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Shiro is a nosy fucking person.
He always has been, as far as he’s aware. He was the kid that would pick up the other end of the landline to hear his mom’s conversations, the kid that would spy on other kids during recess. He wasn’t much of a gossiper, but for whatever reason, he’s always needed to know one hundred and ten percent of all the drama all the time.
It’s a complex. He’d like to say he’s working on it.
(He’s not.)
Regardless, other people’s business is his hobby. Especially — and he means especially — Keith’s.
His brother is a quiet kid. Outside of home (where he’s a menace) he generally keeps his head down and his mouth shut. For a while Shiro was convinced he was shy, or something, but he’s come to the conclusion that the boy’s more awkward than anything.
Still, Shiro perks up when his brother stomps home after his first day of high school, complaining about a kid in almost every one of his classes who won’t shut the hell up.
Shiro isn’t unused to Keith complaining. Keith has lots of opinions, many about Shiro himself, and he’s happy to let (force) Shiro listen.
But in terms of school? In terms of friends, relationships, et cetera?
The kid’s usually a fucking vault.
So Shiro listens, when the complaining starts. He commits the talkative boy’s name — Lance — to memory, and perks up every time he hears it muttered under Keith’s breath.
Which, in case anyone was curious, is frequently.
He is invested from the very beginning.
———
Slowly, over weeks and months, Shiro notices a change.
Keith still mutters about the boy. The boy is still in a good chunk of his classes, rattling off question after question, hand always in the air, motormouth never slowing down for even a second. From the way Keith talks, Shiro can only assume that the kid truly never closes his mouth, or Keith is just a little bit obsessed with him, even if he wants to bring a roll of duct tape to class.
That is to say Shiro is not at all surprised the day Keith comes home on a Friday afternoon, a tall, brown-hair and brown-eyed boy in tow.
“Hi,” the boy says immediately, wide grin showing off braces with tiny pink elastics. He waves excitedly, but doesn’t hold his hand out to shake, or meet Shiro’s eyes. “I’m Lance.”
“I guessed,” Shiro says, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Keith talks about you all the time.”
“I do not,” Keith protests immediately. The tips of his ears are red, so he shakes his hair out to cover them. He turns to Lance and grabs his wrist, dragging him over to the kitchen table. “Please ignore my dumbass brother. He suffers from early onset dementia. Let’s get started on our proj—”
But Keith doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Lance lights up, and Shiro can almost hear the motormouth revving.
“Really? That’s incredibly rare for his age! There are actually some experimental treatments for EOD, you probably know most of them, but the local hospital has a program where patients can increase memory capacity by —”
Shiro watches in awe as the words seem to tumble out of Lance, like they’re fighting their way out of his mouth. He trips over them, stutters half of them together, but that doesn’t seem to stop him at all. He just keeps going. Shiro finds himself waiting for the poor kid to take a breath, and it takes longer than he expects. Idly, he wonders what kind of super lungs this kid has. He’s never heard so much talking happen by one person before.
Most surprising of all, however, is that Keith listens to every word.
He’s not sat with his full attention to Lance, of course. He hadn’t so much as blinked when Lance had started speeding through his speech, simply digging through his backpack and laying out some materials. He organizes a binder, straightens out a pencil case, even starts writing things down.
But every so often he makes noises of acknowledgement, like he’s hearing every word. And every time Lance pauses, even for a millisecond, he glances over to him and smiles, slightly, just as exasperated as he is fond.
Oh, Shiro thinks, realisation shooting through him like lightning, oh, this is going to be something big.
———
It’s not the last time he sees Lance. Not by a mile. After that first time, he sees Lance almost as often as he sees Keith.
There’s the excuse of the project, at first — history, Keith tells him, paired together much to his chagrin — but then the project ends, and Lance keeps following Keith through the doorway.
“He’s interested in every single thing all the time,” Keith says when Shiro presses. “He’s a decent study partner, because I never have to google anything.”
Keith is totally convinced that that’s all there is to it. Shiro has to excuse himself to go scream.
Of course, Keith can’t stay dense forever. A school year is only so many months, and a person can only accidentally refer to someone as their friend so often before they start to clue in.
“I think Lance might actually be my best friend,” Keith tells him one summer day, slipping on his sneakers as he prepares to head over to Lance’s house for the next three days.
“You take some time to ponder that one,” Shiro responds, then closes the door and laughs and laughs and laughs.
