#heithweek2k17

“Looks like you’re about ready to cook something in my kitchen,” Hunk said, though there was little heat to his words. They teased, especially since Keith looked sheepish, face red-tinted, expression embarrassed.

“Okay, maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Maybe Hunk wasn’t that tired after all. “Need help?”

Keith blinked, then rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, actually, if you don’t mind. My international cuisine course is on Italy this semester, and I’m having problems getting the crostini di fegato right.”

“All right!” Hunk cheered. “Bring on the chicken liver!”

That brought a reserved smile to Keith’s face, and they went to work on the dish together.

Hunk began by pointing out the routine for cleaning chicken liver and then chopping up parley and anchovies. The conversation remained static until Keith finally brought out the frying pan, and Hunk pushed up on a stool by the island, relaxing with his elbows back on the counter. “So you do this every time I let you lock up?”

Keith’s shoulders bunched. “…maybe.”

“You could have just told me, man. I would have let you use the kitchen anytime. No problem.”

When the only sound that came from Keith’s direction was the soft sizzling of the pan, Hunk prodded, “Keith? Talk to me, huh? I can’t help if you don’t – ”

“You’ve already done so much for me, Hunk,” Keith replied.

“Don’t forget the salt and pepper – and what do you mean? I gave you a job, Keith. That’s it. You’ve made it your own and even helped get me that third star.”

“But – But you didn’t have to. If Lance hadn’t begged you – ”

“He didn’t beg. He asked if I had an opening, and anyway, you could have asked me. If you hadn’t just disappeared during our second year of university…” Hunk walked over the wine closet and returned with a chilled white wine and two glasses. Keith had yet to turn to him. So Hunk glanced over his shoulder and muttered, “Add the dissolved flour now.”

Keith followed orders, almost in a robotic manner, causing Hunk to let out a sigh.

“Come on, Keith. We were friends. You, me, Lance, Pidge. We went to high school together. We picked the colleges near each other, and you just upped and –”

“You remember Shiro.”

Hunk’s eyes widened considerably. “Oh, man. I love your bro! Y’know, he brought me my first beer.”

Emotion returned to Keith’s voice, warm and fond. “Yeah, he’s awesome.”

“How’s he doing?”

And then it left again. “He lost an arm in Iraq during his second tour with the Marines.”

Hunk hunched over, pain in his gut like he’d been hit. “Wow. That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that. Is-Is he okay?” Or as okay as anyone could be after that.

Keith shrugged, stirring again. “He is now, but it wasn’t just the arm. He – some serious stuff happened over there, and he returned with PTSD. He’s in therapy now and found a good job. Got engaged to this British artist.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hunk uncorked the wine and eyed the bread, buttering the sides and placing the slices on the warm grill himself. “So you were – ”

“Yeah.”

“And you dropped out to –”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?”

Keith tensed again, so Hunk rested a warm hand upon his friend’s shoulder and waited. And waited. And then turned off the stove himself when the pâté finished.

“It was bad, Hunk. I didn’t – Shiro needed me, and I didn’t know how he…I didn’t think to – If Lance hadn’t kept annoying me with texts and emails – ”

“He loves you, Keith. We all do.” Softer, he added, “I wish you would have told me. You didn’t have to go through that alone.”

Keith ducked his head, so Hunk pretended not to see the tears that stained his cheeks. Geez. He knew Shiro and Keith were private people, but they’d all grown up with Shiro as their favorite parental figure. He picked them up at soccer practice or school, and dropped them off home or brought them back to Keith’s and his for the night. Almost all of his favorite memories from his youth happened with those two, and now – to hear all they went through alone –

“I’m sorry,” Keith muttered, wiping his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand. “I just – I didn’t want to bother anyone with our – “

“It’s not bothering.” Hunk’s hand gripped Keith’s shoulders, gazing down into those trembling violet irises. “It’s never bothering when it’s you.”

Hunk hadn’t meant to put such a tender tone in his voice, but it was there. He wouldn’t take it back. After all, Shiro had given him that first beer in hopes that it would give Hunk enough courage to finally tell Keith how he felt. Instead, Hunk ended up passed out on the living room couch.

The memory still twisted uncomfortably in his gut, but Keith dispelled it when he ducked his head, shoulders shuddering. “I missed you, y’know. I thought of calling so many times, especially you, Hunk. But I didn’t want to take advantage. You give everything to everyone, and I thought –”

“You should’ve.” And he should’ve, too. Hunk never should have left it to Lance to coax Keith back from oblivion. “But you’re here now, and we’re never letting you go again.”

I’m never letting you go again.

As if Keith heard him, Keith reached up and clasped Hunk’s hands upon his shoulders, letting one of those genuine smiles show. Suddenly, Hunk felt he was back in high school, and Keith was on the soccer field, smiling up at him after scoring a goal. Quiznak. Hunk’s heart melted all over again.  

“Come on,” Hunk barely managed, leading Keith toward the counter, where he’d set up the silverware and wine glasses with two stools. “Let’s see how this tastes.”

As Keith poured the wine, Hunk completed the dish’s presentation. “So when do you graduate from the culinary institute?”

“Another two years or so. I still have baking and pastry essentials, culinary masters, and an externalship.”

“Well, you’ll do your externalship here –” Hunk’s voice left no room for discussion. “– and I just hope once you graduate, you’ll let me make an offer. Rolo’s decent, but I could seriously use a good sou chef.”

Keith’s purple eyes sparkled in the low-lighting. “Yeah? Really?”

Hunk served the dish with a reverent bow, stealing another surprised grin from Keith. “Yeah, of course. You’re a natural at this, Keith. I can’t wait to get you in my kitchen full-time, not just as a part-time visitor.”

Keith’s cheeks bloomed, and he lifted up his wine class for a toast. “Y’know, I could be in your kitchen full-time already, maybe just not your work one.”

Hunk held his glass just short of Keith’s. He couldn’t have heard that right. “What-What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’d like to try on your hat and apron in your apartment’s kitchen one day, and maybe just those things.”

Don’t create the mental image. Don’t create the mental image. Don’t create the – oh, delectable. “Just so you know, I’m the executive chef in every kitchen I own.”

Keith clinked his glass with Hunk’s. “I’ll have to give my compliments to the chef, then.”

Hunk would drink to that.