That's Quite the Tip
"But my shift is almost over," Keith whined. In fact, he had cleaned the prep area as no calls had come in for the last hour at the small pizza placed owned by his uncle. His cousin, Shiro, who also functioned as manager, didn't look impressed at Keith's tone.
"And the restaurant closes at eleven. It's only ten."
"Quarter to ten," Keith pointed at the clock hanging above the counter. "And Aunt Lee said I could go at ten if I cleaned the front. I have class tomorrow."
"I'll make the pizza up real quick," Shiro promised. "And you can deliver it on your way home. The address is only five blocks from your place."
"I have to drive past it and double back to get home."
"It's not too far out of the way. I can't leave the restaurant and deliver it. There's no one else here."
"You suck, you know that?"
"Sometimes," Shiro bantered. "But, seriously, I'll clean the front up after I'm done. You don't even have to clean the bathrooms or anything."
Keith grumbled more, but Shiro ignored him. Keith knew that Shiro knew that Keith would do the delivery. Keith was rather fond of the job and loved his aunt and uncle, so he would do anything to help the restaurant. He'd hoped to get home to do the last edits on the assignment due the next day. Sympathetic Aunt Lee understood and let him go an hour early. Tuesdays were generally their slowest night, so she hadn't anticipated any business.
Except for the ping of the computer indicating an online order for someone named Lance M. at the small apartment block he and Pidge nicknamed the "Alphabetments" near the edge of campus. The name was their term of endearment for the shitty apartments near the university. Because their buildings were all letters of the alphabet.
Keith hated delivering there.
Shiro had the pizza assembled and baked quickly – with sausage, mushrooms, and a side of breadsticks – and packaged the order up in a small box for Keith. In the meantime, Keith had swept the restaurant floor while he waited, because he wasn't as big a dickhead as Shiro.
"All set, Keith," Shiro called, too cheerful for Keith's current state of mind.
"Why the box? Why not the warming bag?"
"It's windy out. Didn't want the breadsticks to fly away. Have a good night."
"Fuck you," Keith grumbled, hoisting the box up in his arms, keys dangling from his fingers.
"Thank you, again."
"Fuck you, again," Keith replied. "I bet this asshole doesn't even fucking tip."
He knew he should have worn a jacket. It was damn cold for October. And Shiro had been right; it was windy. His long hair whipped around his head as he approached his car, gripping the box tightly. 'I hope it doesn't fucking rain,' Keith thought darkly. He hated deliveries in the rain. It seemed the worst tippers ordered only when it rained.
He shoved the box in the back seat of his tiny, beat-up Honda and slid into the front seat. It took a moment for his shivers to stop. The wind had seemed to go right through him and chill him to the bone. Definitely bringing the jacket out for class tomorrow if this keeps up.
He realized he'd left the receipt in the box, so he twisted around, going up on his knees to reach behind and try to feel around the inside of the box for the thin piece of paper. "Fuck!" He could not find it and his irritation rose as he blindly groped around until he finally brushed it. He glared at the receipt after he'd settled back into his seat.
Special Requests: Please send your cutest delivery person! 😉
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Keith growled. He grabbed his phone from where it lay on the passenger's seat, quickly called up his texting app and, shot a quick message to Shiro which consisted of a string of the middle finger, angry faces, knives, swords, and skull and crossbones and finished off with a capitalized FUCK YOU.
Shiro: I did what the customer wanted 😚
Keith made sure to let Shiro know he was going to shove his kissy face emoji so far up Shiro's ass that Adam would never even reach it.
Keith was not in the best frame of mind, especially after driving past his street to continue on to his delivery. He hated this particular block of apartments. They were usually rented out by students who could afford the cheap rent and weren't as conscientious about keeping the place clean. The weekends, especially, were a nightmare. The constant parties were good for business, but showing up in his uniform to deliver to a bunch of cheap, fellow schoolmates was almost too much.
They never tipped, either.
At least this was Tuesday and should be a quieter night. He hoped, anyways.
Keith pulled into one of the guest spots of the sixth building at the back of the complex. F304. Of course, Lance M. would be on the third floor. Keith wouldn't be lucky enough to have a first floor delivery. He heaved a sigh and got out of the car, hair tugging around his head once again in the wind. Usually the only thing he liked about these apartments was their doors opened out onto the balcony walkway so he didn't have to buzz or anything to get inside.
Today, with the wind, he wished for a non-windy and brightly lit corridor to give him a brief respite from the wind and cold. Nope. Wind and cold it was to be. He stomped up the outside stairs, making sure to stomp extra heavy to vent his frustration.
Apartment F304 was at the end. Of course. He trudged along, thanking whoever was listening up there that all was quiet. If this were Saturday, there'd be puke along the concrete balcony, people screaming, loud music, a confused mass of people running in and out and up and down and everywhere. Today? Nothing. Only the sound of a lone television as he passed F301.
