Chapter Text
It’s not cold yet, not really. Small mercies, since Keith is back on the street, casually walking down the sidewalk in nothing but skintight leggings and a crop top, the jacket slung over one shoulder more a defense in case any cops show up than something designed for warmth.
He hates the cold.
Well, to be fair, he also hates the prostitution part, but the job prospects for a homeless high school dropout aren't great. He knows there are plenty of sexworkers who really enjoy it, but Keith's not one of them.
Life hasn't given him a whole lot of say in the matter, though.
Movement out of the corner of his eye, and there’s the car again. It’s passed him four times now, driving slowly in a way that means the driver is either new at this or just trying to pick their favorite choice from the offerings.
Hope and dread both fill him equally as it slows to a stop in front of him. The passenger window opens and Keith does his best to saunter over the way Nyma taught him, artlessly leaning against the car door.
“Can I help you?” he asks with a wink and hates himself a little bit for it, but it’s this or starve on the streets and Keith’s going to keep fighting for as long as he can.
The man looks nervous. First time doing this, maybe? Or maybe he’s got a wife at home? Keith’s in no position to judge. A client is a client, and he desperately needs the cash.
“How much for the night?” the man asks eventually, and Keith’s eyebrows shoot up in spite of himself. Go big or go home, apparently.
Nyma and Rolo warned him about this. They’d said it wasn’t worth it. That you can charge a lot, but there’s danger in going to a secondary location instead of just sucking someone off in the back of their car. But Keith also hasn’t had any luck in the past four nights. He’s down to his last ten dollars or so, which is barely going to cover food, much less let him save up enough to rent a shitty apartment to get through the winter.
“Four hundred,” Keith says, “but half of that is up front. And preferably in twenties.” Without an address Keith doesn’t have a bank account to be able to deposit into, and no real way to break larger bills. He’d made that mistake once and got a whole lot of dirty looks for holding up the line at the grocery store. Best not to repeat it.
Keith is half hoping that the price will scare the man off, but he just nods and pulls a wad of bills out of his wallet. “I can give you everything up front, if you’d rather.”
Damnit, this guy is either an idiot or just way too trusting. Maybe both. If Keith were more desperate, he’d grab the cash and run.
“Just let me get my bag first,” Keith nods over at the alley where he’d stashed the duffel containing most of his possessions and goes to grab it before either of them can change their minds about this. As he slides into the passenger seat and tosses the bag at his feet, he notices for the first time how nice the car is. A guy like this should be using those high end escort services, not picking up streetwalkers like Keith. There’s a tiny alarm bell starting in his head as the car pulls away from the curb, but Keith ignores it for now.
“We going to your place or a hotel?” Keith asks, mostly to break the silence.
“Mine, if that’s alright?”
The alarm bell gets a little louder.
“Fine,” Keith says. There goes the ‘secretly having sex with men while married to a woman’ theory. Unless his wife just isn’t home tonight.
“We could, um, get a hotel room, if you’d rather. I’d just need to get some stuff from my condo first, in that case.” He still sounds nervous, and he doesn’t really come off like whatever Keith expects a serial killer to seem like. Though Keith is resolutely not thinking about whatever kind of ‘stuff’ this guy needs for tonight.
“It should be fine,” he says again, “but I’ll reserve judgement for when I actually see it.”
“Good thing I cleaned up that uranium spill.” He says it straight and he’s still got his eyes on the road, but as Keith examines his face, his lips start to curl up into a smile. “You can call me Shiro, by the way.”
“Keith.” He’s never bothered with an alias like Nyma and Rolo. There are enough Keiths in the city that it would be hard to trace something back to him, and if he does ever get caught in a police sting, they’ve got his fingerprints on file already anyways.
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Anything that wouldn’t show up as the soundtrack for a softcore porn film,” Keith says experimentally, and the man—Shiro—barks out a surprised laugh.
“Damn, there go five of my favorite playlists. Guess we’ll have to settle for second place.” He pushes a button on the steering wheel and a moment later there’s My Chemical Romance, of all things, blasting through the stereo. Keith’s surprise must be evident, because the man chuckles and explains. “It started out ironic, but then I kind of got into it? Eventually I started genuinely enjoying it. It’s good music.”
“Hey, this was the soundtrack for my high school years, I’m not judging. Just didn’t clock you as a reformed emo.”
Talking to a client is always awkward—Keith’s good at the sex part, not so much the small talk part—but it’s a little easier with the music. He hasn’t heard these songs in a while, and they take him back to simpler times.
