the hell is wrong with some people?
The man just laughs. “It’s a mullet. Did you have to time travel to get here?”
“Asshole,” Keith spits, before he can catch himself.
The man’s eyes widen, and he glares at Keith. “You’re the asshole!”
“Me? I’m just trying to do my job, you were the one insulting me!”
People are starting to turn and look, the mother playing I spy goes quiet. This always happens. Keith’s a magnet for fights, it's been on his record since he was a kid; that he’s too standoffish, takes things too personally, is always looking for trouble.
The man just scoffs. “Whatever. Dickhead.”
“Uh-oh,” says one of the children at his feet, the boy in the polo shirt, “naughty word.”
“I’m telling mummy!” the other, the girl in the alphabet printed dress, shrieks, excited.
The man winces, looking away from Keith to focus his attention on his children. “We don’t need to tell mummy…”
Keith turns on his heel and walks away. It's not worth getting into a fight with some asshole over his haircut. He can feel Adam’s eyes on him, but ignores him, instead walking to the large throne in the centre of the grotto and ushering forwards the next family.
“Are we excited for Christmas?” He asks the kid, who squeals and waves a half-eaten candy cane in his direction.
----
Keith dreams he’s stuck in an endless snow storm, wind howling around his ankles and jingling the bell on his hat, alone, except for the man. As the snow piles up to his waist, the man opens his mouth and laughs.
----
December 4th,
twenty-one days until Christmas
The man is back again. He’s standing in the middle of the line, in a different tank top, with a different kid. Keith’s pissed already - that he’s back, that he looks just as nice as he did last time, and that he’s standing with a woman.
Standing beside Keith, Adam leans over towards him. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
“I’m not three.”
“You can take your break if you like.”
“It’s fine. Stick to taking photos.”
In the line, a kid starts crying and Keith pushes forwards to bribe her with sugar. For a job that purely runs on a love of Christmas, a positive attitude, and a love of children’s joy, Keith is really not the right guy for the job. He was a last minute rush hire, which means that Matt, who usually gets the honour of Santa’s Grotto’s elf, application for his internship came through two days before set up and Keith was given (read: forced into) the job. Nepotism has its downsides too.
Keith gives the girl a candy cane, then her brother, and then has to go along the line and give one to every single kid in line.
“You here everyday?”
Keith doesn’t have to look up to know who has spoken.
“Yeah,” Keith says, then pauses for a moment. He thinks over breathing tricks and anger management techniques and throws them out the faux-snowed over window. “It’s called having a job.”
“I have a job.”
“Sure. It looks like it.”
The man huffs loudly, throwing his arms up. The woman next to him grabs the arm closest to her and forces it down.
“Lance!” She mutters.
“Do you not recognise me?” The man, Lance, apparently, asks, ignoring the woman. His girlfriend. Wife, probably.
“From like two days ago?”
“No!”
“What?”
“Keith, dude.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Oh my god,” Lance says. “Really?”
The excessive string lights along the ceiling flicker violently and blink out. A girl three people behind him starts to scream.
“Fuck me,” Keith mutters. Honestly, he’s glad for the opportunity to escape the conversation. Lance has gone from relatively attractive customer, to worst customer experience, to uncomfortable, bordering on creepy, human interaction.
As he walks away, he hears the woman say, “Seriously, Lance?”
Fixing the stupid lights takes at least half an hour, by which point Lance and his girlfriendwife have taken their picture with Shiro and left.
----
Keith dreams of a large crowd, filled with crying children and complaining parents. He can hear someone calling his name, but cannot find them.
----
December 5th,
twenty days until Christmas
Santa’s Grotto started out as a joke. Adam, drunk off shitty boxed wine, watching an even shittier made for TV Christmas movie, joking that the guy who played Santa kind of looked like Shiro. While Keith hadn’t been present for the joke, he’d unfortunately been made the unwilling accomplice as they began to talk about it seriously.
They were lucky, as the city’s largest department store, The Castle, lost their contract with Santa’s Workshop, and were desperate. Keith has learned that the world of Santa photos is not for the weak - The Castle were blacklisted for their broken contract and successively lost business with Santa and The Elves, Santa & His Elves, and numerous other, stupidly named, businesses.
It's not even his first Christmas here. Shiro and Adam have been setting up in the middle of the shop for four years, and he’s helped out every time. Mostly, he helps with the set up, draping the lights and hanging endless baubles, and only dons the elf costume when they’re desperate. Like this year.
Keith has Wednesday off, and returns on Thursday for the start of the weekend rush. The morning goes smoothly, he only has to tell one mother to wait her turn, and he has his lunch in the staff room.
He always feels a bit awkward in there, partially due to the fact that he’s only there for December and partially due to the costume. But they have a microwave, and a kettle.
The staff room is never very busy - for such a large shop, they seem to have very few employees. There’s two girls sitting at a table by the corner, both silently scrolling on their phones, and someone with their back to him, over by the fridge.
Keith crosses the room, neither girl looks up, without glancing at the person in the kitchen. He’s watching his leftover butter chicken spin around and around in the microwave when he hears his name.
He turns to see the guy from the line, the one with the various children. Lance.