The curtains were closed on F304 as he passed them, but he could see the lights were on in the apartment. It might be a surprise to some how many deliveries he attempted to places which were locked up and dark, and where no one answered the door. Too many. It was a waste and he never knew whether it was a prank or someone forgetting they ordered takeout. Oh, he had stories for days.
There wasn't a doorbell on any of these apartments, so he knocked, banging more of his frustration out on the solid surface.
"Coming!"
Keith couldn't bring himself to put on his fake customer service smile. Maybe it was the irritation of having to make this delivery in the first place. Or maybe it was Shiro sending him for a customer who requested a 'cute' delivery person. Lance M. probably expected some cute, college girl at the door, not a grumpy college guy. Still, he had a job to do.
"Pizza," he called back, so Lance M. would know it wasn't some weird rando off the street. It was just weird Keith from Salvatore's.
After a few clicks from the locks and the telltale slide of the chain lock sliding out, the door swung open and Lance M. stood framed in the doorway. Keith blinked a few times. Fuck, this guy was cute. No. He was cute. And, Keith noted, wearing a blue robe loosely tied in front that fell to his knees. One hand rested on the doorjamb, and the other held the edge of the door. The outside light threw Lance M.'s features into sharp contrast, but Keith could see that without the bright light, he'd appear soft.
"Well, hello there," Lance M. drawled out. At least, Keith thought it was Lance M. standing in front of him.
"Um," he started, wondering where all his words went. He licked his lips. "Um, delivery," he managed to get out. Yes. He was here to deliver pizza. He held up his box, his grip so tight the sides buckled slightly. "Salvatore's." He remembered the name of his uncle's restaurant! Go Keith!
"Ah, great! I'm starving! I got home late and have to study for a midterm and I did not want to cook," Lance M. informed him.
"Um, yeah. I know the feeling," Keith responded. Because, yeah, he did know the feeling.
They stared at each other a few moments. Keith knew he was supposed to do…something…but his mind was blank. Lance M. smiled at him. Then gestured to the box. "Can I take that off your hands?"
Keith looked down. Oh, yeah. The pizza. "Yeah."
Just as he said it, a gust of wind sent by either the gods above or the devil himself, whipped up the side of building F and down the balcony toward F304. It was so strong that Keith felt himself physically sway and had to take a half step to the side to brace himself. His eyes should not have traveled down, however, as the gust caught the hem of Lance's robe and lifted it…puffing it out like an old time Victorian dress. It loosened the already loose tie, allowing the robe to fall open to expose what was beneath.
And what was beneath was…nothing.
No, not nothing. Lance M. was, of course, there. But nothing else. Meaning…
No shoes, no shirt, no service.
And, most notably, no underwear.
What the fuck? This guy was lounging around in the nude while studying? What the honest fuck? And…holy shit…there was his dick. And fuck, was it…wow, Keith really wanted that. That was. That was…magnificent.
Fuck.
Lance, instead of being embarrassed as Keith would have been (who are we kidding, Keith wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place), laughed and tugged at his robe until it closed, carelessly re-tying the belt as if he hadn't just flashed his junk at the delivery guy. "Sorry about that. Damn wind."
He didn't sound sorry. Keith was having a gay crisis right here with a box of pizza and breadsticks in his hands, and Lance M. didn't sound sorry.
"Uh…no…no, it's nothing," Keith stammered out. Lies. Oh, it was something, alright. A big something.
"I'll take that," Lance M. said easily. He stepped out of the door and took the box from Keith's hands. Admittedly, he had to pull it pretty hard as Keith's grip on it was like steel. What the hell was he going to do with his hands now?
"Um, it's all set," Keith said.
"Wait here a sec," Lance requested. "I need to set this down and grab something."
Keith wondered what the hell again, because he was now standing awkwardly empty-handed outside this apartment, after Lance went back in, having seen more than he bargained for on this cold, windy evening. Oh, yeah. It was cold. And everything must have been warm under his robe. Jesus fucking Christ.
He had half-turned to leave because the transaction was over. The robe didn't have pockets for a tip and Lance M. certainly didn't have anywhere else to put one.
"Hey, wait!" He turned back to see Lance in the doorway again. "Your tip! I hate leaving them on the card when I order, because I'm never sure if the delivery person gets it," he explained. He took Keith's hand, lifted it slowly, and pressed the cash against his palm. Keith automatically curled his fingers around it, not bothering to look.
"Thanks," he mumbled. "I appreciate it!"
"Sorry again for the show," Lance said, grinning. It widened when Keith's eyes darted down against his will. "See you soon!" With a little wave of his hand, he turned to the door. Keith numbly started walking toward the stairs when he heard called after him. "I'm glad they took my request seriously!"
What? He turned to look back, but the door was closing behind Lance M., leaving the ghost of his laughter to be whipped away by the wind.
It wasn't until he was back to his car when he looked at the bills in his hands. Ten dollars? Ten dollars! For a fifteen dollar order? Holy shit!
"I'll take this one," Keith claimed, looking over Pidge's shoulder at the order.
