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funkymeihem-fiction · 5 years

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Strange Honey - Chapter 11

“The real you, please. At least, the one that can talk? I still don’t know if you’re really a scarecrow or not, but I’d like to speak with you face to face. Erm, mask. Just please come talk to me, okay?” Mei said, leaning down to inspect the headstone once more.

The honeybee spun in a circle atop the back of her hand. Yes, yes, yes, it signaled. Mei nodded down to it, lowering her hand as it buzzed upward…and there again, she felt the little soft tap against her cheek, pecking an almost-kiss there before it abruptly flew off. She blinked, lifting her fingertips where it had just been. Kisses from bees were something she’d never expected to deal with in her life, but so were so many other things happening around this strange farm.

She lifted her face to the sun as she waited, a hot breeze rustling the leaves around her and bringing with it the scent of dry grass and dusty earth. Even the cicadas seemed tired today, their incessant buzzing seeming somehow slower and lethargic as the summer dragged on and on. Everything was dying, even outside of this sad little graveyard. Nature could be as cruel as any supernatural force, though she could as least confront and hopefully fix the latter.

She knew she wouldn’t have to wait long, and soon there was the soft rattle of displaced grass, barely audible unless she was listening for it. When she turned, Jamie’s eerie form was coming from behind the tree where he had definitely not been just moments earlier, and she still had no idea how. In the sunlight, his glowing eyes did not seem so severe nor his constant masked grin so threatening. And though his voice still buzzed strangely in its tone, it seemed to have become steadier as he got used to using it again.

“Mei,” he said, as the honeybee crawled about his face. “What are you doing here? Not this place, not for you.”

“I had Mr. Rutledge’s permission. This is his family’s plot, after all.”

“…Someplace nicer, yes?” Jamie answered slyly. “Let’s leave, go someplace nicer. You’ll like it.”

“Nuh-uh. Nice try.” Mei placed both hands on her hips, facing him down so firmly that even his massive height seemed to shrink down. “Changing the subject won’t work on me. I called you here because I wanted to talk about all this, and Kora, and how th— What do you have behind your back, Jamie?”

He looked a little chastised, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt as he pulled another sunflower bloom out from behind him.

She tilted her head. “Is that for her? For Kora?”

“Yes.”

“You knew each other, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing you liked her, then? If you’ve been keeping her grave so clean. It’s actually lovely, that you did that for her. But why her? You’ve always had…really strong opinions, about the rest of the Rutledges. But who was Kora? Can you tell me about her?”

Jamie hesitated again before skulking forward and joining her side, slowly leaning down until he was on bony knees, leaning to place the cut sunflower back atop the grave where the other had been removed. A crusty workglove tried to dust away a sheen of dust on on the headstone, then dusted away the additional dirt he had just left. He was quiet for a bit, clearly thinking, before he turned his masked face back up towards Mei.

“Brought wife, little boy’s mother, my friend, long time ago.”

“You two were friends? You haven’t mentioned her before.”

He shrunk down again, rubbing uneasily at one long arm in one of his distintly human gestures. Turning his glowing gaze to the sunflower, he reached out and adjusted it so that he didn’t have to meet her eyes. “Long time ago. She was my…my friend. But then…”

“The accident?” Mei asked, and she could have sworn that even without facial expressions, the scarecrow had winced.

“Don’t. Don’t want to talk that,” he said, and the rather deranged up and down pitch of his voice had returned. “Please don’t.”

Hesitantly, she reached out to place a cautious hand upon his arm. The moldering cloth dented beneath her touch, but something hard and solid lay beneath. His lenses clicked off and on again, blinking as he turned halfway back to her. Mei remained firm, voice low. “Jamie, I can’t leave you and Mr. Rutledge like this. Whatever is happening in this place, I want to help. But you both keep hiding things from me—”

He looked away again.

She continued, “So I can’t help if I don’t know what is going on. And maybe that’s presumptuous of me, to think I even can help. But I still want to try, because I think things can be better for both of you. And you hiding away in fields or farmhouses doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all. So please, Jamie. Is there anything you can tell me about what happened? Can you remember it? Maybe you can show me again?”

“Don’t want to remember it. Don’t want you to hate me. Like little boy hates me.”

“Oh, Jamie…” Her gaze softened as the scorned creature stared down at his sunflower. Shaking her head, she leaned in to try and catch his gaze. “Listen, I will promise you that no matter what you show or tell me, that I’m not going to hate you for it. Even if it’s upsetting or something bad. I might need a bit of time afterward, but even then, I won’t ever hate you.”

He looked to her again, still uncertain. “Showing you, hurt you. Might hate me, then.”

“It…did give me a pretty bad headache, that’s true. But I know you didn’t mean to do it. I don’t think you even knew you could do that? So of course I don’t hate you.” She bit onto her lip as her strange companion only seemed more chagrined, thinking for a moment before brightening. “I have an idea. I told you I’d spend time with you this afternoon, so why don’t we go do something? And then afterward, you can show me what happened with Kora and we can talk about it then? Can you promise me you will?”

Jamie spun about in a little circle, pulling away from her hand on his arm. He paced up and down the narrow row by Kora’s grave several times, looking down at it, then back at Mei, then back down to it. Mei only waited patiently as he seemed to war with himself inside his head, making strange little noises that she could not entirely describe. But at random during one such pacing, he finally slumped and sighed aloud. “Promise. I’ll show you. If you don’t hate me, I’ll show you.”

“Okay. You promise, and I promise. Do you want to shake on it?” She held out one hand again, and he looked between her hand and his glove before lifting it and offering a very weak to the tips of her fingers, as if he was afraid of breaking her. Mei shook just as gently, then looked to the flecks of old leather and rot left on her hand. “You know, we might think of getting you some new gloves? And maybe a new shirt? Erm, if you can even change them out? Is it like…ghost clothes? Or can you take them off?”

“Ghost clothes?”