“What are you doing here?” He asks before he can stop himself. “Are you stalking me?”
“I work here, idiot,” Lance says, gesturing to his polo shirt, with the shop’s logo clearly embroidered.
Obviously. Fuck.
Keith knows what’s going to happen, just like he’s always known. He’s not good at this, not good at de-escalating. He’d climb a mountain of incorrect assumptions and antagonisms and leap from the top before attempting to back down.
“How was I supposed to know that?”
It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He doesn’t mean for it to come across as accusatory. This was always on his file too, impulsive, defensive, riding shotgun besides trouble maker, picks fights, struggles to make connections and Keith’s least favourite, perpetually lonely.
Lance rolls his eyes. “Did you actually think I was stalking you?”
Keith shrugs, he can feel a flush climbing up his face, part embarrassment, part intolerable anger. “You’ve clearly got multiple families, how would I know what else you get up to? Does your girlfriend know about your other kids?”
“My what?” Lance shouts. He’s flailing his arms around as he speaks. The two girls at the table in the corner have abandoned their phones in favour of staring at them. “My girlfriend? Yuck, Keith. That was my sister!”
Leaping off the mountain is looking like a pretty safe option.
“Oh,” Keith manages. “I didn’t know.”
“Duh,” Lance says. “They’re my nieces and nephews. So were the first two! My brother had to work so I said I’d take them to get their photo.”
Behind him, the microwave starts to beep. They both jump. Keith turns around to stop it.
“I work in the clothing department,” Lance says, while Keith fusses over his lunch. “Menswear.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Lance blinks at him for a few seconds. “So… don't come and visit!”
“I wasn’t going to!”
“Good. Glad we got that sorted!” Lance yells, turning on his heel and storming out of the break room. Weird.
----
Lance appears at the entrance to Santa’s Grotto, just as Keith clips the gate into place.
“We’re closed,” Keith says. “You’ll have to bring your second cousin twice removed tomorrow.”
“Haha,” Lance says, fiddling with one of the oversized baubles. “You working tomorrow?”
“Everyday until Christmas. Don’t touch that.”
“Yeesh,” Lance says. “You coming to the Christmas party?”
“I guess.”
“I am. Going. To the Christmas party,” Lance says, haltingly. He runs one of hands across the back of his neck and Keith tracks the movement. “Will you wear your elf outfit?”
“Obviously not,” Keith says. “Why are you even here?”
“What? I’m not allowed to visit,” he pauses, looking above Keith’s head for the sign. “Santa’s Grotto?”
“You told me to stay out of menswear,” Keith points out. “Move. I need to lock up.”
Lance grins at him, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, reaching out to pat at Keith’s head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mullet.”
Keith ducks. “It’s not a mullet!”
“Sure it’s not,” Lance calls over his shoulder, as he walks away.
He’s not sure what to make of Lance. They’d argued, and Keith was fairly sure that he came back the second time just to piss him off, but now he was doing things like laughing, and touching him. He’s not necessarily opposed to it, he’d just prefer if there were rules. Or if Lance would explain himself.
----
Keith dreams of infuriating, confusing, kind-of coworkers, with deep brown eyes and warm hands.
----
December 6th,
nineteen days until Christmas
Keith’s got ten minutes to kill before he has to be at work and he’s wandering aimlessly through the aisles of the menswear department. What do you get the man who turned your life around and who you owe everything to? Socks?
“Are you stupid?” A woman’s voice rings through the shop. “I am asking a genuine question - Are. You. Stupid?”
God, Keith hates retail. There is truly no better place to meet the absolute dregs of humanity. He sticks his head out of the aisle to see which unfortunate employee is being shouted at.
It’s him. Lance.
“There’s no need to raise your voice–” He tries, valiantly. He’s got a placating look on his face.
“Oh, you will not tell me what is appropriate!” She shrieks. “I want to speak to your manager.”
“Of course you do.” Lance mutters.
Keith makes a snap decision, before he has a chance to regret it. He’s always been good at impulsivity. He steps out of the aisle, dumping his stupid elf hat and bag.
“I’m his manager. What’s the issue?”
“You’re his manager?”
“Yep? What’s the issue?”
The woman casts an obvious and critical look over his outfit. Keith curses his elf costume. They stand in silence for a few moments, the line growing longer, Lance staring, wide-eyed at Keith and the woman huffing, as she makes up her mind.
“He asked me if I’d like to buy a bag!” She says, affronted.
“And that’s an issue because…?”
The woman huffs again. “I am purchasing glassware!”
“I’m sure he was about to ask if you wanted bubble wrap around your products,” Keith explains. He can see Lance nodding in his periphery. “Despite that, there is no need to abuse the staff over a simple question. So, would you like your vase bubble wrapped and would you like to purchase a bag?”
The woman continues to complain as Keith takes a step back to let Lance access the system. As she steps away, Lance waves over a girl restocking a rack over to the till. He grabs Keith’s wrist and drags him from the counter, pulling him towards an aisle.
“What the hell was that?” Lance asks.
“Is that how you say thank you?” Keith asks, “I just solved that issue for you.”