"But I'm on delivery tonight," she protested.
"You can take this one," he proposed, pointing at another on the screen. "They're regulars and tip well."
"Which makes me wonder why you would pass up a good tip to deliver to the Alphabetments."
"I was there the other night. It's not so bad."
Pidge suddenly swiveled in the chair, spinning fast enough that Keith didn't have a chance to spring away, so her knees knocked against his legs. "Alright, spill."
"Spill?" He cringed as he heard how high-pitched his voice got. That, plus the guilty expression he could feel stretching the skin of his cheeks, would tell Pidge he was hiding something.
She crossed her arms, glaring up through her glasses at him. They gleamed evilly in the light. "What's got you so eager to do a run there? Mr.-I-Hate-Delivering-Any-Pizzas-Anywhere?"
"I never said that!"
"You don't have to speak words to get your meaning across."
He mirrored her pose, hunching over his crossed arms. "Just take the Anderson order. I'll get Lance M.," he told her.
"Lance M.?" Shiro spoke up from the prep area where he was pressing a round of dough into a pan. "Wasn't that the delivery you had last Tuesday?"
"Yeah. So?" he asked in a belligerent tone.
"Was he cute?"
Keith spluttered as Pidge cackled. He never wanted to put his friend or his cousin in a headlock so bad. "I don't know," he said. "It was late. Dark. I didn't…see…much of him." He actually choked on the word 'see'.
"Did he stiff you on a tip?" Keith cringed at her unintentional word choice. "Wanna go back and kick his ass?"
"No, his tip was okay." God, did he really say that? "Pretty big, actually." What the fuck was wrong with his brain?
"Ah. Mystery solved, then," Pidge said with a shrug. "I'll print out the receipts. I need a large kitchen sink pizza and a small cheese for the Anderson's," she yelled to Shiro, reading off the screen. "And a small sausage and mushroom with breadsticks for Lance M.. I'll do the breadsticks if you want to get the pies started."
"Copy that, Pidge," Shiro called back cheerfully.
'Same order,' Keith thought. Huh.
"Ooh. Wait just a tick," Pidge said, casting a sly glance at Keith. She held two receipts in her hand. "Lance M. has made a special request." Oh shit, Keith dreaded what she would say next. "'Can I possibly have the cute driver from last week?'"
Keith considered locking himself in the walk-in freezer.
"Aw, Keith's got an admirer," Shiro sang, tossing up the dough for Lance M.'s pizza into the air and catching it expertly to stretch.
"I do not!"
"Wow, that blush," Pidge teased. "Brighter than our tomato sauce. Be careful not to mistake him for a pizza Shiro and put Lance M.'s sausage all over his face. Unless that's what he plans to do when he delivers."
"Oh my god, I hate you!" Keith cried. Shiro dropped the dough on the floor as he bent over laughing. "I hate you, too!"
He drove to the Alphabetments in a worse frame of mind than last week. Last week was simple irritation. This week was anxiety mixed with embarrassment mixed with awkwardness mixed with desire. Sue him. Keith was a healthy and horny young man who had the social skills of a lamppost. Scratch that. Didn't people like to jump on lampposts while dancing and singing in the rain? Keith had never been jumped on in either rainy or sunny days. Lance M. had called him cute last week (at least Keith thought so), so why wouldn't Keith want to see him again? He had to know if it was a fluke.
And, yeah, that dick was kind of an enticement, too. Keith wasn't really looking for a quick hookup, but it might be nice to see what the deal was with Lance M. and maybe see if he was agreeable to a date? He glanced up at the rear view mirror, meeting his own wild eyes. As if Keith would have the balls to hint at that.
No, he'd just deliver the pizza, hope for another peek, another nice tip (money!), and hightail it out of there.
His anxiety peaked as he pulled into the complex. It had been a full week since his last delivery to Lance M. - a week full of thoughts of the gorgeous guy. Not only his dick, though it played a large (heh) part in every one of his nightly fantasies. His eyes. Keith closed his own and saw Lance M.'s. His smile. Keith pressed his lips with his fingertips, imagining pressing them against Lance M.'s smile.
And, yeah, there were the sexual fantasies that fueled self-pleasure, of course, but Keith caught himself thinking about Lance M. in every fantasy there could be. Dates and movie nights and couch cuddles and every other sappy thing he could think to do with someone he dated.
Which, he realized, was ridiculous. All he knew about Lance M. was…nothing. Not even his full name, though he imagined he could look up the account. He didn't want to hit stalker level though. It was enough he knew his first name and address and that he once craved a sausage and mushroom pizza.
Twice craved, he thought, glancing at the warming bag on the seat next to him.
Keith was just a stupid guy who couldn't bring himself to believe someone as gorgeous as Lance M. would ever look his way. Lance M. probably had some airhead girlfriend who nibbled on one pizza slice for an hour, whining that she didn't have a salad or that greasy pizza would ruin her complexion. Not sloppy Keith who shoved almost whole slices in his mouth in a challenge to beat Shiro for "Most Pizza Consumed in One Bite".