“Um, sorry! I guess that’s another silly question. But I’ll get you another pair just in case. What do you want to do this afternoon? I hope it’s something with some shade. It’s so hot out,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her brow and looking down where it came away wet. “You don’t think Mr. Rutledge is hiding a pool somewhere in his house, do you?”

Jamie tapped at his burlap chin, perhaps not understanding her jest. “Pool in house? Swimming?”

“No, no, it was just a—”

“No pool in house, but swimming outside pool. You want to?”

“Wait, really?” She perked up, then squinted behind her glasses. “You don’t mean the pond, do you? It just seems a little too still and dirty to go swimming in? And I didn’t bring a swim suit or anything? Although a swim sounds so nice about now.”

“Not pond, no! Swimming hole. Creek runs under, up, good cold water. I’ll take you.”

Mei thought for a moment, going back to the map of the property. There had been a thin line of ink on the very western border of the Rutledge’s land, something that might have been vaguely creek-like. It had been near the the woods, and near Jamie’s sunflower field, though she had never ventured that far. An opportunity to explore the west side of the farm had arisen…and if it involved a nice cold dip, all the better for her. Anything would have been a welcome reprieve from the unrelenting summer heat.

“All right, that sounds really nice. Even if I can’t swim, at least I can dip my feet in,” she said, nodding to him. “I mean, if that’s what you feel like doing too. Can scarecrows go swimming?”

“I’ll take you.”

“Okay. I guess we’d better start walking—?”

“I’ll take you,” he said yet again, and then lowered both long arms in a familiar gesture. He was offering to carry her again, waiting expectantly as he jittered with impatience.

Mei hesitated once more. At least he was waiting for her to accept this time, as opposed to literally sweeping her off her feet again. And though the last time had warped her entire world until she had almost lost her lunch, it still might have been more pleasant than trying to walk across the entire farm under the blazing sunlight.

“Maybe just…a little bit slower than last time? Please?” She approached him, looking down sheepishly. “And no hands anywhere inappropriate. I mean, you didn’t last time, but…Um. I know you’re fine with it, but being carried is extremely strange for me.”

“I like to carry you,” Jamie answered slyly, ignoring the pointed look she gave him as he hooked both arms about her, looping under her knees and back. “Hold onto me.”

Once more, she was taken off her feet, lifted as though she weighed nothing at all. She found herself pressed against a chest that was strangely hard and cold, radiating no heat under the rotting flannel fabric of his shirt. The stench of of sickly-sweet straw was thick in her nostrils once more, too strong to be pleasant and making her breathe through her mouth. He adjusted her with a shift of his arms, securing her against whatever strange body lay beneath the moldering cloth, and then he was off.

Her head jolted back and her eyes squenched shut, pinned against his chest. She only caught a glimpse of the world blurring around her, moving at a pace that simply shouldn’t have been possible. She couldn’t even feel his footsteps, only an overwhelming force that pushed her almost into his ribcage. The world turned cold around her, and she managed to open one eye to see through her eyelashes. Jamie moved them into the shadow cast by a stand of trees, and they moved through the black and the blur until there was a burst of sunlight against her face. Warmth swept over her again as he halted, and she found them standing by a completely new and foreign set of trees that she’d not seen before.

Of course, she still felt like her stomach had gotten lost in the shuffle somewhere. She made a rather sickly burbling noise, head and guts spinning as she tried to reconvene with the very concept of a solid world again. For a moment…she could have sworn that she had been back in that constant dream she’d been having…?

But she was here now, shivering wildly against his chest for a moment as her vision cleared and the blood hissing in her ears became the steady drone of the cicadas once more. She looked up into Jamie’s stitched and grinning mask, weakly reaching up to adjust where her glasses had been pressed so hard into her face that they were nearly contact lenses. The world came back into focus.

They were at the edge of a small woodland, some distance away from the crops and fields. The trees were shriveled and more brown than green, suffering under the same heat as everything else on the farm, save for the sunflowers. The bright blooms were just as vibrant and yellow and green as ever, standing tall above the crest of a small hill. Over the wailing of insects, she could hear the sound of running water.

Jamie carefully set her down, holding onto her back as her legs wobbled. She uttered a nervous little laugh, grabbing onto his arm while she tried to make her knees respond correctly, stumbling like a foal before she cleared her throat and looked away. “S-sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry. That’s really, really hard to get used to.”

“Good girl. Careful,” he crooned, waiting until she had steadied herself.

“I’ve not been this far out before. Even your field is so far away. Mr. Rutledge sure has a lot of land.”

He made an unhappy sound at the mere mention of the property owner, gesturing towards the wooded area where the sound of water emanated. “This way. This way.”

Like so much else of the farm, this area had fallen into disrepair and had gone wild. Weeds and young plants had started to retake the field where crops were struggling to grow, and the treeline was encroaching into what had once been plowed land. He led her through the thick undergrowth, carefully weaving a pattern through tangled briars and scratchy nettles. They paused only briefly, when Jamie surveyed a wall of thorns and made an impatient sweep with one gloved hand, the briar bushes creaking and rustling as they peeled themselves away out of her path.

She marveled, pausing to look where the thorns had folded in on themselves. “I still wish I knew how you could do that. I’ve never seen anything like it. Can you always d—”

“No questions, just for now,” he buzzed, half looking back at her and offering out a hand again, helping her over a jump. “None till later. Promised.”

“Right, right. I did, didn’t I? Please don’t get mad if I forget, okay? I guess I just always ask questions.”

He uttered that sound that was his laugh, harsh and scraping as he led her through the rest of the wood, and they broke free of the undergrowth, into a more rocky area. The creek was still flowing lazily in its bed, though Mei could see that the drought had lowered the waterline by nearly half. But it was still water. Cold, clear water that widened into a lopsided circular area, where it was deep and murky and she couldn’t see the bottom. On the banks, an old tire was half buried into the ground where it had fallen, from a rotted rope that still swung from the branches hanging above.

“A swimming hole!” she said, lingering closer. “Although it looks like nobody’s been swimming here in a long time. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Water low. But still good, still cold. You wanted swimming?”

