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There were certain things in the world that Keith knew he couldn’t control. The surroundings he was born in, the weather, the people he learned and worked with, none of that was really up to him. He had no power over any of it.
Not like he cared. He’d learned to cope with the foster care a while ago, and he didn’t mind the shit nature threw at him on a daily basis. It was just the people he was stuck dealing with. Ugh.
Like, he loved his friends, he really did. It was just some of his classmates that pissed him off. One in particular just loved to egg him on.
It wasn’t enough that they were both majoring in astronomic studies. It wasn’t enough that because their program was so small they were stuck in practically every specialized class together.
It wasn’t enough that he was friends with Keith’s step brother so now they were practically stuck like glue whenever Keith went out with Shiro.
No, that one classmate didn’t find it enough that they were unwillingly attached at the hip, he just had to make Keith miserable.
Pidge, who shared a standard English class with Keith, said that the guy was normally a bit more mellow when it came to the insults. And that just confused Keith more and more.
Because he might not have control over the things in his life but he could damn well try and direct himself away from the burning house that was that one dude in all his classed.
And yes, Keith didn’t know his name. At least, not until he was stumbling headfirst into the guys chest on the first day of work.
Keith’s new boss, a girl named Allura who’d graduated from their college a few years ago, just smiled and introduced him as Lance, Keith’s co-worker.
“You’ll be working in shifts together to cover the busy hours, so make sure to get along.”
She’d winked and laughed whiling saying it, but Allura didn’t realize the exact measure of reality in her words until a few days later when Keith and Lance had decided to have glaring contests when they thought no one was looking.
Granted, they didn’t hate each other’s guts, so working together wasn’t that hard.
Lance was an expert at arrangements (“Abuelita, my grandma, owned a flower show when I was young. Used to help out.) and did more of the standard bouquets so Allura could use her time to make custom ones.
Keith mainly helped with customers and manned the cash register. It wasn’t exactly fun work, but it paid rent and he got to write some of his essays on his phone during free time.
He grew used to the floral scent, it tended to carry with him daily, and fell into the routine of working at Allura’s shop. And timed passed. Then it just kind of stopped.
Keith just kind of stared at the flower on the table. Its stem was curved and multiple heart shaped buds hung from it like a charm bracelet. “Uh, Allura!” he called, “I think your boyfriend got you something.”
“I’m single!” she shot from the back, “Not for me. What is it?”
“A flower.”
Lance, who’d been stiffly organizing a few bouquets in the corner, snorted. “It’s a flower shop, dumbass. There’s flowers everywhere.”
Keith scowled, "Isn't your shift over?"
Lance, for some ungodly reason, went red. "S-Shut up!" He stuttered, "I was just staying back for a bit to finish these."
"Well you finished," Keith noted, "So go." He didn't really mean anything of it, it was just a simple statement from someone who didn't really understand the meaning behind things.
Lance opened his mouth to respond, then slammed his mouth shut. "Whatever," he grumbled, snatching up his jacket from one of the many hooks and replacing it with his apron. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, lover boy."
"What'd you call me?" Keith snarled
Lance rolled his eyes, already half out the door. "Chill, dude, it's just cause the Bleeding Heart's for you. Didn't you see the note?"
He left, the door chime tinkling behind him.
Keith glanced down, picking up the flower and staring at the tiny note hidden under the buds.
There was a tiny constellation – Andromeda, actually – doodled in black in in the corner. His name was written in the middle. The letters were long and swooping and the dot above the i was more of a slash than a circle.
… Oh. Oh! Keith felt his neck heat up. So it actually was for him.
But how the heck did Lance know?
It didn't take Keith long to figure out the message Anon, as Pidge had so gracefully dubbed the secret admirer, was trying to send. A few Google searches and he found that Bleeding Hearts were associated with love.
Obviously.
It was frustrating, though, because this one site, it looked pretty thorough, too, had said that the flower was known to give mixed messages, seeing as it had multiple meanings.
Keith trudged into class the next day confused and on edge.
If Anon had meant for the flower to mean a connection beyond life and death, then that was creepy and Keith needed out, now.
The ‘if’ and ‘why’s’ carved away at his mind. He didn’t even pay attention to the professor. By the time he actually managed to drag his head back into the right spot most of the class was already packing up to leave.
“Shit,” Keith muttered, gathering his things and shoving them in his bag. Great, he’d probably have to ask for notes or something.
“You’ve been pretty-” snap! “-spacey today.”