“First time doing this?” Keith asks.
“Was it that obvious?”
“A bit. One time a guy threw up on me he was so nervous, so you’re doing better than him.”
“Well, glad I’m clearing that ridiculously low bar. Are you warm enough?” Shiro asks with a glance toward him. “The seats are heated if you want.”
Keith isn’t one to turn down the offer of extra warmth, especially with his skimpy outfit. He relaxes in spite of himself as the heater does its job.
“Nice car,” he says idly, running his fingers along the trim on the doors. It really is nice, and Keith can appreciate the craftsmanship even if Shiro’s obvious wealth still makes him suspicious.
“Oh, thanks. I figured I’d leave the Bugatti in the garage tonight.” Keith can’t help but stare at him, and Shiro eventually cracks. “Kidding. Though that’s mostly because a Bugatti would be completely wasted on city driving.”
“Wouldn’t want to show it off?”
“Knowing I had all that horsepower at my disposal and I couldn’t use it? Nah. Maybe someday.”
Shiro eventually navigates them into the very swanky part of town, and then pulls in front of a building that seems like it should cost money just to look at it. Keith is too distracted by the complex to notice someone approaching the car until the passenger door opens for him. He gets out of the car in confusion before the man runs around to the driver’s side and opens Shiro’s door, and then Keith’s jaw drops just a bit when the stranger gets into Shiro’s car and drives it away.
A valet. Shiro has a valet.
“What…” But then Shiro is swiping a card at the little keypad by the door and ushering Keith into the lobby with a hand at the small of Keith’s back. A man with bright orange hair and a bushy mustache practically jumps away from his desk to greet them as they enter.
“Welcome back, Mr. Shirogane. And guest! Lovely to meet you.”
“Coran, this is Keith. He’ll be staying with me tonight.”
“Excellent, I’ll update the logs. I hope you have a lovely evening, gentlemen,” he calls as Shiro leads Keith down the hall and toward the elevators.
Jesus Christ, the guy lives somewhere with a concierge and a valet. This is definitely not Keith’s normal type of client. But at least the fact that the concierge saw him and Shiro willingly told the man that Keith was his guest hopefully means that Shiro isn’t an axe murderer?
Unless he’s in on it…
The thought process is derailed when they get into the elevator and Shiro swipes his card again, which illuminates the big button at the top of the others that says “Penthouse Suite.”
What the everloving fuck did he just get himself into?
The elevator lets them out right into the main living space, and Shiro waves his arms in a sort of “here we are” gesture and Keith can’t help but gape at the room around them. It’s not ostentatious or anything, nothing looks gaudy and gilded like he’d been expecting, but there’s an understated luxury to the whole place. Solid wood furniture and cushions that look like you’d sink into them, a large entertainment system, fancy gadgets in the open kitchen.
Not exactly a place Keith has a lot of experience with.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” Shiro asks as he walks toward the kitchen. “I’ve got snacks, sodas, coffee, tea, or we could order something.”
“Odd question for someone you’re about to dick down.” The response is out of Keith’s mouth before he can think better of it, and Shiro visibly winces across the room.
“Ah. Right. Well, we’re not actually going to have sex.”
Oh god. He is actually a serial killer. Keith inches back closer to the elevator, though he doubts he’ll be able to operate it without Shiro’s keycard.
Shiro must see his reaction and put the pieces together, because then Shiro starts backing up as well, putting more distance between them and flailing his arms in what seems to be a placating manner.
“No, no, God, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here, I promise.”
Something about the way he says it makes the sentiment click for Keith. This is charity. Shiro saw a poor guy on the street and wants to take him in and help.
The fear is immediately gone, replaced by anger.
“If you did this out of fucking pity, then keep your damn money. I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.” Keith stalks further toward the elevator, intent on forcing it open through any means necessary, but Shiro suddenly crosses the room and grabs Keith’s arm. The hold isn’t painful, but it is strong, and Keith doubts he could get out of it.
That fear is back, a little bit.
“This isn’t pity. I do honestly need your help with something.”
Keith stares at him, incredulous. This is a man with obvious gobs of money who could probably hire anyone for any purpose in a heartbeat. What the Hell can Keith offer in this scenario?