A girl who probably giggled cutely when Lance M. shot her his dazzling smile. Not the loud snort Keith knew he let out when he found something funny. A girl who probably spent two hours on her hair, using products purchased from overseas with French names. Not Keith who washed his whole self with three-in-one product bought cheaply at Walmart and smelled like what idiots thoughts strawberries smelled like.
Lance M. screamed someone who loved high maintenance girls. No. Underline the world girls. Capitalize the word GIRLS. Underline, capitalize, italicize, AND bold GIRLS. This Lance M. would not be into guys at all, because the universe didn't work like that. He was a flirt, probably one of those people who always make others feel special. He wouldn't be gay or bi or pan or any other sexuality that led to two boys banging each other.
Keith was not so lucky.
So, Keith was once again not in the best frame of mind as he trudged up the stairs, half-hoping and half-dreading he'd find Lance M. in the same state of undress. Or, barely covered. At least it wasn't windy today, so maybe the robe would behave.
He was so certain as he knocked on the door that Lance M. would be wearing a robe that he was honestly surprised when the door opened and there he was, dressed in jeans and a baseball tee. He blinked a couple of times. "Um…" he struggled to remember his words. It was something to see this gorgeous creature in regular clothes. Somehow, it was sexier. "D-delivery from Sal's."
"I see they take customer requests seriously," Lance M. said, bathing Keith in his hundred-watt smile.
Keith flushed, remembering the words on the receipt. 'Can I possibly have the cute driver from last week?' Then he reminded himself Lance M. was probably a shameless flirt. "Um, yeah. Um. We try."
He shoved the box into Lance's hands, noticing how his eyebrows shot up. His abruptness came from his shot nerves. Lance M. made him feel like a stuttering fifteen-year-old trying to talk to his crush. He hadn't felt that in years; but, to be honest, he hadn't crushed on anyone in a long time. He groaned inwardly. He didn't want to have a crush on this guy. Was he so pathetic that he crushed on someone simply on what they looked like?
"Thanks," Lance M. said slowly, shifting from one foot to the other, letting the silence which settled between them grow long enough to make Keith want to scream. "Um. Hang on a sec."
As before, only more clothed, Lance M. turned and walked away. This time, since Keith wasn't panicking over a flash of dick, he peered curiously into the apartment. It was a simple place, like all the Alphabetments he'd peeked into. The places came furnished with the most out of date furniture, but he could see a decent television, paused at a point in a Disney movie (he thought it was Luca) and a couch with a big, fleecy blanket on it, rumpled as if Lance M. had just been cuddled up in it.
He didn't see anyone else.
'She's likely in the bathroom,' he thought darkly.
Lance M. appeared again, from the hallway Keith assumed led to his bedroom. The thought made his heart race. "Here!" Lance M. said, grabbing his hand and pressing a handful of bills there.
Keith glanced down at the crumpled up money in his hand. He could tell it was probably another big tip, as Lance M. had given him the previous week. And, because Keith was a dumbass, he said, "You don't have to tip so much. Delivery is included in the price."
"I know!" Lance M. said brightly. "But, I know what a sucky job delivering food is. I did Uber Eats last year. People who don't tip deserve a special place in…" and he leaned forward to whisper, "H-E-double-hockey-sticks!"
It made Keith laugh, a nervous bark of laughter. "Did-did you just spell out hell?"
Lance M. squeezed his fingers, pressing into the back of Keith's hand. He was still grasping it. "I did. I didn't want to offend you in case you're a sweet and innocent boy."
Keith stared into Lance M.'s eyes, which were dancing with amusement. "Um. No. I mean. Yes. No…" he could see Lance M. now trying not to laugh. "I don't mind swearing."
"So, you're not innocent?" Lance M. teased.
Keith's flush deepened, which made him resent the bright fluorescent lights outside each apartment. He knew Lance M. could see how embarrassed he was. "Um…"
Lance M. let go of his hand. "I'm teasing," he assured Keith. "Thank you for being my delivery guy. If you're working next Tuesday, I'll be sure to order again."
Was he honestly flirting with Keith? It seemed like it, but Keith still couldn't bring himself to believe it. Which caused his blunt answer. "Yeah."
"Excellent! I've got a date to finish with Luca, and I'm sure you're still on the clock. I'll see you next week, Cute Delivery Guy!" Lance M. stepped back into his apartment and closed the door, still laughing.
Keith had no idea how to respond. He stared at the door for a moment before shaking himself into movement. He stuffed his hands in his jacket and turned, scowling at the concrete floor of the balcony as he headed back to the stairs. He hated being made fun of.
In spite of his annoyance and/or anger at Lance M. for teasing him, he couldn't help but wait anxiously all week. He watched for any sign of Lance M. on campus as he walked to his classes or ate at the food court. He never saw the gorgeous fluff of brown curls or the bright smile. Keith tried not to look for him, but he couldn't help it. The asshole had completely captured his attention.