Keith lets up on the pretense, after that. His face gets fonder every time he talks about Lance, and the quiet adoration in his eyes whenever Lance is around is no longer clouded in shame. He looks at Lance like he’s drinking in every word, like if he doesn’t he’ll dry out. He acts like he needs to memorize every word the boy says.
It’s endearing. It’s unbelievably entertaining. It’s almost more than Shiro can handle.
One day, after Lance packs up his homework and heads out, Shiro notices Keith write something on a folded sheet of lined paper as he locks the door behind his friend, then slip it in his pocket.
He has to stop himself from tackling his brother to the floor and wrenching the note right out of his hands. He wants to read it so bad that the urge is painful, a little.
God, he has a problem.
Instead, he bides his time like a rational person. He waits the three days until laundry day, then volunteers to do the chore as inconspicuously as he can, even though it’s Keith’s turn. Keith looks at him suspiciously — Shiro has never in his life offered to do Keith’s half of the chores — but hates doing the laundry too much to question a gift horse in the mouth.
As soon as Keith dumps his dirty laundry in the hamper, Shiro gets to work. His brother has a horrible habit, see. He always forgets shit in his pockets. Usually Shiro nags him about it, because when it’s his turn to do laundry the last thing he wants to do is dig whatever rock Keith found interesting out of his jeans, but this time he could not be more grateful.
He spies the blue hoodie Keith was wearing when Shiro saw him with the note, and quickly turns the pockets inside out. A folded piece of lined paper flutters to the floor.
Bingo.
As carefully as he can, he unfolds it, smoothing it out against his thigh to read it better.
Questions to Ask, it reads, in Keith’s loopy handwriting. 1. What places do you want to visit. 2. What flower is your favourite. 3. Why is grey your favourite colour. 4. Is there any animal that is your favourite specifically.
Shiro squints at it. He flips the paper over, scanning the other side, but it’s blank. Those four questions are it — the entire contents of the paper Keith has been so secretive about, and that Shiro has been dying to see. A list of ice breaker questions? That’s it?
He folds the paper back up and sets it on top of the washer, reminding himself to put it back in Keith’s room. He’s read the note, but it’s only raised more questions than answers.
Why is Keith carrying that thing around? Why is it in his best handwriting? And why does he add to it every time he talks with Lance?
———
Shiro wouldn’t be able to forget about the paper even if he did have early onset dementia. He doesn’t spend every waking second thinking about it — he has school and a job and a life, thanks — but it does make him wonder. He’s hyper aware of the paper, noticing every time Keith updates it, hearing every time the kid reaches into his pocket to fiddle with it.
The curiosity burns him. He has to know why it exists.
Three weeks after Shiro notices the paper for the first time, his prayers are answered.
“I need a favour and if you’re annoying about it I’ll never tell your nosy ass anything about my life ever again,” Keith announces.
Shiro pauses for a second to consider how to play this.
He could play it cool. Act like he doesn’t care, like maybe he’ll help Keith if he can squeeze it into his schedule.
He glances down at his phone. He has zero new notifications. (Adam is doing his internship in the Amazon rainforest and has zero service, and Matt lost his phone for the eighth time this year, so. To be expected.) He is fooling no one.
He sighs. “Tell me what you need, goober.”
Keith hesitates. His hands wring together nervously, and he won’t meet Shiro’s eyes. Shiro shifts slightly, sensing that the matter here is a little more serious than either of them are letting on, and pats the seat next to him.
“Talk to me,” he says quietly.
“Imaskinglancetogooutwithme,” Keith rushes out.
Shiro blinks. “Try that again.”
“I’m asking Lance to go out with me,” Keith repeats. He shoves his fluttering hands under his thighs. “And I’m broke, so I need you to get me the employee’s discount at Applebee’s.”
Shiro forces down the urge to yell in triumph. Finally!
“Yeah, kiddo. I can do that.”
———
The day of the big Applebee’s date, Shiro is almost as excited as Keith is. And not nearly as nervous.
The actual asking had gone fine. Keith had freaked out about it, stuttering over his words so badly that eventually he just gave up and wrote out what he was trying to say, face burning. But Lance’s face, once he recovered from his shock, had completely lit up, smiling so wide it squinted his eyes.
Keith is still nervous, for whatever reason.
“You’re literally going to be fine,” Shiro tries to assure him. “He was ecstatic when you asked. He’s been in love with you for at least a year, now.”