Shiro lets go of Keith’s arm and then rolls up his sleeve and takes off his gloves, and Keith realizes that his right arm is completely made of metal. Keith has absolutely no idea what the arm has to do with this conversation, but it’s clearly high tech and throws him for enough of a loop that he stops being angry and scared and actually listens to what Shiro has to say.
“I used to work as a test pilot for Galra Industries,” Shiro says. “One day they had me in the cockpit of a new fighter they were developing, and there was a malfunction. The crash was bad—not enough to kill me, but enough to force the doctors to amputate my arm. In the court case, it came out that they knew it could malfunction and had me test the aircraft anyways, so I made uh, quite a bit of cash. And then my best friend offered to invest most of it for me and he’s a genius, so I let him, and now I’m. Well. I have a lot of money. More than I’ll ever know what to do with. I literally make money faster than I can give it away to charities.
“And that’s, you know, great, but it also means that a whole lot of people have come out of the woodwork wanting to be my friend, and I can’t tell who’s actually sincere and who’s just using me as a piggy bank. So when I needed someone to help me out with something tonight on sort of short notice, I thought, well, if I could find someone I know is only in it for the money, then at least I’d know where I stood with them and I wouldn’t spend the whole time analyzing every moment of the evening.”
“That makes a stupid kind of sense,” Keith admits, massaging his temples. “So, okay. Why do you need someone to work on some kind of project with you all night? What are we even going to do?”
“We’re having a movie marathon,” Shiro explains.
“A movie marathon.” Keith’s already got mental whiplash from this whole night and it’s not even 10pm.
“I have one other good friend from before the accident, and she’s friends with a struggling indie filmmaker. Once I got rich I gave the filmmaker some money to get started with better equipment and actors and everything, and my friend is hosting the premiere of her new film tomorrow. I promised Allura that I’d watch all the director’s other stuff so that I can make intelligent conversation about it, but I kept sort of putting it off and now I need to watch four films all tonight. I assumed they’d be the art house type, you know those intellectual things with lots of pauses and weird imagery and shots of people staring off into space, but. Well. Turns out they’re horror films. And I already lied to Allura and said I’d watched them last week so I couldn’t ask her to watch them with me, and Matt’s out of town, so…”
“Oh my god,” Keith says when it finally clicks. “You hired a prostitute because you’re afraid to watch scary movies alone?”
“Yes.”
Keith can’t help it. He starts laughing, because what even is his life right now. “You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?”
“The whole decision-making process was not my finest hour,” Shiro admits. “But if you’re up for it, I really do need to watch these things.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I’m up for it, even if this is going to be the weirdest night of my life. Why’d you pick me, anyways?”
“Well, I was kind of in a panic earlier and didn’t really have time to look up any of those fancy services. The first DVD I popped in started immediately with a jumpscare and then what must be gallons of blood, and I may not have been in my right mind. But mostly, I’m demisexual. I recognized what your rings meant.”
Keith’s thoughts slam to a halt and he automatically looks down at his hands, the cheap plastic black and white bands on his middle fingers standing out.
“No one’s ever noticed them before,” he finally says. They're old-school now, he knows, but it's also Keith's little jab against all his clients. His message that 'I have absolutely no interest in you despite what you might be imagining and no matter how good at faking an orgasm I am.' A guy who even knows the word ‘demisexual,’ much less recognizes the rings for what they are, is probably telling the truth about this.
“I figured someone like you would be the perfect person to Netflix and chill with without it becoming, you know, Netflix and chill. You’d get it in a way that most other people wouldn’t. That I seriously do just want to make it through these movies with my sanity intact and that this isn’t some kind of creepy, elaborate foreplay.”
"You're the weirdest client I've ever met."
"Yeah, that's probably fair. So…you’re okay with this?”
It’ll be a nice change of pace from backseat handjobs, at least.
“Why not,” Keith shrugs. “I’ll take you up on those snacks, though.”
“You want to get something delivered? On me, of course. It’s…probably going to be a long night.”
Keith feels like he’s getting the better end of this deal. $400 for watching some scary movies in a very nice house, away from the elements, and now a meal on top of it? But then Shiro slides a bunch of takeout menus toward him, and it’s a large enough stack that Keith can’t help but raise an eyebrow at it.
“I love cooking,” Shiro says defensively, “but it’s kind of depressing cooking for one, so uhhh. I’ve vetted all these places very thoroughly. They should all be open this time of night, too.”
It’s a large variety—Italian, Indian, Chinese, diner food, and everything in between. Keith is just about to suggest pizza, looking forward to the innate comfort of something cheesy and warm, when his eyes fall on the menu for a Japanese restaurant.