On Tuesday, he started his shift completely on edge. Every time the phone rang or the computer pinged with an order, he jumped. Pidge teased him mercilessly while Shiro smiled his benevolent, older cousin smile at him that made Keith want to punch him. He ran a few deliveries as the dinner rush flew by – he even delivered to the Alphabetments at one point, only to building B. He couldn't help but glance a few times at building F, wondering if Lance M. really was going to call for a pizza this evening.
Who was Keith kidding? If Lance M. did call, it would strictly be for pizza. Not to see Keith again.
He was back at the restaurant, cashing out a pickup order, offering the customer service smile to the middle-aged man as he handed him the change when he heard the ping of the computer. Since he was dealing with a customer, he couldn't rush over to check it, so Shiro got there first.
"Oh ho," he chortled, glancing up at Keith as Keith slid the cash drawer closed. "Looks like it's your lucky night."
He knew what Shiro meant, but he played dumb. Not successfully since he could feel the burn in his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Did Loverboy Lance M. order again?" Pidge called out from the prep station.
"Yes, he did. And added another special request."
"What this time?"
Shiro squinted at the computer screen. "Can I request my Cute Delivery Guy? And have him tell me his name!"
Holy. Fuck.
Shiro and Pidge cheered for him. Even the middle-aged guy cheered for him. Keith wanted to crawl under the counter.
"I can make the order Shiro," Pidge offered, once she stopped the little victory dance she was doing. "Sausage and mushroom?"
"Yep. And breadsticks. Can you make those up, Keith?"
Keith grunted something that sounded like an affirmative.
He once again pulled into the Alphabetments parking lot, passing the previous building and parking in the guest spot of building F. A few deep breaths helped to brace him for the chilly walk up to the third floor. Maybe if he and Lance M. ever got talking and using more words on Keith's part than "Um", he'd suggest that Lance M. find a place on the ground floor.
Not that his fantasies pictured him living with Lance M. in a ground floor apartment somewhere. Nope, not at all.
He ground his teeth together and slid out of his car, retrieved the order, and began the trek up to Lance M.'s apartment.
As he had the previous two weeks, he knocked on the door and waited, a little nervous that the wind had kicked up, but Lance M. once again was sans robe. Instead, he was dressed in shorts (on a cold, windy day?) and an Avengers t-shirt. Keith sighed silently. An Avengers fan? Be still his heart.
"Ah! You're here! My cram session fuel has arrived!"
"Um," Keith said eloquently. "Sal's delivery."
"Yes, I know," Lance M. said with a following laugh.
Keith handed the box over, Lance M. took it, and, as before, disappeared to get his tip money. Keith almost protested, but Lance M. was quick and Keith was an idiot, so it never made it past his lips. He sighed, peering into the apartment once again. The TV was silent, the warm-looking fleecy throw was folded neatly on the back of the sofa, and the table was covered with books, papers, and a laptop. Keith wondered what Lance M. was studying in school.
"Here you go!"
Keith jumped a little as Lance M. grabbed the back of his hand to turn it and lift enough to press the bundle of bills into it. Only, he didn't. Keith looked at Lance M.'s hovering hand, then back up into his eyes. "Um."
"So Sal's got the first part of my request right," Lance M. said, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm waiting for my second request."
Keith swallowed, then licked his lips. "Um."
"So you have been telling me your name all along?" Lance M. asked. "That's such a Neanderthal name. I should know, as that's what I'm studying right now. Um and Ugg and Uka…"
"No. It's, um, Keith."
"Um Keith…" Lance M. said, playing his name over his tongue in a way that made Keith's mouth water. Damn, it sounded good from him. Keith never thought twice about his name, but now it seemed like the best and sexiest name in the world. "Wonderful! I can ask for you by name!"
Then, out of nowhere (and Keith would say to his dying day he had no idea what possessed his damn mouth) Keith said, "But, I like what you already call me."
He nearly died. If Lance M. didn't have a hold of his hand still, he would have thrown himself off the third-floor balcony of building F onto the parking lot. How fucking stupid could he be? God, his face flared up so badly he was afraid he was glowing red and building F would become known as Altea's Red Light District.
However, Lance M. did not seem to mind at all. If anything, his smile grew from its hundred-watt intensity to the incredible intensity of a thousand-watt. He threw his head back and laughed. "Well, Um Keith," he choked out. "Cute Delivery Guy does fit, but I'll ask for you by name. Tell me you're working next Tuesday, again?"
"Yeah," Keith said, faintly.
"Excellent," Lance M. said, pressing the dollars into his hand. "I'll see you then."
He slipped back into the apartment, closing the door and Keith stumbled away toward the stairs. He swore he heard Lance M. say "Cutie" before the door clicked shut.