“Um…there are no snakes or leeches or anything ‘bitey’, is there?” She leaned over the dark water, wrinkling her nose at where waterbugs and small flies skittered across its surface. As she watched, all the insects suddenly retreated off to one side, clearing the pool completely. Jamie joined her side, looking down at where their reflections wavered sickeningly in the flowing stream. His glowing eyes seemed a lot brighter now, in the shade of the woods.

“Nothing under, no worries,” he assured her. “I keep you safe.”

“You know, you keep saying that. But you’re awfully vague about what you’re keeping me safe from. But. But! I’m not going to ask!” she said, catching how he started to turn to her. “I’ll ask later, during my billion other questions about you. And this doesn’t count as one, but can you go swimming? I feel a little awkward if you’re just here waiting for me.”

He looked down at the water. “Can’t swim. But you go, Mei. Don’t mind, used to waiting.”

She wanted to ask what he was waiting for, but instead she sat on the edge of the bank, pulling off her shoes and socks. The water would have been freezing cold in any other circumstances, but the intense drought and dappled sunlight made it feel positively refreshing. She sighed, splashing both legs and letting it rest in both cupped palms, trickling through her fingers.

“I wish I’d brought my bathing suit. It feels so nice, I wish I could jump right in,” she said, before biting her lip thoughtfully. “I guess I could jump in anyway? But then my clothes would get muddy?”

Jamie hissed out that warped laugh again before his voice lowered. “Mei, your clothes always dirty somehow.”

“Ah! I…guess that’s actually a fair point,” she admitted. She had known that farm work would be dirty, but each night it seemed that she lost a shirt to rips, or blood, or dirt or mud. “All right. You um. You won’t mind if I get a little more comfy for swimming, will you? It’s…does that bother you? Because if so—!”

“Bother me?”

“You know?” She shifted awkwardly. He only tilted his head in confusion and she couldn’t help but cough. “You know? Make you uncomfortable? You know what, I’ll just leave them on, it’s fine?”

“Don’t understand. Mei never…You never bother me.”

“I guess it might be all right. I mean, we might not even be the same species…?” she mused to herself, losing herself in thought at the strangeness of the situation. “And it might be rude to ask you to close your eyes because you might not even have eyes. Honestly, I’m still not entirely clear on the whole ‘having a body’ thing either. And so what if you end up having a body? It’s not like you’re nude or know what it is. I mean, there are so many societal differences on nudity, but it’s not even really nude. It’s just the whole wet thing. And wet t-shirts can be—”

“Hhh?” There was another noise of confusion from Jamie. He scratched at his head, straw rustling. “You…want me to leave you?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean that. You know what, to heck with it!”

She still turned her back to him, but wasted no more time on formalities that were seeming more and more silly the more she blabbered on about them. Reaching up under her t-shirt, the unhooked her bra and shuffled the straps over each arm, popping it up out of the top. Hanging it on a tree limb nearby, she undid the snap to her shorts and hiked them down, stepping out of them and picking at a little wedgie as subtly as she could before approaching the water before it could get any more awkward.

Picking a spot where the creek was clear and she could see the bottom, she waded right in. Cold water enveloped her legs, the current dragging sluggishly around her and sopping at her shirt as she stopped about waist-deep. It felt positively divine, sending little chills up her spine that counteracted the blanket of heat that had been draped over the world. Birds chirped in the woods all around them, and the cicadas never paused in their summer dirge. Were it not for the otherworldly creature that was still eying her from the bank, it would have been a little slice of countryside heaven.

Jamie remained standing back on dry land, standing with his hunched posture and watching her every move. Waiting until she had submerged up to her neck, he slowly sat down in a rattle of straw and metal on one of the larger rocks, folding his long arms around his knees. Mei turned to beam back at him, feet lazily paddling as she drifted a little further into the swimming hole.

“This is so nice! Are you sure you can’t come in?”

He offered a bony shrug, still watching. “I stay here. You like it? Knew you’d like it. Everyone always liked it. Swimming.”

She splashed water onto her face, cooling the sweat on her brow. “Everyone?”

“All Rutledges. And me.”

“Oh. If it gets this hot every summer, I’m sure they would have gone swimming here. So you did swim?”

He paused again, though in a more puzzled way. One glove lifted to where a butterfly drifted through the dappled shade, landing on the back of his knuckles. “…Did I?”

“I don’t know. It’s a nice thought. I don’t know if you feel heat, but I guess I can’t help but feel a little bad for you, hanging out in that field out in the elements like that. Maybe we can find you a place that’s more sheltered? I know you don’t like coming into the house, but maybe we could make something else for you. Like a shed. Or maybe a room in the barn?”

She let herself float, staring up at the yellow and green of the criss-crossing leaves glowing above her. It was all very pleasant, up until she felt a familiar sharp pain in her temple. When she winced and jolted upright in the water, she looked to find Jamie with his head in his hands again, staring through his spread fingers. There was that essence of menace to him again, like somehow the shadows had gotten darker and made his eyes glow that much more poisonous and yellow. Something like a distant nest of hornets was starting to buzz from him, somewhere in his chest.

“J-Jamie?” she said, sinking down into the water again, almost hiding. “Are you okay?”

The scarecrow looked away from her, the butterfly hurrying off in retreat as he wiped his hand down his mask. “It’s…better. Outside.”

“What do you mean? Did I say something? I wasn’t trying to make you remember or pry at you again. I promised I wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mind being outside,” he said, most insistently. He seemed to be trying to comfort himself, hugging his lanky frame with both arms. “Wide sky. Sun. Snow. Bugs. Flowers. Everything. Outside, outside is better.”

Sharp pain rang between her temples again, and her vision wavered for half a moment.

“Okay!” she said, hurriedly swimming to where she could touch the bottom again, looking up at him from the pool. “It’s all right if you’d rather be in the field. I was just talking to myself. What has you so upset? Why don’t you tell me something nice about the farm instead? You’ve been here so long, after all!” Her voice was breathy and too fast. “You said you’ve been to this swimming hole a lot, right? Tell me more about it.”