Lance groans, loudly and dramatically. “Fine. Thank you.”
“Was that so hard?”
“I told you to stay out of menswear.”
“You don’t own this shop, Lance. I need a gift for my brother, anyway.” Keith explains, with a roll of his eyes.
“Fine,” Lance says, “I will revoke my ban on you.”
“Shut up,” Keith says, “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”
“Hey, I was doing something nice!” Lance calls, as Keith walks away.
----
Keith dreams of an empty store hallway, lit at the end. He walks down in silence, to a locked door.
----
December 8th,
seventeen days until Christmas
“It’s just a teambuilding, camaraderie thing,” Shiro had explained when the invitation first arrived. “It’s for the whole shop. No one is going to know if one member of their seasonal staff doesn't go.”
“That being said,” Adam had interjected. “Wouldn't it be nice to go?”
Keith had complained, but it was mostly for show. Despite common belief, he was not actually six years old and was capable of attending events he didn’t really want to go to. Besides, he knew Shiro wanted to make a good impression and Adam wanted the three of them to go. And maybe there was a teeny-tiny part of him that wanted to spend time with the people he worked adjacent to without the elf costume.
The work Christmas party is held at the shop, after hours, in the staff lunch room. They’ve decorated it, garlands hung around the walls, a scraggly Christmas tree with what Keith bets are empty boxes wrapped underneath. There’s a CD player in the corner, playing the greatest Christmas hits.
The room is busy, groups lingering in corners, holding plastic cups. There’s a dancefloor, that someone has optimistically set out, that everyone is studiously ignoring.
Almost as soon as they walk in, someone is waving at Shiro. She’s standing amongst a large group, wearing a shimmering, silver dress. Her hair sits in contrast to her face, pulled up and out of the way.
“Oh Allura!” Shiro says, he grabs Adam's arm to get his attention. “Keith, do you want to get something to eat?”
They move off before Keith can get his answer out.
“Yeah, love to,” He mutters, making his way to the refreshments table, “Love to be ditched immediately.”
He fusses at the table, pouring himself a cup of punch and collecting a paper plate. There’s a selection of biscuits - home brand, they haven't even splashed out for Arnott’s - and pieces of what was once a Woolies’ chocolate mud cake. A hand wraps around his shoulder, and he flinches back.
“Woah,” Lance says. “It's just me.”
“Oh, hi,” Keith says, “Are we speaking now?”
Lance rolls his eyes. “Keith, you saved me from that woman. We are bonded for life. We are more than speaking, we’re best friends.”
“Oh,” Keith does not understand him. “Okay. Um, how are you?”
“The same as I was when you saw me this morning. Except more bored.”
“Yeah. It’s not exactly kicking off in here.”
Lance shrugs. “The work party is always a dud, you’ve just gotta stick it out for after.”
“After?”
“Yeah,” Lance explains. “The corporate responsibility of hosting a Christmas do finishes at nine and then we can go out. So, the mullet isn’t part of the costume.”
Keith scowls. “Why are you so obsessed with my hair?”
“It's a novelty,” Lance says. “I bet it’s a great identifier. Hey, have you met Pidge? Or Hunk? No? I’ll introduce you, come on.”
Lance jumps from topic to topic like a skee-ball, hitting against conversation starters and factoids. The party seems to move around him, people smiling and waving as he leads them across the room. Keith falls into step behind him, following blindly.
----
Shiro and Adam go home at nine, because Shiro’s basically an old man and Adam becomes unable to function if he doesn't get eight hours sleep. Keith suspects they also want the house to themselves, but he doesn't want to dwell on it.
Lance’s group of friends consist of Pidge, who works in electronics, Hunk , who works in home and kitchenwares, and Allura, who is a floor manager. He’d been introduced to them earlier, had endured the awkward hellos and nice to meet yous, and Pidge’s particularly targeted Oh, so you’re the elf, before they fell into easy conversation.
They had crammed in the back of a taxi, Keith pressed between the side door and Hunk, and arrived at Lance’s second favourite bar. Apparently his favourite was closed for renovations.
“Who renovates over Christmas?” Lance complains, as they clamber out and gather on the footpath, waiting for Allura to pay the driver.
“It’s fine,” Hunk says. “I prefer it here anyway.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you're in love with the bartender.” Pidge digs.
“I’m not in love with her!” Hunk cries. His face is flushed, and he’s gesturing wildly. Keith takes a small step backwards to avoid being hit.
Allura leans out of the taxi with a smile, shutting the door behind her. “Are we talking about the love of Hunk’s life?”
“We’re just friends,” Hunk manages. “Seriously. She’s like, my friend. Not that she’s mine - she’s her’s, we just happen to be friends. And she happens to work here. My friend.”
“Well, that was convincing,” Lance says, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. It can be our little secret.”
“Secret?” Pidge mutters, as they walk towards the door.
The bar is crowded. A swirling mess of bodies greet them as they step through the doors. The music blasts overhead, a song from twenty years ago that Adam listens to in his car, the lights flashing in time.
Lance turns to him, the lights reflecting off his face, and says something, the words lost under the thumping of the music and Keith’s heart.
“What?” Keith shouts.