Keith's predicament amused the hell out of Shiro and Pidge and all the rest of the staff of Salvatores's. Keith, in turn, resented all of them, which made coming in to work no pleasure. His co-workers teased him relentlessly. He ignored Pidge's attempts to show him Lance M.'s social media, because, of course, Pidge had zero qualms about stalking Lance M. online. She had read his last name off his payment information and had since found all his online presence.
To his horror, she had the balls to friend Lance M. on Instagram and TikTok. She informed Keith that Lance M. was a TikTok fanatic, but Keith did not want to see any of the videos. He was already crushing super hard on Lance M. and didn't want to add fuel to the fire. He also refused to look at the Instagram and tried not to comprehend what Pidge had found out about him.
Mainly – he was an Archaeology student (those really exist?), a year younger than Keith, from Miami, and, most importantly, single and bi.
Keith seriously tried not to gay panic over those last two.
The week crawled by, as did the weekend, where Keith constantly wondered what Lance M. was doing. What kind of things did he think were fun? How did he spend his free time when not studying old stuff? Did he hang out with friends? Who were his friends?
At least the last question was answered on a slow Sunday when he didn't work and for whatever pathetic and desperate reason he decided to hang out with Pidge playing video games. It was cold out and there was no reason for either of them to subject themselves to the elements.
"So, I found out something interesting," she said suddenly, her eyes intent on the screen as she blasted the heads off a pack of zombies.
Keith grunted in annoyance as a zombie jumped on his character and starting eating his brains. He rested his hands in his lap until Pidge finished her slaughter, holding the controller loosely in his hands. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "It seems Lance M. and I have a mutual friend."
Keith froze like an ice sculpture, his grip tightening on the controller. "Oh?"
"Yeah. A guy in my engineering class. Hunk."
Keith had heard her talk about Hunk before. A genius with building things – Pidge'd done a project with him last semester and they shared many classes. Shit.
She continued. "So, being the amazing friend I am, I added to the data I have already collected about the subject, Lance M., by interviewing Hunk on some of his finer points."
"Pidge…no."
"Pidge…yes." She laughed, pausing the game so she could look at him. "Apparently, Lance M. has gushed about you plenty over the past couple of weeks to Hunk. Normally I'd caution you against this, but with that info, combined with Hunk's assurances that Lance M. is not a crazy or dangerous guy, but is a good-hearted, romantic sap, I'd say go for it."
"What do you mean 'go for it'?" he asked, his tone flat with stress.
Pidge rolled her eyes. "He's obviously interested in you. You're obviously just as interested in him. Put two and two together and…"
"I'm not interested," he insisted, then held up a hand to stop her protest. "He's cute, alright. I'll give you that. But, I literally know nothing about him."
"I think you know more than you think."
He shook his head. "All I know is that he probably likes Disney movies. He definitely likes sausage and cheese pizza and breadsticks. He's studying old things. He studies a lot, which means he probably is a good student and smart. His apartment is super-clean and he likes fluffy blankets."
"And you've already seen him naked."
Keith flushed. "Not on purpose."
"You still saw it. And, if I remember right, you said it was impressive and something you'd like to ride for an entire night."
His flush deepened. He should know better than to ever tell Pidge…who had the best memory…anything.
"Anyway," she added. "My point is, you already know more than most people do about their date on a first date. So fucking ask him out already."
"What if he laughs at me?"
"Somehow I don't think he will. At least, not from what Hunk said. Fuck, Keith, have some more confidence. Despite your social awkwardness, you'd be a pretty good catch for someone. If he says no, he says no. If he says yes, then maybe something awesome will happen."
She wasn't…wrong. But, the thought of asking Lance M. out made his chest ache and his panic rise. How would he even do such a thing when he could barely spit out a few words to him?
He wasn't surprised to see the order on Tuesday night, at approximately the same time as it had come the last week. He even allowed himself to smile at the request. 'I request Um Keith, please. And tell him to smile and talk to me!'
Keith stared at the now-familiar building and the light shining next to Lance M.'s door. He sighed. Did he have the balls to do it? He hoped he did. He pulled out the sharpie he'd stolen…borrowed…from the restaurant for this delivery and scribbled something on top of the pizza box, then got out of the car with Lance M.'s order – sausage and mushroom pizza with breadsticks.
Lance M. must have been waiting for him to arrive, because Keith had hardly touched his knuckles to the door when it popped open. Lance M. wore a different Avengers shirt today, Guardians of the Galaxy, which was one of Keith's favorite Avengers movies. "Delivery from Sal's," he intoned, his nerves making his voice quaver.
"Duh, Um Keith," Lance M. said. "Since I ordered it and you're here, I kind of guessed that's what this was for."
"Right."
They waited a few moments, both staring at each other. Keith was trembling (he hoped not visibly) and Lance was grinning. "So," Lance M. finally spoke. "About my request…"
Keith cleared his throat and thrust the box closer to Lance M., but the other man didn't lift his hands to take it. Was he really expecting Keith to do as he requested? It seemed like it. Lance M. kept his smile on his face and waited patiently, his arms moving up to cross in front of his chest.