He tapped at the side of his masked head, as if trying to jostle whatever unpleasant memories had started to form. “Don’t mean to. Don’t think, won’t thinking of it.”

“We’re just going to have a nice afternoon before we think about Kora or anything else, okay?” She reached a dripping hand out of the water. “So tell me something nice instead. You’ve been around a few hundred years or so. Has this pool always been here?”

A long, long thin arm untangled from around himself, peeling off the old flannel and denim to meet a pale bear hand. He took it carefully, smearing her fingers with dirt as he turned it gently around in his grasp once more. But he seemed displeased at the filth he left behind, and went to lower it back into the water with the rest of her.

“Always here. Was smaller once,” he said, pulling up gloved fingers that had turned wet and dark on the tips. “So many storms. So many droughts. Bigger, smaller, then bigger again. Jumped banks, washed away fields in winter storms. Dried up to almost nothing in summers. Rutledge wives prayed and wept. Froze whole one winter. Could see fish swimming beneath ice.”

“It must be pretty here when it snows. I’ve always liked snow.”

“Pretty?” he repeated, as if the concept hadn’t occurred to him. “Hm. Pretty? Yes. Guess so. Pretty. White all over, except for my field. Falling down gray. Sparkles under moon, pretty. Pretty like Mei.”

“Um! Hehe! Okay, flatterer. That’s the smoothest scarecrow compliment I’ve ever received.”

She leaned both arms on the rock he was sitting on, resting her chin on them. At least she had distracted him from whatever had bothered him before. She hadn’t even been trying to trigger one of his memory episodes, and it hadn’t even been about Kora. Had it been something she had said or done, without meaning to? She would have to try and figure that one out later. As it was, going unconscious in the middle of swimming just because a scarecrow had remembered something unpleasant? That would be far from ideal for anybody involved.

“I’ve always like winter more,” she continued. “I know some people hate the cold, but this heat is way too much for me. You’ve seen some droughts too, has the water ever been this low before?”

“One other time. Water even lower than it is now. Rutledges cried and offered and prayed for rain. But it didn’t answer.”

“Answer… Wait, what?”

“Kids played here, all of them, all summer every summer. Even this last Rutledge when fat little boy.”

She rested her cheek on her hands, sighing. “Jamie, I keep telling you that’s rude.”

“Would swing into water, laughing,” he said, not seeming to hear her scolding. He upnodded to the frayed length of rope hanging from the boughs, and the dessicated rubber of the tire buried in the silt, where it had once been swinging. “Watched them, sometimes. Mostly fun hot summers. Sometimes sad.”

“Sad?”

“Little girl, fell off swing. Head on the rocks, so much red…” he said, and Mei felt her blood turn a little colder than the water around her. “One of older Rutledges long ago, came and sat. Don’t know why. Sat and sat even though it rained and heard them calling for him. Stood, went into water. Didn’t come up, so waited. Came up again, facedown.” He shrugged, uncaring.

Mei slowly looked behind her, to where the swimming hole beckoned cold and dark. The birds still sang and the sun still shone, but somehow it had changed. Not even this innocent pool had escaped whatever curse had befallen this place. Accidents and suicides were a part of life even outside the farm, but even just knowing it had happened here? That even the children had been trapped and died here? That old men walked into the creek and didn’t come out?

Suddenly the water seemed a lot less appealing.

She moved to the bank, climbing out and turning her back to him, wringing out her wet shirt and fetching her glasses. His eyes were on her, she could feel it. But despite being fairly sure that he had been ‘flirting’ with her in a way, he didn’t seem to be in step with the concept of ogling. Pulling her bra back on and making a face as she pulled her shorts over wet underwear, she zipped up and began fiddling with her damp bun as she faced him.

“I think that’s enough swimming for this afternoon. Besides, I need a bit of time to dry off before Mr. Rutledge gets back. Want to sit with me in the sun for a bit?”

“Know a good place for sun.”

“I’m sure you know all the best places around here, Jamie. Where is it?”

“Up,” he said, and offered out both arms to pick her up again.

She let him scoop her up, though it was a lot more unpleasant when she was sopping wet and squelching against him. But at least this time it didn’t seem to involve rapid head spinning travel. Instead he went bounding with her through the overgrown forest path, leaving Mei clinging to him with all her might as she was jolted about. And as they reached the edge of the fields, he braced her and went for one last mighty leap, straight upward.

The scarecrow and his charge alighted as gentle as a feather on a thick bough up in the treetops. Some sort of oak, perhaps, though she wasn’t sure. But it was very old and very tall, and the bark was dry and gray and thirsty as he carefully lowered her down and scooted her so she could sit. Mei wasn’t normally one for heights, but maybe so long as she didn’t look down? And there was always the added security of having a very strange entity who was intent on ‘keeping her safe’. And who was…putting his arm around her?

Maybe if they had been elsewhere, she would have been a little less sure of it. But as it was, she leaned into him when he went to drape a heavy, bony arm around her shoulders and let her use him as an anchor. He was still some sort of possessed thing in a scarecrow suit, and he still wasn’t the most pleasant-feeling or pleasant-smelling of things, and he seemed to have an alarming lack of interest in empathy with anything here except her…but she could deal with that later. Plus, they were many feet up in the air and it was nice to lean on him despite the hay smell.

And it afforded her such a great view of the farm. They were up on a little hill, a sort of ridge just before the land dipped down towards the creek bed. And this old tree grew tall near the very top of it. The sun shone bright on them both, and somewhere in this very tree, a cicada began its shrill calls and ignored them completely. She straightened her glasses, looking out across acres and acres of pristine rural farmland. The crops had yellowed and soured, but there was still something beautiful about it all. It was natural and warm and bright, even though it would probably get to be too hot if she was out here too long.

Mei grabbed the bottom of her sodden t-shirt, flopping it to circulate air up under her chest. “You were right. This is nice too.”

He kept his arm loosely looped about her ribs, turning his glass lenses away from her, to the view. “Yes, nice. Bring you out here. Whenever you want. Any time.”