Lance takes a step closer to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and leaning in close. Keith watches a curl on his forehead drop into his eye.
“What do you think? Cool, huh?” He repeats. Keith can feel his breath on the side of his neck. He’s being totally normal about it.
“When you said bar I was picturing… something more quiet.”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all!” Lance exclaims.
“I don’t know you!” Keith cries, right into Lance’s ear.
Lance laughs, leaning back out of Keith's space. He opens his mouth wide when he laughs, showing off his glittering teeth. He pulls them through the crowd and mimes taking a drink. “What do you want? To drink?”
----
Keith has not drank this much since his eighteenth birthday party. He says ‘birthday party’ like it was a big bash and not just him, Shiro, Adam, and their cat, Red, getting pissed on the couch. Not that Red was drinking. She was just there, on the couch.
But Lance has this allure about him. Keith had finished his first drink, some fizzy, raspberry flavoured thing, that Lance chose and was looking for a spot against the wall to wait out the evening, when Lance swung past him with another drink.
“Why are you lurking?” He’d asked.
Keith spluttered. “I’m not lurking.”
“It looks like you’re lurking. Whatever. This is for you,” Lance pushed the drink into Keith’s hands. It was blue, with shimmery glitter mixed through it, and a tiny umbrella sitting at the top of the glass.
“This is very cliche.”
“Are you too pretentious to drink something with an umbrella? Christ.”
“I’ll drink it,” Keith said, defensively. “Love umbrellas.”
He’d drunk the blue thing in record time, spurred on by Lance’s nagging that they made it to the dance floor before the song finished playing. Allura had bought them all a round of shots and then another one. The love of Hunk’s life/friend, Shay, had given him a beer on the house and Lance had wheedled him into selecting a drink for the both of them.
Anyway. He’s drunk - really drunk. Pidge is talking about the robotics program she’s going to be completing over summer except the lights behind her are spinning.
“And it’ll be really good to get some practical, well, legal experience. Something that can actually go on a resume? Y’know. Because I’ve been doing– are you okay, Keith?”
“I’m great!” Keith says. He wobbles a little and reaches out a hand to catch himself on her shoulder. “I’m soooo great.”
“Yeah,” Hunk chimes in. Keith didn’t even know he was standing there. He pats Keith on the back, right between his shoulder blades. “Seems like it, huh, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Keith repeats. “So great.”
“Maybe we should call it a night,” Pidge suggests. “Hey, are you working tomorrow, Keith?”
“Everyday ‘til Christmas.” He says. The v sound stays stuck in his mouth - coming out as an r. He tries again, “Everyday. E-v-e-ryday.”
Pidge cackles and Hunk offers a sympathetic smile. “I’ll get Lance,” He says.
Lance. Keith looks out across the clump of people, wriggling and writhing. Lance is in the middle, his hands above his head, dancing. The red light slants through his hair, creating a glow around him. Like he’s wearing a halo.
Pidge follows his gaze and does a double take when she sees his face. “Oh, so it’s like that .”
“Like what?” Keith says, his eyes still on Lance.
“Nothing,” Pidge says.
Keith tears his eyes away from the dance floor. “What do you mean?” The words string together, slamming into each other like loosened train carriages.
“Do I actually have to explain this to you?” She asks.
“Explain what?” His tongue feels syrupy in his mouth. She’s not making any sense.
“Keith!”
He spins around. Lance is making his way over, Hunk a few steps behind.
“Keith,” Lance repeats. “Hunk said you were smashed. He said you were super drunk.”
“No,” Keith says. “I’m fine. I feel fine.”
“He feels soooo great,” Pidge says.
“He’s been wobbly for the last half hour,” Hunk offers. Betrayal.
“We can go home,” Lance says. “You wanna go home, Keith?”
“To your house?” Keith asks. “Yeah.”
Pidge laughs.
“No, to your house,” Lance says. He’s swaying slightly, backwards and forwards, in and out of Keith’s space.
“Oh. Um. Sure.”
“How much did he drink?” Lance asks, as Pidge waves over Allura and they prepare to leave.
“I had the umbrella thing. And a beer. And a shot. Actually two. At least. And–”
“I see,” Lance interrupts.
They weave themselves out of the bar, and wait on the street for a taxi. Pidge and Hunk take the first one, the two of them living relatively close together, and Lance and Allura shepard Keith into the second one, before climbing in themselves.
Allura’s polite conversation with the driver is a comforting hum, a quiet baseline for Keith’s staggering head and heart.
“Hey,” Lance whispers.
“Hi,” Keith whispers back.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” Keith nods. His hair flops into his face. “Yeah, I had fun.”
Lance grins, and lifts a hand to push Keith’s fringe out of his eyes. Keith sucks in a shaky breath. Lance’s fingertips brush briefly across his forehead, a tiny track of blazing heat.
“That’s good,” He says. “Me too. Hey, give me your phone.”
Why? Keith doesn’t say. No , Keith doesn’t say. He unlocks his phone (Red’s birthday) and passes over his phone.
Lance taps around at the screen for a few moments, before he opens the camera. He has it pointed at Keith before he can react. Just as quickly, he flips it and takes a photo of the two of them.