Keith closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Only one person would make a pun like that. He sighed and turned to face Lance, “I’m not in the mood.”
Lance rolled his eyes, “Geez, just making a comment.” Keith shot him a look. “Okay, I’ll shut up. But you do know that we’re starting our shifts at the same time today, right? So shouldn’t we, I don’t know, head off together?”
Keith blinked at him, “What?”
“Do you wanna walk to work together or not?” Lance snapped, scooping up his bag, “Because I swear, if you waste nay more of my time -”
“You’re wasting my time! I’m not wasting yours!”
“You’re both wasting my time!” their professor snapped, “Now stop flirting and head off to your work or something!”
Keith scowled at him but nodded, heading for the door. Lance was on his heels the whole way of his trek through campus. When they finally hit a street and Lance didn’t turn, Keith whirled on him. “Why’re you follow me?”
“We’re going to the same place!” Lance snapped, pointing in the direction of their shop.
Keith opened his mouth to retort, only to slam it shut. “Okay, so you’re heading to work too,” he huffed after a bit, “Just, please don’t walk behind me. It sets me on edge.”
Lance rolled his eyes but shifted to the side, walking along the curb. Keith moved over a pace to make room and Lance murmured a quick thanks.
They shuffled on in silence for a while until Lance being Lance, just had to break the silence with a few questions:
“So why're you all grumpy? Shouldn't you be happy? Some random person confessed their love to you."
Keith shot him a look, "They didn't confess their love. And I'm not grumpy."
"You are, bro," Lance said, "you so are." He grinned, knocking his hip into Keith's in a playful gesture.
If it was anyone else, Keith would've read it as flirty, but this was Lance, the dude who only liked him in increments at a time. And those were normally between bouts of serious hate and loathing.
"And they so confessed. Bleeding Hearts? They're practically screaming their love at you."
Keith shuddered, "It's just, it's creepy."
Lance stumbled over his own two feet. "It's not creepy!" He snapped once he righted himself, "It's cute and thoughtful!"
"How is 'connected beyond a spiritual level' not creepy? I don't even know the girl."
"Who says they meant that? Bleeding Hearts can mean unrequited love, too.” Keith just looked at him. Lance threw his hands up in exasperation, “That’s probably what they meant.”
He paused a bit before crossing the street. “Not to mention," he added, "It could be a guy, you are openly gay."
"Yeah,” Keith muttered, “well you're openly straight so I don't really want to hear that from you."
They stopped, having already arrived at the front of their work.
Allura's Altean Arrangements was pleasantly close to their campus, so it hadn't been much a walk. Keith pushed the door open, bell jingling as he and Lance strode in.
Lance just kind of looked Keith up and down. His cheeks dusted pink. "I'm actually not," he mumbled.
Keith glanced at him as they made their way to the cubbies. "What?"
"I," Lance said, dumping his bag in a slot and yanking off his jacket, "am as straight as a bendy straw." And with that Lance tugged on his apron and whirling into the front of the door, already checking the order forms that’d piled up.
They worked silently that day, their usual quips discarded and replaced by an unnatural quiet.
Then Keith was going to help an old man bring a pre-packaged vase, complete with full on bouquet of roses for his wife, to his car. And when he came back a flower was sitting behind the cash register, a note folded under its stem.
Keith stared down at it numbly. “Hey, Lance,” he asked, “Did anyone come in while I was helping that guy?”
Lance quickly glanced up from the arrangement he was making and shook his head, “Didn’t hear a bell.”
“Then did anyone in here come over to the register?”
“I wasn’t looking.” Lance shrugged, going back to placing the peonies correctly. “Sorry bro.”
Keith nodded absentmindedly and twirled the flower in his hands. He racked his brain for its meaning. “Don’t chrysanthemum’s mean truth? Why’d they even use this?”
Lance scoffed, almost as if he was personally offended. “That’s white, dude. Yellow chrysanthemum’s mean secret admirers.” He waggled his eyebrows at the last word.
Keith rolled his eyes and put the flower down.
“Aren’t you gonna read the note?” Lance asked, not even looking up from his peonies. “Could be special.”
“No,” Keith muttered, folding the paper up even more and shoving it in his apron pocket, “It’s just from a creeper, I don’t need it.”
Lance groaned in exasperation.
They walked to work with each other again the next day, even though Lance’s shift didn’t start then. He ended up chatting astrophysics with Keith, pointed out a few more things about how cool Anon was, then tried to goad Keith into reading the note from yesterday before finally leaving for a study session at Starbucks.