“Maybe.”

***

They sat in silence for a while, while Jamie quietly sent a line of ants scurrying away to keep a wide berth from the two of them. This place was good, though he couldn’t remember why he liked it so much.The sun must have been warm, though he could not feel it. The breeze must have been sweet, though he could not smell it. The rustle of the trees and the sound of birds made her smile and pleased her, but he could hear no beauty in them. And though he knew it was her weight that leaned against him ever, ever so slightly…

He looked down at the ancient leather gloves, always leaving filth on everything they touched. Mei had offered to get him new ones, but they were not what he wanted. He had never thought of it before. But now?

“Mei?” he said.

She made a little questioning noise.

He moved his gloved digits and wondered as to the thick leather he kept them covered with. He curled his fingers one by one, wishing he could touch whatever it was beneath; wet clothing and pale skin and everything else.

“I wish I could…feel…”

“Feel what?” she said.

He did not answer.

***

“Feel what?” She had asked, before remembering that he had said he could not feel heat. It was a beautiful afternoon, even if it was hot. Likely he was wondering what it was to experience such a thing? “Oh! The sun? Well, it’s kind of lucky you can’t? So don’t feel too bad. I’ve had too many sunburns to recommend any of that.”

He didn’t respond, seeming strangely thoughtful. So she just talked instead.

“You know, I want to um, apologize?” she said, as he finally turned to look down at her. “And thank you, for taking me out here. I guess I’ve been so caught up with all the strange things here, I forgot to just kind of enjoy myself too. I even started to forget how you and Mr. Rutledge…I didn’t mean to, but I forgot that you’re both more than just answers to questions.”

“Hhh?”

“I’m still going to try and piece together whatever is happening here. I still want to help. But there’s still…You’re still you. And you don’t have to answer my questions and you don’t have to remember things you don’t want to remember, just because of me. So I’m sorry, for putting so much pressure on you. You don’t have to come tonight to tell me about Kora. Or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Jamie seemed rather taken aback, leaning upright so he could blink down at her again. “But. You asked for help? My help?”

“And you can still help me. I’d appreciate it. But I kept pushing you and pushing you, just for my own curiosity. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Mei could never hurt—”

She smiled weakly. “I could, Jamie. We all can, even if we don’t mean to. You were even worried that I would hate you if you didn't help me. I can't stand the thought of you worrying about something like that. I know I promised I wouldn't hate you, and I mean it. But beyond that, I would never hate you. So just…if you still want to help me, I’d like that. But I don’t want to figure out whatever is behind…behind all this pain here? Not if it causes you both more pain.”

He scratched at his straw-filled head, bits of hay and flannel drifting down through the leaves and branches below. He seemed unsure of what to say again, humming and buzzing in the hollow of his chest. Eventually he just nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “But…tonight. I still see you tonight?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Want to!” he said quickly. “Want to. Will…tell you, about things. My friend. Kora. And...other things, too. Since you won't hate me. Promised. I will still help you.”

She offered a beaming smile, before leaning back to one side, hand clenching on the rough bark. “I would appreciate it. Maybe we can still find out what’s trapped everyone here. If you help me? Together, we can do this!”

“Yes, yes! With you.”

“Although, maybe just a little longer up where while my clothes dry out?” She looked back out across the rolling plains of the farmland, admiring the view. “I can see why you like this spot. You can see everything from here. Even though the house looks so tiny from here. You can barely even see the beehives or the clotheslines or the pond. And your sunflowers still look—”

She stopped mid-sentence, staring very hard in the direction of the sunflowers. She hadn’t noticed it before, distracted by so many thoughts going through her mind, and the presence of the scarecrow so close to her. But now that she looked again? From their vantage point high above, she could see something new. Something she could never have seen from the ground.

Far away, past the very edge of the sunflower field, before another vaguely overgrown area and the darkness of the woods, she spotted a shape. The blooms were still so high and it was still far away, so she couldn’t be sure. But it looked like there was something visible over the tops of the yellow flowerheads. It was was hard to make out, but it looked like a dilapidated ruin of some sort: a pile of wood and metal that had mostly collapsed. But if she squinted very hard?

There, past the untraveled maze of sunflowers, was the ruins of a barn, and even if it was collapsed and battered, she recognized it at once. It wasn't the one that Mr. Rutledge kept the animals and supplies in, by the house. Not that one, but the other one. The one that she had a feeling that she wasn’t supposed to have seen. But yet, there it was, as real as the entity that was crooning soft buzzing noises and leaning against her. It was real.

The barn from her nightmare was real.

All thoughts of Kora and the Rutledges evaporated from her mind. And even though she had just apologized to Jamie for being so nosy and so pushy and he had enthusiastically forgiven her, that nasty little itch of curiosity reared and burned all the harder. That barn. It was the same barn, it had to have been. That drawing on the map, had it been in this same place. They were connected after all, though she didn’t yet know how.

Maybe even a tiny part of her regretted her apology to Jamie and her promise. Because oh, did she ever have questions now.

So, so many questions.

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #strange honey #scarecrow Jamie #scarecrow junkrat #beekeeper mei #mei #bees #fanfiction #writing

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le-lex · 6 years

Text

I love you in the morning when the blood runs to your cheeks

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keith/Lance Words: 15k

“Hey, do you want a croissant? Or a cookie? They’re really good! My ma makes them all. What are you into? Take anything, seriously, whatever you want!” Bakery Guy keeps waving him over at a faster pace the closer Keith gets and as Keith approaches the table he backs off from where he was hunched like a dragon over a pile of leftover pastries.

“Uh…” Keith has no idea what the fuck is going on right now and he knows that his eyebrows are furrowed in a way that always makes Shiro laugh, but he can’t help it. What is happening.

Bakery Guy shoots a ray of pure sunlight out of his face directly into Keith’s eyes with his smile and tries again, “We don’t always sell everything pastry and bread wise, so I try to hook up the other vendors with some treats before we take everything to the women’s shelter downtown. Do you want anything?”