“I’ve never had sushi,” he finds himself admitting.
“You want to try it?” Shiro asks. “Ansei is one of the best in town and it’s right down the street, so it shouldn’t be too long of a wait.”
“I wouldn’t have a clue what to order.”
“I’ll get us a bunch of stuff,” Shiro says. “Anything we don’t eat I’ll just have for breakfast tomorrow. Do you have any allergies?”
Keith shakes his head. It seems foolish, letting a client order him dinner, but this whole night is going to be weird, so he might as well. And besides, he’s always wanted to try sushi, but he’ll never be able to afford the good stuff, and the bad stuff is liable to kill you.
“I’ll get a variety,” Shiro says. “Raw fish, cooked fish, some veggie stuff in case the fish isn’t your thing. I grew up with this food so I’m happy to share it with folks who haven’t had it before.”
“Are you from Japan?”
“I lived there when I was younger,” he replies. “We moved to the States when I was seven. Most of my family is still in Japan, so I visit pretty regularly.” True to his word, he taps the number for the restaurant into his phone without even needing to check the menu, and then switches into Japanese and rattles off an order that Keith can’t understand whatsoever. “Should be about half an hour,” Shiro says when he hangs up. “Do you want to take some time and get settled, or just jump into the movies?”
“Thirty minutes is long enough to get a good start on one of them,” Keith reasons. “Might as well just go ahead.”
Shiro nods with the look of someone walking toward the gallows. “I’m just going to get changed into something comfortable. I mean pajamas!” he shouts, red-faced as he seems to realize the implications of that sentence. “Pajamas, not…anyway, the guest bathroom is down that hall, feel free to change or freshen up or anything.”
Keith doesn’t really have anything in his bag that screams “movie marathon pajamas,” but he takes the time to wash his face and attempt to bully his hair into submission. When he reenters the living room, Shiro is in a strange combination of flannel pajamas and silk robe, though he’s holding out another, much fluffier robe as Keith approaches the sofa.
“I thought you might want something cozier,” he explains. “If that’s weird or anything, you won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want to wear it.”
“Oh.” It’s another unexpected kindness, and one he doesn’t really know what to do with. “Thanks.” Though it’s not cold at all in Shiro’s place, Keith is still a bit chilled. The robe is huge on him, but incredibly soft and the extra warmth is definitely worth the annoyance of the too-long sleeves.
Shiro steels himself with a deep breath, then clicks the remote. “Okay. This is the one I started with. It’s…I don’t even know what the plot is, honestly. I only made it about two minutes in the first time. Uh, also I, um. I’ll probably jump and grab your arm or something. So apologies in advance.”
“You hired a prostitute to be your scary movie watching partner,” Keith says, patting Shiro on the shoulder, “I fully expect you to be cowering against me for the whole night.”
“Right. Well. Here we go.”
Shiro does jump at the very first image, some kind of demonic blue creature that appears after a solid minute of a black screen and eerie music. There’s a sudden cut to a forest scene, the sound of rushing water getting louder as suddenly a deluge of blood appears and floods the area. There’s another jump scare from that same demon thing and Shiro all but shoves his face into Keith’s arm and scrambles blindly at the remote to pause it.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Keith notes, transfixed at the sight. Now that it’s paused, he can tell how unrealistic it looks, but still. Quantity over quality, it seems.
“I know! This is why I needed help! I don’t get it, Romelle is such a nice woman. Kind of timid but very gentle and generous and then she just,” Shiro trails off and gestures blindly at the freeze-frame in front of them.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Keith says. “You okay? Your call, but it’s going to be a long night if you pause the movies every few minutes.”
Shiro whines at that, but peeks one eye over at the television and presses play once more. The movie continues on in much the same way. The plot seems to be something about the demon thing luring children into the woods and then drowning them in a river of blood. Maybe. It’s a little unclear.
Shiro spends the time alternating between trying to hide behind Keith and staring in interest whenever the detective character appears. He’s hot, Keith will give him that, but a frankly horrible actor. Hopefully the director used whatever money Shiro had given her to hire someone who could string more than two words together at a time.
Keith finds himself getting into the story, despite the overabundance of fake blood and bad acting. It’s still not exactly clear why the demon thing is killing children, or even if the story is taking place all at the same time, but the mystery is intriguing. Shiro grips Keith’s arm as the detective wanders through a pitch black cave, on the trail of a missing little girl, and of course there’s going to be another jump scare soon, but the question is when?