Keith scowled at him as he walked away. Lance didn’t even have a nice ass, so there was no real reason to watch him. But Keith wanted to make sure his peanut brain made it to the coffee shop before he went inside.
So he waited, then clunked into the shop, quickly throwing on his apron and trudging over towards the register with a quick greeting for Allura.
The day started off particularly slow and stayed that way, crowds passing by the door without even a glance towards the sign.
An elderly couple stopped by to check out some of the pre-made bouquets, but they didn’t buy anything. A little boy wandered in, staring in awe at the flowers, but was quickly tugged out by an over apologetic mother.
And that was about it for the day.
Keith ended up getting a few hundred words of his essay down before his brain ran dry and he succumbed to the void of ‘no ideas.’ He sighed and shoved a hand in his apron pocket, searching for that loose string of thread he always played with.
Instead he got a papercut. Gah, that stung! Keith swore and shoved his thumb in his mouth.
A few seconds passed before it stopped hurting and Keith snatched up the offending swatch of processed tree. “What even?’ he started, unfolding the paper:
‘Your eyes remind me of the cosmos.’
The handwriting was long and swooped around, and the stems of the y swirled all the way back to the top of the letter. A precise drawing of the Ursa Major was doodled in the corner.
Keith stared at it for a bit, eyes scanning over the words and constellations.
‘Flowers and stars,’ he thought absentmindedly, ‘At least they’re giving me things I like.’
That day, right before Keith was heading out, he found a lilac and an Orion note.
The flowers continued coming for the rest of the semester. Keith would get them at random times each day he worked; he figured his admirer didn't really know anywhere else to give them to him.
Lance would point out what flower it was, normally adding a few snarky comments and ill-placed insults alongside the quick rundown. Then he’d blabble on about a myth tied to the day’s constellation.
Keith would roll with it all before closing up shop with Allura a few hours later.
At home the note would go in a box and the flower in a water filled to-go coffee cup. Keith had actually started to dry some of the older blossoms since he didn’t need fifty gazillion Starbucks logos watching him like hawks at all times.
So by now most of the bookshelves and ledges in Keith's apartment were covered in preserved petals.
After dinner he'd fuss over the meanings until he went to bed.
Then he'd either meet up with Lance in the millions courses they shared or run into him on the way to campus. Though, Keith had to say, it was odd running into Lance when he lived in the dorms.
Keith just came up with the assumption that Lance just got coffee at the Starbucks down the street or something – somehow the downtown had at least three, and all of them were constantly running full capacity.
Anyways, the two of the would end up talking about Anon. No matter what. Every day without fail.
Lance would point meanings Keith overlooked, often showing how it relates to Keith or love or some random ass theory he'd come up with that, while seemingly interesting and fitting, just had to be fake.
Like, how corny could a person get?
Sure, Lance’s theories were straight out of Wisconsin with how cheesy they were, but that was Lance. He wasn’t the one sending the flowers or writing the notes.
Neverless, as the flowers piled up, Keith couldn’t help but think Lance was right about what they meant.
A bundle of peonies for first love, a yellow tulip to express how hopelessly in love they were (“No, red is requited love, Keith, perfect love.”), an orchid and a hyacinth to show that they found Keith beautiful and truly meant it.
Those were only some of the flower’s Keith had received, most of their meanings decoded by Lance and his extensive knowledge on both their meanings and ‘a random, hot person’s heart’ (Keith asked how Lance knew Anon was hot. He said it was just instinct).
It became routine. The flowers were a part of Keith’s life. He’d just grown accustomed to them. He figured he’d never find out who Anon was and, quite frankly, Keith didn’t give a flying fuck about their ‘secret identity.’
Then, one day, Lance was making a list of flowers and their meanings for a little girl who just had to stop by.
And then Keith was catching a glimpse of the paper as he handed it off to the child.
And then his eyes were grazing across the long, swooping letters.
The I’s were dotted with slashes; the y’s stems curled all the way back up to the top.
Keith's breath stopped, oxygen dead silent in his throat like an air lock sealed shut in space. And it didn't open until Lance was turning around and raising an eyebrow. He made a snarky comment and Keith stuttered a response.
Lance was the famed Anon. Lance was the one who sent flowers instead of words. It was Lance. Lance who would talk stars and space theory and rapid fire ideas about why Anon - why he - would chose that flower.