“You don’t know that,” Keith snaps. Shiro decides to forgive him for the attitude, because he has yet to muster up the courage to do anything about his Adam situation and it’s embarrassing that his baby brother has a leg up on him, so he can’t afford any more humbling.
“I actually do. I have a degree in Dumbass Gay.”
“You have a degree in molecular biology.”
“And you’re gay down to your molecules! All is well. Quit freaking out in my car, you’re ruining the vibe.”
Keith rolls his eyes but does, to his credit, quit freaking out quite so openly. By the time they pull into the Applebee’s staff parking, he’s managed to only pick the nail polish off four of his fingers, which is six less than Shiro predicted he would. Hell yeah to the kid.
“Okay, up you get, I’m gonna be late. Pick a random table, I’ll drop by with menus and stuff when Lance gets there.”
Shiro spends the next fifteen minutes half working and half watching Keith at the table he chose, in the back, by a window. He’s visibly worked himself back up, picking at his nails and checking the door every three seconds.
Shiro shakes his head fondly. He wishes he could convince Keith that this is going to be great, for them. He’s not even a hundred percent sure how he knows himself, but he does. He knew it from the first moment he saw them together: they’re built to last, somehow. He can feel it on his bones.
“Hi, hi, hi, sorry I’m late, I don’t have a reason,” Lance says, speedwalking to the table. Keith rushes to stand as he approaches, clearly gunning to pull out his chair for him, but only manages to somehow hook his own legs around the leg of the table and go tumbling down, landing flat on his face.
Shiro winces.
Yikes.
He’s not a hundred percent sure what happens in the next few minutes. He does, unfortunately, have an actual job to do, so he can’t spend all his time watching the two lovebirds. When he finally makes it over to greet them and take their orders, the tension between them is so thick it actually makes the air a little bit harder to breathe.
Lance is silent.
Lance.
Is silent.
“What can I get for you guys?” Shiro asks hesitantly. Neither of them speaks for a second, so Shiro prompts them. “We have pink lemonade, Lance. I know you like that.”
It’s a transparent attempt to get them normal again, and it almost works. Lance smiles, opening his mouth to say something, likely something tangentially related to lemonade that will quickly veer off topic, but then he stops himself. The excitement fades from him, every slightly, and he just nods.
“Alrighty,” Shiro says slowly, tapping his pen to his notepad. “I’ll be back in a few.”
He heads off to help some other guests, keeping a half eye on the two. Neither of them speak, eyes firmly trained on the table between them.
He has never seen them like this. Neither of them is particularly socially graceful, but still. Awkward first dates are still awkward, he supposes, even if you’re friends.
After he makes his rounds, he hesitantly approaches the table again, figuring if they’re still being reluctant he’ll just order something for them, to get the conversation moving. As he approaches, though, he hears Lance clear his throat, and freezes, straining to hear.
“I was really glad when you asked me,” he says quietly. He looks up from the table to shoot Keith a small, nervous smile. “I really like you. More than a friend.”
Shiro barely resists the urge to fist pump. Hell yeah! First steps!
Keith looks at him with wide eyes. Shiro’s heart sinks.
You can do this, he thinks, trying to beam the thought into his brother’s head. This is your best friend. You’re fine.
“What’s your favourite animal?” Keith blurts.
Shiro slaps his hand to his forehead.
Dumbass.
But instead of absolutely destroying any and all chance at a successful date, the question seems to relax Lance immediately. He smiles, pointing to the corner of the window, where if Shiro squints get can see a small spider spinning her web outside.
“I like lots of ‘em! But spiders are really cool I think. Did you know there’s this newly discovered species that uses leaves to make a bigger image of herself in her web —”
All at once, it hits Shiro — what that dorky list of questions was, the one Keith kept glancing at before Lance arrived.
They weren’t just icebreakers. They weren’t just conversation starters on the off-chance things got awkward.
What places do you want to visit? What flower is your favourite? Why is grey your favourite colour? Is there any animal that is your favourite specifically?
Geography and history. Flowers. Colour theory. Animals.
Keith wasn’t googling generic questions for a first date. He had spent days — weeks — carefully writing down a list of questions that he knew would appeal to Lance’s interests, because he loves Lance, and he loves it when Lance talks, even if he doesn’t know how to say it.
Shiro smiles. He slips out his phone and snaps a quick picture of the two: Lance gesturing wildly, beaming, and Keith watching with his chin in his hand, smile completely besotted.
He has a feeling they’ll want the picture someday.