“What are you doing?” Keith asks.
“Commemorating,” Lance says. He angles the screen towards Keith, displaying his newly added contact, under his name, with a plethora of e’s. “Now you can text me.”
He hands the phone back and Keith, after some intense concentration, manages to send him a wonky-looking smiley face.
There’s a moment where Keith thinks he’s going to kiss him. It’d be so easy to lean in, grab Lance’s face, his jaw, his hair, and drag him into a kiss. Instead, he leans back in his seat, the seatbelt cutting across his neck, and smiles.
“Lance. Lance,” Keith whispers. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Lance laughs, low and quiet. “If you want to.”
“You’re so confusing,” Keith says, and it comes out as a low whine. “I don’t understand. Do you like me or hate me?”
“You’re so drunk.”
“I think I’m both.”
“What?”
Keith leans in close, waving Lance closer. “I think I like you and hate you.”
Keith can’t recognise the expression on his face, Lance’s features swimming back and forth, sunkissed and shimmering, in the expansive ocean of his face.
“Well,” Lance says, eventually. “I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”
----
Keith dreams, in hazy and warped colour, of flashing lights, wavy sound, and piercing blue eyes, in the disembodied backseat of somebody else’s car.
----
December 10th,
fifteen days until Christmas
Yesterday was awful. Keith woke up with a thumping headache, glitter in his hair, a hazy memory, and smug commentary and smiles from both Shiro and Adam. And a text from Lance. So it wasn’t all bad. Work had been worse. Hell is a hangover in a children-oriented retail environment.
They’d been so swamped he’d had to speed eat his sandwich in the wardrobe sized break room behind Santa’s chair and didn’t get a chance for a real break. The day had passed in a blur of demanding mothers and impatient fathers.
Today is slightly better on the not waking up with a headache front, but with no improvement on the lineup for a Santa photo. Keith is pondering how long he would suffer if he impaled himself on one of the knee-high fence pickets when he hears his name.
Lance is standing off to the side, in his store polo, a price gun in one hand. He lifts the free hand in a wave.
Keith waves back. “I’m taking my break.”
“What?” Adam says. “It’s not even eleven yet.”
“I’m taking it now.”
“Jeez, fine,” Adam says, with a sigh. “But do not complain to me this afternoon when you’ve been working for six hours straight.”
Keith rolls his eyes, drops the bag of candy canes at Adam’s feet and steps over the fence towards Lance.
----
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Lance says, grandly sweeping his arm. “Over here we have the delightful section of pants. If you look that-a-way you will see our vast assortment of shirts.”
“Wow,” Keith says. “Lovely.”
“Indeed,” Lance says. “And we have barely scratched the surface of the delights found in our menswear department.”
“Clearly.”
Lance drops his character with a grin. “Yeah, whatever. I know you’re just here so I can show you where I keep my fancy coffee.”
Keith follows him past the racks of clothing to the wall of mirrors. Lance twists the door handle on one of them and opens the door. He has to give it a sharp tug to unstick the hinge. They wander through the stockroom, past boxes stacked floor to ceiling.
“Okay, so I should have mentioned this earlier,” Lance starts. “But if you tell anyone about what you see back here I will have to kill you.”
“That seems extreme.”
“I can’t have you running off the Health and Safety Department, Keith. This whole shop is a walking OH&S violation.”
Lance leads him to the coffee room and bangs around cups and cupboard doors as he makes two cups of coffee.
“What are you doing after Christmas?” Lance asks, once they’re both sitting at the small, two-person table. Keith’s mug is chipped along the rim and says ‘I’m not an elf, I’m just short’. He tries to not take it personally.
“What I did before Christmas.” Keith says, with a shrug.
“Which was…?”
“Not much.”
“Right.”
“What about you?”
“Continuing to work here,” Lance says, “Until summer’s over and I go back to uni. And then I’ll still work here, just less often.”
“What are you doing at uni?” Keith asks.
“Bachelor of Science,” he says. “I don’t know. It’s all really interesting, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, or if I even want to do anything with it.”
Keith sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Rough.”
Lance laughs. “Wow, thanks for the support, Keith. So eloquent.”
“I don’t know what you expected,” Keith shrugs.
“Whatever,” Lance says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee, “This is bumming me out. Answer me this, mister elf: do you think Santa allows his elves appropriate breaks or do you reckon they break labour laws?”
----
Keith, armed with nothing but an oversized candy cane, dreams that Lance hunts him through the aisles, and corners him against Santa’s throne. Lance pushes him into the chair and follows down, crowding into his lap. He holds the price gun against Keith’s head, leans in close.
“Bang,” He whispers, pulling the trigger.
----
December 13th,
twelve days until Christmas
lanceeee: you cant hate every Christmas song.
keith: can and do
lanceeee: whams last christmas??
keith: hate it
lanceeee: its a timeless masterpiece!!!
keith: cliche & overplayed
lanceeee: i cant stand you
lanceeee: all i want for christmas is you????