"So, um," Keith said in a faint voice. He tried to smile, and succeeded - sort of. A half-smile at least. "I don't really know what to talk to you about."
"Ask me something," Lance M. suggested with a little shrug.
"Won't your pizza get cold?"
"I think two minutes for a question and answer isn't going to matter much. And I'm not counting that as your question."
Keith wracked his brain. There were a million things Keith wanted to ask him and Keith couldn't snag any of those questions to voice. "Um," he hemmed. 'Come on, brain! Think!' He shuffled his feet slightly. "What are you studying? You keep talking about studying."
"You do talk!" Lance M. crowed, relaxing his arms and doing a little victory shuffle. "I study archaeology."
"I didn't think anyone studied that. Like, for a degree."
"My school has a great program!" Lance M. told him, his enthusiasm shining through in his voice. "I love old things! I could live at a museum!"
A real and genuine smile finally popped onto Keith's face. He couldn't help it. Lance M. sounded so happy and excited. "It sounds cool. I-I like museums too. Only art ones."
"Are you in school?" When Keith nodded, Lance M. asked, "Is that what you study?"
"Yeah."
"I never see you on campus."
"I never see you, either."
Now Lance M.'s smile turned sly. "So, you've looked for me?" Before Keith could stutter a response, Lance M. gently took the box from him. "That's good to know. Hang on, I'll get your tip."
Shit, why did he say that? He didn't want Lance M. to think he was some weirdo. Should he leave? Hopefully Lance M. would see what he wrote on the box and future Keith can deal with it. It took him too long to decide, because Lance M. was quickly back, once again shoving a handful of bills to Keith.
"Are you working next Tuesday?"
"Yeah. I think so. I usually do."
"Then I guess it was a good thing I ordered on a Tuesday a couple of weeks ago."
"Um…"
"What days do you have off, Um Keith?"
"Um," Keith said, unconsciously. "It depends. We're closed Monday."
"Do you work weekends?"
What's with the schedule questions? "Usually. It's busy those days."
Lance M. pointed at Keith's hand and the handful of dollars. "There's a scrap of paper in there."
Keith peered up into Lance M.'s face. Was that a blush? Keith was usually the one blushing. "Okay?"
"It's got my number on it." Lance M. was definitely blushing and looked away to the side. Keith followed his glance, but saw nothing other than the brick wall.
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh'."
Oh.
Oh.
"Um, I, um, wrote my number on your pizza box, too," Keith stammered. "You know, if you want to text me or something."
Lance M.'s face brightened and he looked back at Keith, his eyes expressing eagerness. "I will!"
"And all of a sudden, we can't get Keith off his phone."
Keith glanced up, his face flooded with a guilty flush at Pidge's wry statement. Shiro chuckled.
"What?"
"You've been glued to your phone all night. After your Alphabetments delivery to Lance M. two hours ago."
"I-I, uh…"
"Did you finally get Lance M.'s number?"
"Um, yeah."
"Keith! That's wonderful!" Shiro said, giving Keith a side hug, from which Keith flinched.
"Ugh, don't do that!"
"I'm proud of you, Padawan," Shiro said, strutting with a little dance back to the prep station.
Keith sent him a flat glare. "I'm not your Padawan. It makes it sound like you trained me on getting his number. You did nothing."
"You must have learned from my super successful wooing of Adam," Shiro bragged.
Pidge spoke up, "Wasn't your wooing you falling on your face in front of Adam after exactly twenty-five attempts to introduce yourself to him and him taking you to the emergency to treat your broken nose?" Keith snorted, and since Pidge practically yelled it, the handful of customers in the restaurant laughed.
Shiro, flustered now, stammered out something that sounded like 'at least it worked', but Keith's attention was drawn to the ping of his phone from another message from Lance M.
Lance M: So yeah then Hunk was like, give him your number
Keith: I'll have to thank Hunk. And you should study. You have a test tomorrow.
Lance M: Ugh, that's cold to remind me Um Keith.
Keith: I'm concerned about your grades
Lance M: I'd rather talk to u
Keith: me too, but we can talk tomorrow
Lance M: Deal!
Keith: What time is the test?
Lance M: It's my 1pm class. It's my only Wed class, so I'll have time to study tomorrow
Keith: Text me after
Lance M: I will Um Keith! Night!
Keith: Night…good luck
What a difference a week made. Keith bounded up the outside staircase of Building F, his heart racing with excitement and his hands clutching the pizza box tightly. The bag of breadsticks slid precariously along the top of the box, threatening to fall off, but Keith steadied his hands and prevented it.
He paused at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, glancing at the receipt taped to the pizza box. 'Send my Um Keith, please! I want more than a smile tonight!'
Keith grinned, his heart now skipping beats. They'd been texting for a week, since last Tuesday. Lance M. aced his test and lamented daily that Keith worked nights. Their schedule didn't seem to match up at all, so they had to rely on texting. Keith was happy about it, though, because it allowed him to open up in a way he wouldn't have been able to in person. It allowed him to get to know Lance M. as well, including his schedule, which Keith had carefully written down to find times they could be together in person.