In which Keith and Lance fall in love over a farmers market season the same way they do everything else: a little bit backward and a whole lot stupid.

AO3: (x)

Keith has to keep actively reminding himself to stop clenching his teeth so hard by opening his mouth and moving his jaw from side to side like an actual idiot. Each time he does it, he casts a quick glance to the booths on either side of him to make sure their occupants aren’t witnessing his stressed out dumbassery in real time. What the fuck is he doing here, truly.

He’s currently sitting in his stupid, slightly rickety camping chair a cool hour after initially getting to the market and unpacking all of his things. He’d been awake for hours before he psyched himself up enough to actually drive to the market and he’d sat in his gently rumbling truck for ten minutes in the parking lot before he crow barred himself out of the cab into the fresh morning air to set up his market table and tools.

Hunching a little in his work jacket to brace himself against the early morning breeze, he looks down at his set up and has to physically prevent himself from sighing melodramatically. The table cloth he’s using to cover his folding table is an old red plaid one of his dad’s that Shiro always brutally makes fun of whenever he sees it. His toolbox is propped up and open with everything he needs handy and his two grinders are set up at an appropriately reachable distance from his shitty, unbalanced chair.

Just to be clear, he’s nervous as fuck. And he doesn’t really want to be here.

It’s his first day at this farmers market, his first day at a farmers market in general truly and he has essentially…zero idea what to expect. Obviously, he’s been at a farmers market before in his life, he doesn’t live under a fucking rock, but he’s never had his own booth at one and he thinks it may just be easier to climb back into his truck and fuck off into the sunrise and abandon this idea in its final hour.

But as he’s thinking this and as his hands are twitching to toss all of his utensils into his toolbox and haul ass out of here, he catches Shiro’s smile and wave from across the circular rotunda type structure the market is housed in and resolves himself to a morning of what is likely to be socially motivated torture. He’s not able to make a timely and quick escape if Shiro has already seen him, unfortunately.

Keith begrudgingly waves back to him and watches as Shiro hefts a pallet of cucumbers out of the farm truck he’s currently unpacking.

Shiro is dressed like every middle-aged white mother’s wet dream, wearing a flannel rolled up past his elbows over a t-shirt with his aunt’s farm’s logo on it and dark jeans tucked into his scuffed-up work boots. He’s such a beautiful, buff motherfucker that it makes Keith’s eyes roll into the back of his head, because honestly, who even looks like that. Who looks like that and works at a farmers market and hauls vegetables out of the bed of a truck with such a look of tranquility and contentment that it makes all the waiting regulars sigh a little watching him. Shiro, that’s fucking who, he supposes.

He catches the eye of Shiro’s tiny little aunt standing behind her table and setting up literal pyramids of vegetables and gives her a small smile as she waves across to him.

Shiro helps his elderly aunt out with her vegetable farm during the on season because he just truly is that good of a person. Thinking about it makes Keith a little ill.

Ignoring the sweatiness of his palms, he leans back in his chair and glances up at the sign that’s swinging lazily in the breeze where it’s attached to the front of his tent. It makes him laugh a little every time he sees it, even though it’s nicely made. That’s what patronage at the town UPS Store will get you. A quality sign with your bullshit name on it. It mostly makes him laugh because the name he decided on for his market booth is “Keith’s Knife Hut” solely because it causes Shiro to make a face that’s split between disbelief and actual pain every time he looks at it. Motivation, y’all.

Despite the growing dread over being present in this current situation, the knowledge that Shiro is going to be in his line of sight for most of the day and that he’ll likely wander over later is comforting enough.

The market hasn’t officially opened yet which Keith is grateful as fuck for, but early regulars mill about and later arrivals to the market are efficiently setting up their booths just in time for the sunrise.

He has his pricing spiel all planned out in his head and he turns it around and around in his mind as he sits there. He’s said it enough times to his commercial clients that he isn’t particularly worried, but this is a whole different setting than the back of a restaurant kitchen where he usually works and that’s enough to make him stumble over his words. Five dollars per knife, seven dollars for anything else. Including multitools, yard tools, and lawn mower blades.

Forcibly unclenching his teeth yet again, he chants his prices in his head and triumphantly thinks that even if he can’t always connect to the customers he has, he can sharpen anything. Let’s go, middle upper-class patrons of this bougie farmers market, give me your bladed tools to sharpen.

With a glance to his phone showing that it’s officially seven am and a final straighten of his sandpaper loops, he shoots a pleading request to whatever deity may be out there for today to go well and thinks, here goes nothing.

Three hours later and Keith is able to actually sit back in his chair and finally glance around the rest of the market.

It’s been…a day, surely. And it hadn’t gone as bad as Keith had been expecting, which is generally the way things play out. Being at the market was surprisingly fun and after the first few clipped conversations with inquiring customers where he had no idea what the tempo of the interactions was supposed to be, he was able to fluently and efficiently roll out his pricing bullshit for the next, like, fifteen people who stopped at his booth to chat.

Granted, he didn’t really sharpen anything aside from a few pocket knives and a multitool here and there, but mostly because people don’t carry around full sets of kitchen knives on them without a valid reason. A valid reason being…well, getting your kitchen knives sharpened.

He’d given his business card out to a lot of interested people and he figures that that’ll be enough to get him some real business when he’s back the following Tuesday. Just the thought has him feeling a little bit cheerful.

Truthfully, he really likes doing this in a way he doesn’t like doing a lot of things. Working with his hands and fixing something and making it more efficient and useful in a very tangible way. It feels purposeful, gives him a very clear outcome with just a little bit of action.

Plus, it’s not like sharpening knives is hard, if he’s going to be totally honest. Anyone could do it with the right equipment and knowledge, but, he supposes, that most people don’t really want to.

With his extensive background in tools and knives, he was able to cultivate a pretty solid customer base in the form of restaurants and specialty food stores when he first started, and he keeps up with a lot of those regulars on a pretty consistent basis. He can, however grudgingly, admit that Shiro was definitely right in the farmers market being a good side gig on the weekends and a few days during the week.