----
December 15th,
ten days until Christmas
lanceeee: ok ive decided
keith: decided what?
lanceeee: how im gonna win you over and make u love christmas carols DUH
keith: impossible
lanceeee: no 1 can resist my charming wiles…
u will c
hello keith?? where did u go
----
December 16th,
nine days until Christmas
lanceeee: u working today?
keith: everyday until christmas
lanceeee: ye i know i just needed a conversation opener
keith: ??? ur so weird
lanceeee: ANYWAY
todays christmas carol exposure therapy is…
the classic…
keith: u r really dragging this out
laanceeee: shut up keith
link: Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Gene Autry
keith: dont get me started about how much i hate that stupid song.
lanceeee: keeeeeeith its a classic story of overcoming bullies and reaching your true potential. and also about being a reindeer
keith: its nonsensical - they list all the other reindeers that i supposedly remember but not the most famous?? am i three years old and that is not even considering the stupidity of the story - they all just like him suddenly?? what happened after huh when he wasn’t needed?
lanceeee: woah u r very passionate about rudolph
keith: fuck u
----
December 18th,
seven days until Christmas
keith: for u
link: Like It’s Christmas, Jonas Brothers
lanceeeee: aww
wait you hate christmas
keith: exactly
----
December 19th,
six days until Christmas
lanceeee: wait so what about christmas movies??
keith: 50/50
lanceeee: polar express
keith: boring
lanceeee: the grinch
keith: meh
lanceeee: u just don’t like that it hits too close to home
bet u cry when his heart grows
keith: false
lanceeee: liar
die hard
keith: not a christmas movie
lanceeee: love actually
keith: never seen it
lanceeee: youve never seen love actually???
----
December 20th,
five days until Christmas
When the third customer jokes that “anyone would think it’s almost Christmas” Keith has had enough. It's only 10:47. The day continues as it began, crazed lines of frazzled parents and a seemingly endless string of children that range from ‘this is the best day of my life’ to ‘my parents actively threatened me with death to keep me in attendance’.
They’re too busy for a real break, and the only shining light at the end of the packed tunnel is the prospect of seeing Lance after work. Lance has had a few days off, visiting family members for Christmas, and Keith is pretending that he’s not looking forward to seeing him. He’d tried just not looking forward to seeing him, but it hadn’t worked.
For such a large store, their low numbers of staff are surprising. Lance had texted him in the morning to tell him he was staying late to lock up, if he wanted to wait around. Keith can think of nothing worse than staying later than he is paid to at his place of employment, especially this particular place of employment, but he finds himself texting back a promise to be there.
----
It’s strange to be walking through The Castle when the lights are off and the speakers are not playing the third cover of ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’ in an hour. Using the torch on his phone, he crosses the shop to the menswear section.
Lance is standing behind the counter, lit only by a small lamp on the desk, counting the cash from the till.
He grins when he sees Keith approaching, stepping out from behind the counter to raise his arms and hug him. Keith has a split-second to react, awkwardly moving his own arms to pat at Lance’s shoulder. Lance steps back with a grin.
“Hey, I missed you!”
Keith grins. “Loser.”
Lance sputters, “What the fuck? I offer you a hug and something nice and you insult me?”
“Whatever,” Keith says, “What are you doing?”
“Closing the store,” Lance explains, slowly, like he’s speaking to a young child, “You know, what has to happen every night?”
“Haha,” Keith says, “Want some help?”
“Aww,” Lance says, as they walk back behind the counter, “You do care.”
Keith bites his tongue, and offers a small smile.
They split the work - Lance counts the cash, organising them into neat piles of change and income (he makes a show of not allowing Keith to touch the money, in case he steals it) and Keith enters the values into the spreadsheet.
“So,” Lance says, after he’s returned from putting the money in the safe, “What are you doing tonight?”
“Probably watching Antiques Roadshow with Shiro and Adam.”
“ Antiqu- are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“You’re only in your twenties once, Keith!” Lance exclaims. “Don’t you want to live a little?”
“Uh, do you know how to value a vase? I don't think so.”
“I know for a fact that you do not know how to do that either,” Lance retorts.
“I so do,” Keith says, “You know nothing about me.”
“False,” Lance says, “I know tonnes about you.”
“Yeah? Well I know more about you,” Keith replies.
“Prove it,” Lance prods, “Bet you don’t.”
“Your favourite colour is blue,” Keith offers.
“You have a cat named Red.”
“You’ve got two sisters and a brother.”
“You secretly liked that cocktail more than your beer.”
“Oh, going deep are we?” Keith asks, “Fine. You only wear a hat on the days when you haven't washed your hair.”
“You take home a significant portion of that candy cane bag you’re always lugging around, every single day.” Lance replies.
“You like it when I’m mean to you!”
“ You like it when I’m mean to you!”
Keith pauses for a second, considering. There’s a clear line, drawn across the dusty floor of the shop between them, and they’re both about to cross it. Keith hovers on the threshold for a second, before throwing himself over it.
“You have a thing for my hair!”
“You have a thing for my neck!”
They both pause. Lance is panting, slightly, as if his final truths have pushed the breath out of him. His hand twitches, like he’s trying to reach out but stopping himself at the last second. Keith takes a breath, then moves.