At first, it didn't seem like there were any times for hanging out together, or for a date if Keith ever got the guts to ask, but after speaking to his Aunt and rearranging some of his work shifts, Keith was able to free himself up during some of Lance M.'s free times, so he was hopeful.
If only this particular delivery went well.
After a few deep breaths of the cold air which had had teased his cheeks to redness (yeah, he'd go with the cold causing his red cheeks), he approached the familiar door to knock.
"Sal's delivery," he intoned when Lance M. opened the door, giving Keith a glimpse of his brilliant smile. He was surprised that Lance M. looked nice. No, not that he looked nice, but that he had dressed nice. Not fancy or anything, but he wore a light blue polo and dark jeans – very different from his usual casual clothes (or exposing robe). Maybe he had a date tonight? The thought depressed Keith. He thought they'd been flirting over text all week and Lance M. hadn't mentioned a date.
"I know, Um Keith," Lance M. said, a laugh in his tone. Then he looked down at the box in Keith's hands, his eyebrows raising. Shit, Keith knew this was a bad idea. The request from Lance M. tonight had given him hope and confidence, which he knew in the back of his head was a terrible thing. "That's a pretty big box for a small pizza."
Keith also looked at the box clutched in his hands. In a burst of optimism (and with the encouragement of his traitorous cousin and supposed best friend), he'd had Shiro make a large pizza instead. God, he was fucking stupid.
"Um," Keith began, then stopped, shuffling his feet uncertainly and gripping the box tighter. The heat warmed his suddenly numb fingers. He was mortified, but somehow managed to say, "I thought I'd fill your request."
Lance M. opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. When Keith glanced back up at him, he looked confused. "You thought I meant more pizza?"
"N-no. Um. I-I thought, maybe, um…"
Lance M. waited, his eyes intent on Keith. It shot his nerves to hell more than before. "Um?" Lance M. prompted.
"Um. My shift is over. Maybe I can stay? I brought enough pizza for both of us." Shit, this was a bad idea. "But, um, I guess since I didn't warn you, it's okay if you don't want to. You can still have the pizza. I thought maybe we could hang out, but it looks like you're busy and expecting something…someone. So I'll just go." He started to turn away.
"Keith," Lance M. said, his voice both gentle and amused, but surprising Keith without the 'Um' before it. "Wait." His hands grabbed the pizza box sides; they pressed up against Keith's. "Don't take my pizza away. Or my delivery cutie."
"What?"
Lance M. said, unabashadly, "I requested more than a smile hoping for maybe a kiss or something, but I'll take a pizza and movie date with you. I mean, I can still maybe get that kiss, you think? I don't think I've been reading our text conversations the wrong way."
Keith nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again, and knew his enthusiasm must have shown on his face because Lance M. laughed. "You wanted more," he blurted out.
"And I hope I can get even more," Lance M. said, a sly look sliding into his expression that made Keith's cheeks heat up again. "Come on in."
And yes, that's the story of how Keith got himself a boyfriend. Shy, socially backward Keith somehow charmed outgoing, gorgeous Lance. He stopped thinking of Lance as Lance M. later that first night, with Lance's tongue in his mouth and hand on his thigh. 'Um Keith' was quickly replaced by 'sweetheart', which caused Keith a lot of embarrassment until he got used to it. Keith practically lived at the Alphabetments for the rest of the school year and got used to seeing Lance in a robe on mornings when they woke up together and made breakfast. Keith somehow convinced Lance to try pineapple on pizza and broadened his pizza horizon (not always just sausage and mushroom anymore).
And what started out as boyfriend would eventually turn to fiancé, which would eventually turn into husband. Lance liked to tell people he hooked Keith by flashing his attributes at him when they first met. Keith would roll his eyes, used to his love's teasing, and would respond it was Lance's annoying personality that eventually wore him down.
But, dancing their first dance at their wedding, Keith whispered wickedly in Lance's ear, "You know, it was your dick that hooked me at first. I was thirsty for it from the moment you flashed me."
Lance spluttered and choked, trying to maintain his composure in front of all their family and friends. "Keith!"
"I mean, come on, can you blame me?"
Lance laughed, pressing his face into Keith's shoulder. "You're so bad," he moaned. "But," he added straightening up and looking into Keith's eyes. "I guess we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that windy night, huh?"
"Thank god you don't tie your robes tight."
"Thank god," Lance murmured, pressing his lips to Keith's.
A/N:
My beautiful friend Lex said something similar (or close to it) happened to them. Or, at least what happened ALMOST happened. Thankfully they didn't see everything that Keith sees. But when I heard the story, I immediately thought "KLANCE!" And here we are.
Thank you, Lex, for inspiring this…love you!
Fun fact…I lived in the Alphabetments in college a hundred years ago (give or take a few decades)…apartment F304. I never flashed a delivery guy though.
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