Hi, everyone! This is the first story I posted on Archive of Our Own (under GeminiMercedes, as well) The stories that come out of the Voltron community really inspired me to start writing my own. Let me know what you think of this one! I was hanging laundry a few weeks ago and this story just came to me. Moving forward, I will simultaneously upload stories on AO3 and regardless of pairing/universe. Enjoy!
/
In Lance's not-so-humble opinion, this had to be the worst day ever. Well, maybe not worse than the time he'd almost got run over sprinting through traffic to get to work one morning but otherwise? A pretty bad day.
He had a huge networking event the following night and wanted to wear his favourite blue dress shirt to it.
The shirt wasn't just his favourite, though. It was also extremely lucky. He'd been wearing it the day he was offering a promotion at the financial firm he worked at and the day he met his best friend, Hunk. He was wearing it the day he won fifty bucks on a lottery ticket and when he found a twenty dollar bill stuck in between a sidewalk block close to his apartment. He'd also been wearing it the day he scored not one, but two numbers (from serious cuties) at a pub night. Neither had called him back but he could dismiss that minor glitch (he'd been a sobbing wreck for almost a week) since the shirt still had pretty good luck.
Unfortunately, the shirt was stained pretty badly after one of his drunken friends threw their plate of food at him during one of their club hops. He'd obviously thrown his plate back in retaliation (there were no rules in food and war, after all) but by then, the damage was done and he was banned from the restaurant indefinitely.
He planned to wash it the next day but work was so busy the following week he was left with little time to wash his lucky shirt let alone keep up with the important things in life like his favourite Netflix series.
With tomorrow night's event looming over his head like a doom counter, Lance wanted to bring out his trump card. The chance to look good in front of important people and potentially score a hot date was too great to pass up. He wanted to make a splash.
Unfortunately, his shirt was still dirty and all he could do was glare at the dry and crusty food stains that covered the front of it.
He didn't have time to hand wash it and he'd already washed the rest of his blue clothes over the weekend. It was a special shade of blue he didn't want ruined in a wash with other colours either.
If he didn't need to get up early, he would have spent some time hand washing it. But tomorrow was too big a day to miss any beauty sleep on, he couldn't risk it.
He really should have called Hunk. He would have given him sound advice. Instead, he decided to walk to his friend Pidge's house and guilt trip her into washing his shirt. She only lived a few streets down and it was totally her fault for throwing food on him in the first place.
He tossed the shirt in a plastic bag and threw on a white hoodie before heading out of his apartment. He was on the first floor of his building, so he only had to walk a few steps to reach the exit.
He was half way out when he heard a familiar sound coming from the building's laundry room at the opposite end of the hall. Someone was using the washers and dryers simultaneously.
"Hmm…" he thought to himself. This probably wasn't his best idea but if he could add his shirt to someone else's laundry load, he wouldn't have to go all the way to Pidge's place.
The problem was, he didn't know most of the tenants in his apartment and he wasn't sure they would help him out even if they did. Some people were pretty private when it came to their laundry.
Doubts and worries aside, he found himself standing in front of the building's laundry room, casually peeking into the door that had been left ajar. He was checking to see if he knew the person using the laundry room. If it was someone he didn't know, he would just resume his guilt trip Pidge operation.
He could see a heap of clothes on top of one of the washers and an empty blue basket atop another. His eyes scanned the seemingly empty room until...oh.
Sitting atop one of the washers was a tenant from upstairs, one he'd named "Mullet" since he didn't actually know his name. Mullet was one of the quieter tenants who rarely left his apartment except for what Lance's assumed was his job. They rarely encountered each other and even when they did, Lance didn't know enough about him to do anything other than offer a nod of acknowledgement before heading out or returning to his apartment.
He didn't know what it was about the man but he made him nervous, and not in the same way the cute men or women at the bar did. It might have been because Mullet was not just cute (he was gorgeous, in fact) and Lance had no idea how to approach him, even if they lived so close to one another.
Regardless, he was not about to ask Mullet for help with his lucky shirt situation. He could barely string a sentence together in front of the guy and wasn't planning on embarrassing himself tonight. He would have returned to his original plan if Mullet hadn't caught him staring.
"Uh, hi?" The young man's voice coming out slightly confused and annoyed. Lance gulped.
"O-oh, hey!" He stumbled into the laundry room, taking in the scent of lavender laundry detergent as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Mullet stared blankly at him and Lance wished the floor would have opened up and swallowed him then.
"So, uh...what're you up to?" He asked before he could process what he was saying, mentally berating himself as the words left his mouth.
"Um, well…" Mullet looked at him and then at the washers that were rumbling beside him, as if to state the obvious.