Keith likes to think he doesn’t scare easily. He can’t afford to, not with his profession and his circumstances. But he still jumps about a foot in the air and shrieks at the sudden knock on the elevator door. Shiro nearly climbs into Keith’s lap, shivering with fear and grabbing both of Keith’s shoulders.
“Mr. Shirogane?” a voice calls through the metal door. “I have your order from Ansei here.”
Right. Right. The sushi. Right.
“Oh, God,” Shiro breathes as he shakily gets off the couch and opens the door. If the concierge is surprised at all by the scene of them both in robes and watching a horror movie he doesn’t show it, just cheerfully hands off the bags and wishes them a good night.
“Um, we could eat and keep watching, or we could just, you know, ignore the movie for a bit and pretend everything isn’t terrifying and…” he trails off and nods his head toward the dining room table.
“Let’s eat first,” Keith agrees easily. He doesn’t want the one time he gets to try sushi marred by nausea over gruesome on-screen deaths.
The food is delicious—easily the best meal Keith has had in years. Shiro patiently explains how to hold his chopsticks and what the contents of each dish are and the differences between sushi preparation in Japan and the United States.
“What’s this one?” Keith asks again, poking at his favorite with the thick end of a chopstick. “The pinkish one - salmon?” Not that he’s ever going to have the spare cash on him to order sushi for himself, but it would still be nice to know which one is which. In some perfect world where he can afford a tiny bit of sushi as a treat, he’d rather get the one that he already knows he loves.
“Yeah,” Shiro says, handling his food with much more grace. “That’s actually a relatively new thing for Japanese cuisine. We used to only eat salmon fully cooked, but when sushi took off in the States, the fish choices branched out. Here,” he deftly puts a couple of rolls on Keith’s plate, “these have spicy salmon. If you like the sashimi and the wasabi, you’ll probably like these, too.”
He’s right, though Keith prefers the giant piece of fish on its own. There’s something decadent about a slab of good quality protein just by itself. Shiro himself seems to gravitate toward the more ridiculous rolls, the ones with about 15 different ingredients that easily look like the size of Keith’s entire palm.
Shiro must catch him side-eying them, because he plops one of the giant monstrosities onto Keith’s plate.
“My parents would be appalled,” he says conspiratorially. “Sushi was about simplicity and elegance in Japan, but honestly I like seeing the creations people come up with here. And it’s nice having all those flavors playing together in one bite.”
“Right…” Keith experimentally picks up the roll, trying to figure out how to eat it without choking on it, only to have it fall between his chopsticks and back onto the plate.
“I won’t tell anyone if you use your hands. Or don’t eat it all at once.”
“Oh, thank god.” Keith abandons the chopsticks and still manages to make a ridiculous mess of himself, but Shiro just helpfully passes him a napkin.
Keith’s going to need to side with Shiro’s parents on this one. The simple ones are better. And don’t make him feel like he’s somehow failing at eating.
By the time they’re finished, over two-thirds of the food is still left, so Shiro packs it into the fridge and suggests they save it for later. At the rate they’re going, it will be fully morning before they’ve watched all four movies. They’ll want a snack at some point later on.
It does indeed take all night before they’ve watched everything, but Keith can’t even really complain. Between the food and the company, this is the best night he’s had in recent memory. Horror movies and gallons of fake blood included.
Shiro, it’s obvious, has absolutely no idea what to do at the end of the night. Keith tries to take pity on him and just head off to the bus stop on the corner and let Shiro get some rest before he has to go to this fancy film premiere, but Shiro is insistent that it’s somehow bad manners to not drive Keith home.
And that is a whole conversation Keith doesn’t need to get into with this very kind, very naive client, so he asks Shiro to take him to the library. Shiro probably thinks it’s a dodge so Keith doesn’t have to let Shiro know where he lives, and that’s partially true. But he was meaning to get some studying done anyway, and if it’s Shay at the desk like it should be today, she’ll turn a blind eye to Keith grabbing some sleep on the couch behind the history section.
Shiro gives a cheery wave as Keith gets out of the car and heads up the steps, and Keith lets himself wave back with a smile. To an outside viewer, he probably just looks like a friend or a partner dropped him off, or maybe an uber driver. He can just be a typical library user, stopping by after a night on the third shift.
It’s…normal. It’s nice.
It's not Keith's life.
It will never happen again.