#keithtober2018

They dust the living room, wipe down the appliances, toss some laundry into the washer. As Shiro dumps the clothes in, he frowns.

“Half of these are Keith’s and Lance’s,” he says. He looks over at Adam, who’s passing through the hallway as he carries an alarmingly tall stack of dishes from the bedroom to the kitchen. “Why do we have so many of their clothes? They haven’t stayed over since last month.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “That’s what those are from.”

“What?” Shiro looks at the clothes in the washer, appalled. “How long has it been since I did laundry?”

“This is why we needed chores day!” Adam calls from the kitchen. There’s a series of thuds, the cabinets and cupboards being opened and closed. “Hey, we’re running low on a lot of stuff so I think I’ll go get groceries—”

“Okay,” Shiro says.

“—from Kanatown.”

Kanatown? Shiro closes the door to the washer and starts it. He walks into the kitchen so Adam can hear him over the noise of the machine.

“That’s an hour away,” he says.

“Yeah,” Adam replies, checking another cupboard before turning to face him, “but it’s the only place nearby with an Indian grocery. The one in Platte City closed last year.”

“It did?” Shiro shakes his head, frowning. “I’ve been gone way too long.”

He says it offhand, but he sees something odd flash across Adam’s face, and it makes his chest tighten.

“Sorry,” he says. He steps over to him and kisses his cheek. “Do you want me to come?” He winks and flexes the fingers of his prosthetic. “I can lift a ton of stuff with this thing. Peak grocery shopping performance.”

Adam rolls his eyes, though he smiles. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “You should stay and clean the floor. That’s all we have left, so by the time I get back we can jump right into making dinner.”

“Okay,” Shiro says.

He kisses him again, and he aims for Adam’s cheek, but right then Adam turns his head, so the kiss lands on his mouth, and his hand comes up to cup Shiro’s jaw, and for a long moment everything is hazy and soft.

(he tastes like the mint tea he had before they started cleaning, sharp and sweet, and warmth shoots through Shiro, through his neck his chest the pit of his stomach, curling his toes and making his heart expand)

“I’ll miss you,” he says quietly, when they break apart.

Adam’s hand still cups Shiro’s jaw; he slides his hand around, tangling his fingers in Shiro’s hair. “It’s barely a couple hours,” he says, though he looks pleased.

“Exactly,” Shiro says, like it’s obvious. “That’s forever.”

Adam smiles and kisses him a second time, too briefly for Shiro to reciprocate. “Ask Keith and Lance to come keep you company,” he suggests, then lets go of him so he can go get ready to go out. “You can trick them into helping you clean the floor.

.^.

Shiro does indeed trick them into helping them clean the floor.

“All right!” Lance shouts as he and Keith burst into the apartment. He flings out his arms, talking like an announcer at a basketball game. “Who’s ready for some Killlllbooooot Phaaaaantaaaaasm?”

He makes airhorn noises, forming a megaphone with his hands and jumping from foot to foot in some kind of weird dance that Shiro suspects is what the Youths are into these days. Or maybe just Lance. Lance tends to make up his own version of what the Youths do.

Keith is giving Lance the Dopey Face that he always gives him when he does silly stuff like this. “I don’t think we’re actually here for video games,” he says, waving a hand at Shiro.

Lance blinks at Shiro, who is holding a Swiffer in one hand and a hand vacuum in the other.

“Oh shit,” Lance says. “Are we here to clean?”

Shiro hands him the Swiffer. “You two left a bunch of clothes from the last time you stayed over,” he says, giving the hand vacuum to Keith. “I have graciously put them in the washer and in return you will help me clean the floor while Adam gets groceries.”

“Putting clothes in a washer isn’t as hard as cleaning the floor,” Keith points out.

“You can stay for dinner, too,” Shiro adds.

“Yes!” Lance pumps his fist. “Adam dinner!” His fist drops. “Lately we’ve been living off pizza and tacos and burgers.”

Shiro’s brow furrows. “But you know how to cook.”

“Yeah, but.” Lance shrugs. “Takeout is easier.”

He swings the Swiffer over his shoulder like he’s a chimney sweep, then marches past Shiro and into the kitchen to start cleaning. Keith looks at Shiro.

“Our arteries are probably 90% clogged by now,” he says. “I don’t remember what vegetables taste like anymore.”

Shiro snorts. “I take it everything is going well with you two?”

Keith nods. He looks in the direction of the kitchen, making the Dopey Face again. “Really well.”

“Good.” 

Shiro reaches out to ruffle his hair. Keith makes a face and ducks, swatting at Shiro’s arm with the hand vacuum, but Shiro blocks it with his prosthetic and uses his other hand to reach over and ruffle his hair anyway.

Keith scowls. “I hate you,” he mutters.

“I love you too,” Shiro says, beaming. “Now go clean my floor.”

.^.

It takes them way too long to clean the floors.

First Lance insists on putting on “cleaning music,” which is a “carefully curated playlist of songs designed to motivate you to clean.” “Carefully curated” turns out to be Lance Speak for “sit on the couch for half an hour going through songs and arguing with Keith over whether or not Carly Rae Jepsen is acceptable cleaning music.”

(apparently it is. Shiro is quite pleased by this fact)

Eventually they start cleaning, but it’s slow going, because Keith with a hand vacuum is a Keith with Too Much Power.

“Hey Shiro, you have some lint on your shirt,” he says.

He sticks the hand vacuum on the sleeve of Shiro’s t-shirt, sucking a bit of the fabric into the vacuum.

Shiro gives him a dead stare, but otherwise keeps sweeping. Keith turns off the vacuum, snickering, then goes out of the living room and into the bathroom. Shiro hears him say “Hey Lance, you have some lint on your shirt,” followed by the zoom of the hand vacuum, followed by “MULLET—!”