It’s not like he’s going to tell Shiro that. A thanks for the connection to the market manager for the booth space might be in order, though.

Keith struggles a little bit when shrugging out of his jacket and knocks a few of his own tools off his table before he’s able to really look around.

The way the market is set up is kind of odd, in his own humble architectural opinion. Which means absolutely fuck all nothing, but still. It’s a giant concentric circle with a lot of open space in the middle where the plant people congregate and sell giant potted flowers. All of the booths are set up inside the circular roofing at the outer edge of the biggest circle, so you can enter the market and walk all the way around in one direction until you end up right back where you started. He guesses it’s a pretty good business model, a trap that doesn’t really feel like one when you’re looking at artisanal cheeses and bird houses made out of refurbished cabinets or whatever the hell people sell here.

His booth is right next to the entrance, so he’s one of the first stalls that market patrons see upon arrival. Beside him to the left is another vegetable stand with a kindly middle-aged woman who runs it and across the way from him is a weird sounding combination goat cheese and mushroom stall that he doesn’t really understand at first inspection.

There’s a bakery next to that, and a honey and bee paraphernalia stall down the way a little bit the opposite way.

He could, potentially, make attempts to talk to these people, but also, he could literally do anything aside from that. For a bit this morning, he made polite small talk with the other vegetable woman before he began to feel like he was betraying Auntie Shirogane’s farm by fraternizing with the enemy. She was nice though, and she gave him a bag of snap peas that he has absolutely no idea what to do with, so he supposes that they can be market friends.

That was a big component of the market that Shiro had ranted on and on about when he was convincing Keith to “join the market family.” That right there was enough to make Keith think that it sounded a bit like a cult, but Shiro had adamantly championed that the younger market workers were “good friends” who “looked out for each other” and “gave each other a lot of free shit.”

When Keith had pointed out that he doesn’t really have a lot of free shit to give aside from free knife sharpenings and what millennial is going to want that, Shiro had cheerily told him to piss off and to submit his application for a market booth as soon as possible.

Which Keith did. Thus, explaining why he’s here.

But whatever.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a lidded coffee cup being briskly set on his plaid tablecloth and sends a pair of pliers toppling to the floor with his full body flinch.

“What in the ever-loving fuck,” Keith hisses up at a very amused looking Shiro as he dips under his folding table for the rogue pliers.

“I brought you coffee. Stop swearing in this wholesome, family environment.”

“You literally told me when I got here that I had to try “the dope ass baklava” from that stall next to yours, so I don’t have to take orders from the likes of you.” He takes the coffee though, he’s not a dumbass.

Shiro’s eyes crinkle up in a smile that Keith knows is his I’m Proud of Keith for Doing Something That Really Wasn’t That Hard Smile, which only serves to make him grumble under his breath and adamantly avoid Shiro’s gaze.

“So, how’s it going so far?”

Keith actively evades his meaningful eye contact by staring at the bakery stall across from him and a little to the right, where two tall, vaguely attractive people flutter around behind the table and slide pastries and bread into little plastic bags. “It’s going. I’ve talked to a lot of people who seemed interested and wanted to know if I’d be here on Tuesday.”

One of the tall, fluttery people behind the bakery table is flapping his hands around as he talks to the customer he’s serving, his grin split wide across his face and so bright that it actually makes Keith squint a little.

“That’s awesome. I’m really glad to hear it. Auntie was worried about you earlier, she said you were scowling and that it mars your handsome face.”

Shiro is…definitely still talking, but all Keith can focus on is the frenetic movement of the bakery boy’s long fingered hands. He’s talking so fast that Keith can’t even make out any of the words from his spot about twenty feet away. He smiles wide again as the customer leaves, and Keith quite literally feels like he’s staring into the sun. What the fuck.

He cuts a quick glance back at Shiro, who is now involved in a conversation with the Other Vegetable Woman and makes a noncommittal noise that he knows Shiro will deem as an appropriate response simply from long term Keith exposure.

Keith picks up his pretentious farmers market coffee to take an experimental sip and his gaze slides back over to the butterfly-handed boy, who chooses that exact split second to raise his own face up to meet Keith’s eyes.

It takes a few seconds for Keith’s heart to restart after being caught staring across the market at this deadass stranger who is now looking back at him, and when it does, it’s basically a lost cause anyway.

Bakery boy meets his eyes and smiles that stupid solar powered smile back at Keith, lifting up his hand to waggle his stupid long fingers at him in a quick, little wave.

Keith forcibly resists the urge to look around to see if that wave is for him and clenches his teeth to stop from audibly groaning in socially fueled distress, he lifts up his coffee cup in an odd kind of salute before resolutely looking absolutely anywhere but the bakery stall.

Shiro is still talking about vegetable shelf life or something dumb like that when Keith returns to both Earth and the conversation they’re having. It’s like the sound of the market immediately floods back into his awareness and he has to ball up one of his hands against his thigh to reign himself back in.

What in the fuck.

For the next hour, Keith looks only straight ahead at inquiring customers, down at his table, or to the left of the circle.

This avoidance tactic only works for so long. Keith makes eye contact with the tall bakery boy across from his stall three more times before the afternoon comes to a lazy close. His heart essentially stops each time, usually because said bakery boy is looking back whenever Keith glances over at him.

He’s able to catch glimpses of the boy across the way a few times without making any reciprocal eye contact. He’s tall and lithe in a way that is annoying to Keith simply due to his own more compact build. What can Keith say, he’s got a low center of gravity.

Details of said boy, or more likely said man, are not able to be gleaned from his position at his own booth, but Keith can tell that he’s fairly good looking even from far away. Tall and dark skinned and in a constant state of motion. He’s also wearing fucking overalls. Not coveralls like Shiro sometimes wears out in the fields when it gets cold in the later part of the season, but actual jean overalls over a bright yellow tie-dye shirt with what Keith assumes is his bakery’s logo.

It’s all he’s able to take note of when he’s constantly glancing there and back under absolute duress.