"R-right, of course. In the laundry room doing laundry, makes sense," Lance replied, screaming on the inside as he babbled on.
There was silence for a few seconds before Mullet cleared his throat and pointed to the third washer, the one that wasn't currently on.
"If you need to do a load, that one's still open. I wasn't sure if anyone else would need it so I didn't use all of them," he explained quietly.
Lance blinked slowly in response, his eye's akin to those of owls. This was the first time he'd heard that many words out of the mysterious mullet man's mouth. He almost felt honoured.
"Well, actually…" How did one make such a request to stranger? Maybe not a complete one, but a stranger nonetheless.
"I have this lucky shirt I need to wear tomorrow," he explained, pulling it out of the bag he brought it in, "it's so dirty and I don't have enough dirty clothes to make a wash so I was wondering if I could add it to one of yours…"
There was silence for a second or so before the mullet man spoke.
"A lucky shirt?" he asked with his eyebrow raised.
"It's super lucky, you have no idea," Lance said with a smile, waving the shirt back and forth.
"...And how old are you?" The mullet man didn't even try to hide the amusement in his voice.
"Hey! I'll have you know it is totally lucky!" Lance hissed in indignation.
The nerve of this stranger to judge him on what he deemed lucky.
"Sure, throw it over here and I'll add it to my next wash," the man replied with his hands up in surrender, still donning an amused grin.
"I'll have you know- wait, what?"
"Throw it over," the man replied, "you need it for tomorrow, right?"
Lance was almost speechless, which was a rare phenomenon in itself. This stranger had to be toying with him.
"A-are you sure? I know it's an odd request."
Mullet shook his head.
"I've had odder ones, trust me," he replied with a shrug.
Lance didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. What a night this was turning out to be.
"I...okay."
He almost felt like he was on autopilot as he handed the man the shirt and watched him accept it gingerly.
"Thank you. This means a lot, uh…"
"Keith, Keith Kogane," the stranger said. Lance stuck out his hand.
"Lance, Lance McClain," they shook hands and Lance took a seat on the dryer opposite to the washer Keith was sitting on.
"I really appreciate this, Keith," Lance said. Keith nodded as he unfolded the shirt. His neutral expression twisted into a grimace, however, once he gave the shirt a full look over.
"D-did you throw up on this?!" He looked about ready to throw the shirt back at Lance.
"What?! I-I would never! It was my stupid friend, they threw their food at me at this restaurant we-"
"So you're into lucky shirts and food fights, huh?" There was something in his tone that Lance hadn't noticed before. Still, he had to defend his pride (and childish antics) to the best of his ability.
"There's nothing wrong those things," Lance replied, crossing his arms.
"Well, not if you're twelve," Keith said with a shrug. He was smirking at this point.
"I'll have you know I'm twenty-five, actually."
"So am I," Keith admitted, "doesn't mean I'm involving myself in lunchroom food fights."
"It was in a restaurant and in my defense, it was totally not my fault…" Lance shot back, blushing in embarrassment. Keith placed the shirt on top of the pile of blue clothes he was sitting close to.
"Well, aren't you scared I'll wash the luck out of this shirt? You know, along with all the dirt and grime you subjected it to."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Lance replied proudly, "the luck isn't in the seams or anything. It's in the soul of the shirt, you know? I can feel it."
Keith rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Oh, for the love of…"
Lance didn't admit it that day but he really enjoyed the hour or so he spent getting to know Keith. He was a engineer, which explained why they ran on different work hours and rarely saw each other. He liked his job but there were times he just wanted to kick back and relax. The time he spent doing laundry was the closest he could get to that. Lance apologized and offered to leave but Keith said he didn't mind, which only deepened Lance's blush. Lance talked about his office networking event and why it was imperative to wear his lucky shirt to it. Keith nodded in understanding but said he was sure Lance would be fine in whatever he was wearing. Again, Lance was taken back and stuttered through a 'thank you' in response.
Unfortunately, Lance had to get some sleep before the big day and bid Keith a good night before heading to his room. He promised to stop by Keith's apartment in the morning to grab the shirt and the two exchanged apartment numbers.
Lance tried to ignore the warm feeling in his chest as he headed to bed that night, writing it off as anxiety over the event the following day. But the next morning, the feeling returned when he found a bag sitting on the ground outside his apartment door with his lucky shirt folded inside of it.
As he pulled the shirt out of the bag, a sticky note fell out and brushed his foot as it touched the ground. He picked it up and couldn't help but smile.
"Good luck today. - K"
The event went well with Lance making the most of his time to mingle and network. He wasn't interested in scoring any dates or numbers that night, however. He was too busy thinking of the one he was trying to score close to home.