Keith felt like his head was whirling around and around.
He sucked in a breath of air, though it came as more of a wheeze, and went to the back to tell Allura he wasn’t feeling to well. She quickly ushered him towards his cubbie, telling him to get home and get some rest.
When he came back the next day, there was a bundle of small white buds near the cash register.
“Common yarrow,” Lance muttered from where he was working, “Means good health.”
Keith nodded mutely and grabbed the note, not even looking at it before tossing it in the trash. He ended up giving the flower to a little girl who was stopping by with her mom to order a wedding bouquet. She smiled brightly and literally skipped out of the store when she left.
Keith noticed Lance’s heartbroken look out of the corner of his eye. He promptly ignored it.
The day after that came a rose, and once again Keith gave it to a customer: this time an old man. Then came a forget-me-not, and Keith didn’t even hesitate to throw both the flower and the note out.
Lance was starting to look more like a whale out of water as the days passed.
Keith was avoiding him, outright stepping around Lance while in the shop and even taking longer routes to ignore the boy.
He thought they’d been good friends, good peers. Lance had bonded with him over the flowers first, then the stars, and finally their unbridled love for astrophysics that even their professor, who taught the subject, found unnerving.
But Lance was just trying to get closer to him.
And Keith found nothing wrong with that. At first.
The beginning he’d been flustered, but then the realization set in that Lance was using the notes and flowers just to spur Keith into liking him.
He set them up and made conversation out of them. He used them as an icebreaker that, quite honestly, was out of Keith’s comfort zone.
Lance was playing him like a tool with all the plans and schemes he’d set up.
And Keith didn’t like it one bit.
A few days afterwards the flowers stopped coming.
Keith was running ragged, his sleep cycle barely undoing on by a thread. Well, that was a bit of a stretch. With all the drama going on in his life, he'd total forgotten about the English assignment due that morning.
He'd been so focused on Lance and the flowers and his astrophysics essay that he'd just blindsided his basic courses.
So he'd stayed up all night to finish it, then decided the hour of sleep he couldn't squeezed in wasn't worth it, and ended up using that time to edit and revise his botched grammar.
Okay, so maybe the hanging by a thread reference wasn't so far-fetched after all. But, to be honest, Keith was just aiming for a passing grade.
So there he was, racing down the street like a man on a mission: and that mission was the perfect sustenance to keep him alive and kicking.
Keith practically burst into the Starbucks closest to campus, ordered their strongest coffee possible, and took it black. He scrambled over to the table with all the sugar packets and started dumping package after package of the grainy goodness into his drink from hell.
He was just contemplating adding the emergency five-hour energy in his bag to the coffee when the door slammed open and Pidge hurtled in front of a middle schooler on her way into line.
No one got between Pidge and her coffee.
Ever.
Keith was about to laugh and turn around, maybe make a quick conversation since he did have a hellish half hour to kill, when a familiar laugh practically shatters any and all thoughts of social interaction.
Lance strode not even a second after Pidge, eyeing her up like she was insane. He apologized to the kid she'd practically cut in front of, letting her take his spot. She blushed and muttered a thanks.
"So," Pidge grumbled, "continue."
Lance smiled, "You actually care?"
"You're just gonna keep talking no matter what I say.”
Lance ignored her.
"I'm serious about all of this," he explained. "I don't know if he just got fed up with me or if I creeped him out or something. He was doing pretty good with it all then one day, BA-BAM! Suddenly in a pissy mood."
Pidge grunted her nonexistent response and Lance sighed.
The middle schooler in between them sucked up the conversation like a starved man, eyes practically glowing bioluminescent in at the presence of drama.
"Look, I know I'm ranting and I know you don't really care cause you're ace-"
"Aromantic and asexual are two very different things," Pidge interrupted.
Lance winced at his mistake, "Aw, shit, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to-"
"Just keep going," Pidge said.
"Okay. So I don't know how to deal with this. He's just so gorgeous, like breathtaking and, dios, I've had a crush on him since junior year of high school and I know he doesn't even remember going to GHS with me and -"
The barista signaled for them to step up and order. Keith'd turned around quickly to watch the two in stunned silence.
The middle schooler followed his eyes and sent him a smile and a thumbs up.
Lance glanced up to where she was looking and Keith flipped up his hood just in time, turning his back and bolting out the door before he could manage to get his fifteenth sugar packet in.
When Keith got to work his was met with a friendly Lance.