Lance chases Keith into the living room, tackling him onto the couch and blowing raspberries into his neck. Keith laughs harder than Shiro has seen him laugh in a long time, and he’s glad to see it, but he hasn’t thrown away the pile of dust he swept up, so the ruckus blows it around the living room floor again.

“Whoops,” Lance says, with a weak chuckle. “Sorry.”

Shiro sighs and picks up the broom again.

At length they finally get the whole house done, except for the tile hallway leading from the living room to the front door. Keith and Shiro wait in the living room while Lance Swiffers the tile, starting at the front door and moving backwards down the hall.

“I think there’s too much water,” Keith says. “It’s really slippery.” He puts his foot on the tile and pushes it forward. “This would be kind of fun to slide on.”

Lance’s eyes light up. “Can we do that?” he gasps, looking at Shiro. Keith looks at him too, his expression hopeful. “I wanna zoom down the hallway.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shiro says.

Both boys’ faces fall.

“We have to put on socks first,” he goes on, “for maximum slipperiness.”

Lance drops the Swiffer.

“You are so cool right now,” he says.

.^.

A few minutes later they all stand at the edge of the hallway, sock-clad and staring down the front door.

“Wait,” Lance says. “Shouldn’t we wear helmets or something? What if we crash onto the tile? Or the shoe rack?”

“We’ve already died,” Shiro points out, because for some absurd reason he has people he can make this statement to. For a second it gives him pause—what the fuck has his life even been, that he can say something like that—but he shakes it off, determined to be carefree for today.

“True,” Lance says. “What do I have to fear? Crashing onto a tile floor can’t possibly hurt more than getting murdered by radiation.”

“Or in a battle with Zarkon,” Shiro adds.

“You two are fun,” Keith says dryly. “Let’s just go.”

First each of them takes a running start from the living room rug, then jumps onto the tile and slides down the hallway. That turns into “who can get back to the living room rug in the wackiest way possible” (Lance, disco-dancing), then “who can jump the farthest from the living room rug onto the tile without falling” (Keith), then “who can slide the farthest” (Shiro), then “who can get to the front door first.” 

Lance sits out for the last one, since the hallway isn’t big enough for three people to slide down it at once. He Swiffers the hallway again with extra water to make it slipperier—“this must be what Zamboni drivers feel like,” he says—then sits on the rug behind Keith and Shiro.

“Welcome to the great slippery hallway race!” he shouts in his basketball-announcer voice. He waves a hand at Keith. “On one side we have Keith Kogane, fashion disaster, grumpiest man on the block, the love of my life!”

Keith rolls his eyes, though when he glances back at Lance he’s making the Dopey Face yet again.

Lance waves a hand at Shiro. “On the other side we have Takashi Shirogane, dad friend, sometimes cool, the brother of the love of my life!” He claps his hands together. “One-two-three-GO!”

Shiro and Keith take running leaps onto the tile. The slicker floor makes the trip much faster than the previous ones. Shiro’s stomach drops out from under him; he approaches the front door much, much quicker than before, so quick he’ll probably smack right into it if he doesn’t stop himself somehow, but it’s kind of hard to stop when the only furniture is a shoe rack, so uh—

The front door opens inward.

“Look out!” Lance shouts from the living room.

“Fuck!” Keith says.

“Shit!” Shiro yells.

He throws out his arm; his hand smashes into the wall, and he squeezes his eyes shut to brace for the rest of the impact. It doesn’t come, though; he opens his eyes and sees that his hand was enough to stop his momentum, though the prosthetic has left a dent in the wall where he smashed his hand into it.

He looks in front of him. Adam blinks back. There are bags of groceries around him on the front step.

Shiro huffs. He pulls his hand back from the wall, then leans his elbow in the doorway. He slips a little on the slick floor—Adam eyes flick over him as he does so, and he’s clearly suppressing a laugh—but he catches himself in time and leans his shoulder against the doorway instead, crossing his arms.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, as casually as he can manage. “You’re back early.”

Adam blinks again. He looks to Shiro’s left, where Keith is clinging to the side of the door, which he caught onto to stop his own momentum. He looks back at Shiro.

“I leave you for two hours,” Adam begins, and it’s dry, and fond, and despite his words he’s smiling a little, the corner of his mouth crooking, and Shiro’s heart jumps.

“Nope!” he says, grinning. He leans forward and kisses Adam, quick and gentle. “We cleaned the floors! You can’t be mad about this.”

Adam narrows his eyes, though his smile grows. “Yes I can,” he says.

Shiro kisses him again. “No you can’t.”

“Yes I can,” he says, but he’s smiling properly now, and it’s brighter than the fucking sun in the sky, and Shiro loves him so much he feels like he can’t even breathe.

He loves him, but he also likes to bother him, so he just says, a bit sing-songy, “No you can’t.

He leans forward to kiss him again, but right then Keith loudly clears his throat, which Shiro thinks is very rude of him, seeing as he’s been making Dopey Faces at Lance all afternoon.

“You should probably let him in first,” he says.

He has a point, even if it means having to put off more kissing. They remove their socks and help Adam bring the groceries to the kitchen, then help him make dinner. They eat on the coffee table in the living room, and Lance and Keith talk about their plans to visit Allura and Coran in space next month, and Adam talks about the weird old man he saw at the Indian grocery, and Shiro is determined to be carefree, but he looks at these people, and he thinks of where he was, only a few years ago, thinks of Zarkon’s prison and druids and the astral plane, thinks of how far away this seemed then and how close it is now, and he feels like he might burst with how happy he is.