He misjudges the distance, smashing his mouth half into Lance’s top lip and nose, before readjusting. He brings his hands up to cradle the back of Lance’s head, pressing his fingers into his skull. Lance responds, instantly, weaving his hands into Keith's hair.
It’s everything Keith’s been hoping for, Lance’s hot hands against the side of his face. The build up of the last twenty days, countless hours of Christmas music and a ridiculous elf costume suddenly seem worth it.
Lance pushes him backwards until he hits against the side of the counter, changes his angle and bites at his lip.
Keith pulls back, pushing Lance’s face out of his. “Did you just bite me?”
“You liked it, don't lie. Come back,” Lance responds, spitting it out in one breath. He grabs Keith’s chin and pulls him in again. “You can have at my neck, if you want.”
Keith does want - he’s been wanting for weeks - and takes his opportunity. He uses his grip on Lance’s hair to tug his head to the side, moving his mouth to his neck. Lance runs his hand down Keith’s sides, coming to rest on his ass.
Keith pulls away, breathing heavily. “Okay, wait, wait. We need to stop.”
Lance whines. “No thanks.”
“We’re at work, Lance! You’re not touching my ass in the middle of the shop!”
“Okay, good point,” Lance says. He takes a step back, allowing Keith to move away from the counter. “Fuck. That was hot, though.”
“Yeah.” Keith agrees.
“You should wear the elf hat next time.”
Keith shoves him, as Lance grins. Next time, Keith thinks, next time next time next time.
----
Keith dreams of Lance, his voice, his hands, his warmth, and wakes up wanting.
----
December 22nd,
three days until Christmas
His alarm goes off at six, an hour earlier than usual. Keith makes himself a cup of coffee, and then one for Shiro and a cup of tea for Adam and dresses in the elf costume willingly.
“What’s wrong with Keith?” Adam faux-whispers across the table. “Was he switched in the night?”
“Keith’s in loooove.” Shiro sings.
“Shut up,” Keith snaps. “I am not.”
Adam laughs, a short, sharp cackle. “Is this that boy that’s always hanging around? The one you almost fought?”
“I am not discussing this with you,” Keith says, walking away from the table and out of the room. “Either of you!”
----
He’d spent every spare minute yesterday, of which there were few, checking his phone. Lance texted him to complain about a customer, to tell him his favourite Christmas carol was playing, to tease him, to harass him, to flirt with him.
Keith spends so much time thinking about Lance, he’s starting to become concerned.
While yesterday’s legally mandated thirty minute lunch break had been spent in the mop cupboard, Keith’s knee between Lance’s legs and Lance’s hand down Keith’s pants, Lance has planned a proper lunch for today. They’re leaving the shopping centre and everything.
“Okay,” Lance says, when they’re sitting at the table. “I ordered in advance to make sure we’d have enough time to eat and get back to work. So I got us both the same sandwich.”
“Is it a normal sandwich?” Keith asks, skeptically.
“It’s like you have no faith in me,” Lance sighs. “It’s their Christmas special sandwich and I have no idea what’s in it.”
Keith made a face. “Of course it is.”
The sandwich is disgusting, but Lance offers to finish his.
Keith talks about Red, about how she curls up on the end of the couch when she’s ready to go to bed, about Shiro and Adam, about what he’s getting them for Christmas. Lance talks about his family, his sisters and brother, his mother, and the regimented way they celebrate.
Keith has not made such easy conversation with anyone else. Lance jumps from topic to topic like a pollinating bee, Keith in his wake. Huh , Keith thinks to himself as they walk back to The Castle, he really likes Lance. A tiny voice at the back of his head tells him not to screw it up.
----
December 23rd,
two days until Christmas
lanceeee: wait so you’re busy all day christmas??
keith: yeah
lanceeee: booooooooo
we should do something boxing day i need to give you my gift
my family goes to see my cousins on boxing day…
so…
u could come to my house?
keith: u did not need to send that in a hundred different messages but yes let's do that
lanceeee: i know u love getting multiple messages from me keith
yay!!! this is so exciting
i’ve never had a christmas fling before
keith: christmas fling?
lanceeee: ye like a holiday romance
it's like i’m in love actually i love it
----
lanceeee: keith where are you??
i am standing outside ur little grotto
r we still getting lunch?
hello???
1 missed call from: lanceeee
u must be super busy. call me when u finish work
----
lanceeee: u home yet keith?
were u really busy today? hope no one tried to fight you
----
lanceeee: shiro just sent me a picture of you. are you ignoring me?
what the fuck, keith?
ur such an asshole can you please just respond
2 missed calls from: lanceeee
fine fuck you then
----
December 24th,
one day until Christmas
Shiro has to practically drag Keith out of bed.
“Keith,” he says, looming over him, like some kind of offbeat, caring, angel of death. “You’ve got to get up.”
Keith groans, burying his face further in the pillow.
“Come on, Keith,” Shiro repeats, shaking his shoulder. “Up and at ‘em.”
“You sound like a dad in an 80’s sitcom.” Keith complains, making no effort to move.
“I’ll cook you some bacon, champ,” Shiro tries. When he gets no reaction he sits on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Lance.”