He tried talking with Keith at every opportunity he got, mouth working double-time as he blabbed on and on and on. Keith did his best to try and ignore him, but whenever Lance smiled or laughed or even made a funny face, Keith could feel his cheeks heat up.
Had he always felt this way around Lance?
Keith remembered feeling comfortable with him, wanting to spend more time with him outside of work and class and their daily walk-and-talks. He remembered finding Lance funny and endearing. He remembered thinking that he really had no need for Anon in his life.
Back then he’d thought of it as the single period in his life; the time where he stayed on his own and focused on himself. And his secret admirer had just bounded right in without so much as a knock on the door or a note in advance.
They’d just showed up with flowers and stars and an overly helpful Lance in tow.
But, in reality it’d been Lance all along.
Keith hadn’t wanted anything from Lance at the start of all this. He didn’t want notes and he didn’t want gifts and he certainly didn’t want endearing words.
He’d grown used to everything that was being given to him. He’d grown used to seeking out Lance’s help and going to Lance over his emotional problems. It’d just become second nature.
But he was venting to Lance about Anon; he was venting to Lance about Lance.
Keith sighed and headed towards his cubbie, muttering a quick goodbye to Lance and Allura before heading off to start what was problem the stupidest – and least regrettable – plan he’d ever thought of.
It was mid-February and there he was, leaning against the side of an old, brick building with a faded sign that read ‘books and Antiques’ and waiting for Lance to pass by.
He knew this was along the path the Lance’s dormitory and he knew what time Lance was getting out but did that stop the doubts and worries from burrowing into his mind and making a nest of negativity and stupidity?
Hell no.
But Keith was determined to make this right.
He’d been the one to fuck this up. He’d been the one to throw Lance in the closet and lock his advanced away. He’d been the one who didn’t understand, no matter how hard Lance practically screamed his feelings at Keith.
So he had to be the one to fix this mess he’s made.
Keith checked his phone, fiddling with the flower in his hands as he waited for Lance to come. But he didn’t.
Maybe he was working different hours than Keith had thought or maybe he was taking another route today or maybe he was hanging with his famed bro Hunk.
Keith sighed, opening his phone and scrolling through some of his feed to pass the time. Lance would stop by. Keith knew he would. It was just a matter of when.
And that when was apparently now, seeing as a shadow was crossing over Keith’s phone. He looked up to find Lance staring down at him with those big, blue eyes.
"Dude," he huffed, "How long have you been waiting here? Stalkerish much?"
“What?” Keith asked, flustered beyond belief, “No. Not stalkerish much. If anything you’re the stalker.”
Lance went rigid, “Dude, how am I the stalker?” he grumbled, “It’s not like I was the idiot shoving flowers at you daily.”
“I thought you found them hot and awesome?” Keith sniped. This was getting off track. Way, way off track and the wheels needed to get back on real soon before they couldn’t anymore.
Lance’s face dropped, “Yeah, well … look, you don’t like them, you don’t think of them that way, you don’t even know how they are. So they’re idiots. It took me long enough to realize that but -”
But Keith was the one who’d taken too long. There’d been so many signs, so many clues, so many hints and opportunities and Keith had just waltzed right on by them out without a clue in the world.
And now he was stuck chasing after them like they were lost puppies and he was the hysterical, first time owner.
Keith pushed off the wall, face red. Okay. Just stick to the plan. He took a breath and held a flower out for Lance. The said boy glanced down at it, breath hitching as he realized that – fuck! – that was a tulip.
That. Was a. Tulip.
Keith's face deepened a few shades. "I don’t think they’re stupid, um, I actually think they’re kind of sweet. They might be a little shy, but they’re cute and-" He never got to finish, Lance was too busy scooping him up and swinging him around and laughing his perfect face off.
"Dios mío," he huffed once he let Keith down, sweeping in for a chaste kiss, "That took you long enough."
Keith pushed his lips against Lance’s, holding tight to his shoulders in case he just crumbled to the ground – cause that felt like the right thing to do at the moment, just collapse because, shit, that’d taken a lot of courage. No wonder Lance had just written notes.
“I’m sorry,” Keith mumbled against Lance’s mouth, “I’m sorry that I didn’t realize and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry I threw those notes and that flower away.”
“It’s okay,” Lance shushed, tilting their foreheads together. He took the tulip from Keith’s hand and twirled it between his fingers. “You actually remembered the meaning?”
Keith smiled and nodded. “Of course, you told me: red tulips are requited love, Lance, perfect love.”