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t want to actually date me,” Keith complains. “He called it a ‘fling’. Like it’s casual.”
“Isn’t it?”
Keith groans. “I don’t know!”
“This probably isn’t what you want to hear, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Shiro says. “You need to talk to him. Is that all he said, that it was a fling?” Keith nods. “That could mean anything. I know you hate it, but you need to have a proper conversation with him. And you need to go to work.”
Keith groans again. “Shiro, while I am so thankful for everything you have done for me, you are the genuine bane of my existence.”
“And proud of it,” Shiro reaches out to ruffle Keith’s hair with his non-prosthetic arm. “I’m serious about work. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
----
What the hell is he supposed to say to Lance? Sorry I ignored you for an entire day because you called our casual relationship casual, but I genuinely think you might be the love of my life even though we’ve only known each other for two weeks? Yeah, no.
“My daughter’s got to go to the bathroom,” a woman starts, grabbing Keith’s sleeve as he makes his way past her. “But we’ve been in line for an hour. Can you hold the spot for us?”
“We’re unable to hold spots,” Keith begins to explain, “but if you ask the people behind yo–”
He’s interrupted by his own name, shouted across the Grotto. Keith knows that voice, he’d know it anywhere.
“Keith!” Lance yells, again. “I need to talk to you!”
He spins around, ignoring the woman who tries to regain his attention. Lance is standing on the other side of the hallway, looking furious.
“Keith!” He shouts. “Come here.”
Keith looks towards Shiro who looks back with widened eyes and Adam, who hisses, “Get him to shut up.”
Keith shoves the entire bag of candy canes at the woman, stalking across the Grotto towards Lance.
“What?” He asks. They’re not off to a great start - Keith’s embarrassed and antagonistic and Lance is angry.
“‘What?’” Lance mocks. “What the fuck do you think? Why are you ignoring me?”
“I’m not ignoring you,” Keith tries. It's weak, he knows it is, and cowardly.
“Come off it,” Lance says. “You know what I’m talking about - you ignored me all day yesterday. I waited outside this stupid place for twenty minutes for you!”
“Can we go somewhere more private?” Keith asks.
“So you can run away from me again? Nope,” he reaches out to shove Keith’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s up.”
“It’s just– I…,” Keith starts. ‘Talk to him’ is easier said than done. “Do you like me?”
Lance’s face contorts, anger washing into confusion, like a melting icy-pole. “Obviously.”
“Do you like me, like me, though?”
“Keith, what are you talking about? Yes, I like you!”
“Okay, because when you texted me you said that we were having a ‘Christmas fling’ and Christmas is almost over and it made it sound lik–” Keith says, practically tripping over himself in his haste to get the words out.
“Keith!” Lance interrupts. He’s shouting again, Keith can see the customers in line watching them in his peripheral vision. “Are you kidding me? I’m literally obsessed with you.”
“What?” Keith manages.
“I came here twice so I could see you,” Lance lists, counting each reason on his fingers, voice getting louder and shriller after each. “I forced Hunk to encourage you to come out for drinks after the Christmas party, I pleaded with Allura to let me take my breaks at the same time as you, I touched your dick in the storage cupboard, at my work!”
There’s a few gasps behind them, as parents cover their mouths and their children’s ears.
“Who wants a candy cane?” Adam shouts, laughing nervously.
“Keith,” Shiro warns. “Out, now.”
“Mmhm,” Keith spits out, his face flushing red. He grabs Lance’s wrist and tugs him out of the hallway. “Sorry, um, everybody.”
“You’re an idiot!” Keith hisses. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
“It's true!” Lance retorts. “You think I’d risk losing my job for just anyone? I like you Keith, Jesus!”
“Okay–”
“And one more thing!” Lance continues. “Do you remember when I called you by your name, when I was here with Rachel?”
“Yeah.”
“And you accused me of stalking you?” Lance says. “Well, I kind of was. I didn’t just remember you from the few shifts you did last year, I remembered you because I asked you on a date last year, and you said no. So, how’s that for liking you?”
“What?” Keith practically yelled. “No you did not, I would remember!”
“Well, you clearly fucking don’t!” Lance replied. “You were here, in your sexy little elf costume and Adam used your name so I knew what it was and I used some stupid pick up line, like ‘you look so familiar, did we have a class together? Because I could’ve sworn we had chemistry.’ You just looked at me and said, no.”
“That was you?” Keith shouts. “How was I supposed to know you were trying to flirt with me? I thought you were some delusional guy!”
“You’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” Lance snaps. “I can’t believe I still like you.”
“Oh,” Keith says. “You still like me?”
“Give me strength,” Lance mutters. “Of course I do!”
Keith’s not sure who moves first, but suddenly Lance is in his arms, kissing him. A cheer goes off behind them, and Lance pulls back to see. A crowd has gathered around the opening to Santa’s Grotto, watching.
“Fuck me,” Keith says. “This is like Love, Actually .”
“I knew you’d seen that movie!”
----
December 26th,
three hundred and sixty five days until Christmas
“Please, please, please, Keith,” Lance begged. “Seriously, I’ll do anything.”
“No! I’m not having sex with you in the elf costume.”