The last time it happened, Keith had to physically clamp his own mouth shut to prevent any untoward exclamations because Tall Bakery Man smiled so widely at him that his eyes were practically closed. It was most enchanting thing Keith had ever seen. It can absolutely not happen again or it will put Keith straight into his grave.

At around one o’clock, Keith starts to pack up all of his shit. He sharpened around six pocket knives and a few multitools and has given out about thirty of his Keith’s Knife Hut business cards. He feels good. Satisfied in a way that he usually doesn’t after social interaction.

He figures that because he’s talking about something he’s more or less dedicated his life to is why it’s easier to talk to strangers about it. Hyper focusing is something that tends to happen to him and he’s got a lot of material in terms of talking about and around kitchen knives and gardening tools. It’s comfortable and comforting all at once, which is a very novel feeling after being exposed to upwards of hundreds of people for six hours.

Just as he’s finished taking the sandpaper loops off his grinders, he glances up to possibly catch Shiro’s eye to wave goodbye to him when he spots Bakery Boy behind his own table. He’s relatively still and not actually doing anything aside from smiling but it makes Keith’s breath stop. How the hell did this happen? Why is Keith acting this way in the face of one singular person looking at him a few times throughout the day? The guy is wearing overalls, for fuck’s sake.

From across the way, the bakery worker smiles even bigger and gives him another jaunty finger wiggle. Only this time, he gives Keith a thumbs up with one hand and winks at the same time. It’s charming in an annoyingly effortless way and it forces a truly pained noise through Keith’s teeth and has him aggressively tossing the few tools he has left into his toolbox. He has got to get the fuck out of here.

He packs up his table and tool box and grinders as quick as possible without spilling all of his shit all over the cement floor of the market. His truck rumbles to life after a few rushed attempts to jam his keys into the ignition, mostly because he’s still flustered as fuck.

Trying to take a step back from the experience and the staccato beating of his own heart, he carefully considers how his first attempt at being a farmers market vendor went. It was a good first day, in all honesty. He’s happy to be here. He may even like it here.

But Keith isn’t going to think about this interaction with the Tall Bakery Man ever again. He’s going to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind this shit. He’s all good.

It’s fine.

He thinks about almost nothing but that five second interaction all weekend. It’s not fine.

It continues on in this way for the next few weeks. Keith’s business kicks up now that people know that he’s at the market and he finds himself sharpening upwards of 25-30 kitchen knives a day along with his usual pocket knives. He also sometimes gets scissors, a few handheld axes, and once a comically large pair of hedge shears.

Honestly, Keith would be lying if he said it wasn’t fun. It’s a good, friendly atmosphere and being out in the open air for most of the day a few times a week is probably good for him. He’s met the market manager, Coran, a few times now and quietly chats with the Vegetable Lady next to him most days. She’s still hooking him up with peas.

Coran is fascinating because he rules the market with an iron fist and a slightly unhinged sense of responsibility. His bright orange t-shirt says “Market Master” on the back and he spends a lot of his time chasing after dog owners who bring their pets under the covered portion of the market despite the copious signage stating otherwise.

It’s nice, even if he has to see Coran’s white ass thighs at seven am three days a week because the motherfucker refuses to wear anything aside from jean cutoffs and ridiculous white dad tennis shoes.

Shiro floats by most days and brings him coffee and makes small talk about the TV shows they’re both watching and Keith makes a few tentative attempts to talk to one of the goat cheese mushroom women about their stall and their goats, which don’t go totally horrible.

He likes it here, he supposes, at this slightly pretentious outdoor farmers market. Plus, he’s making a good chunk of cash on top of his commercial clients, so he’s absolutely not complaining.

Okay, well…actually, he’s complaining a little bit. Mostly just about the Bakery Boy and the weird eye contact impasse that they’ve cultivated from across the aisleway of their part of the market.

Tall Bakery Man has not let up in terms of his cheeky little waves and plentiful amounts of winking and Keith is pretty sure it’s made his blood pressure rise to dangerous levels.

He’s worried that it’s going to make him pass out one of these days.

But, it’s fine. It’s totally cool. It feels like camaraderie without speaking and that’s one of Keith’s sweet spots. They just smile and wave at each other a lot. Sometimes, when they both first get to the market to set up, the Bakery Man will send him a thumbs up as a sort of little check in and Keith will return it without hesitation.

It’s noncommittal and sweet and it makes Keith want to bang his head against the brick pillar his stall is next to until he falls unconscious amidst the market patrons because he’s a little attached to it now. To the interactions and to the knowledge that Tall Bakery Man will probably already be looking at him if Keith looks over that way throughout the day.

He wears those overalls a lot, Bakery Guy does. Keith doesn’t really see him out behind the tables that his bread and pastries are on, but he’s caught him walking to other vendors’ stalls and lingering at the mushroom goat cheese combo stall a few times.

When he does that, Keith looks resolutely at his feet as he weaves between patrons and tables and absolutely nowhere else, to appear like the exact opposite of the kind of weird creeper that he might be. The shoes Bakery Guy wears are usually some dumb kitschy patterned plimsoll shoes with no socks, his overalls cuffed up past his ankles. Last week they had little sunbathers on them, this week they’re covered in little Dachshunds and hot dogs. It makes Keith want to scream.

He feels like some fucking Victorian woman in ye olden times, in love with this boy’s ankles and getting light headed over it like it’s some big scandal. He’s legitimately stupid.

But yeah, it’s going well.

To say that the rest of the market noticed the Knife Guy on his first day would be an understatement.

They absolutely noticed. They all talked about it incessantly after Coran had mentioned a new vendor would be there the Thursday of the week previous.

Shiro had offhandedly mentioned that he was a friend of his and that he was a little quiet, but that they would all like him. Hunk and Lance had made meaningful eye contact and left it at that. Shiro liked everyone, so that didn’t mean shit. They weren’t going to accept a weird interloper into their fold without appropriate information.

But now, oh but now. Knife Guy is leaned back in a folding chair with one leg crossed and one heavy boot resting on his knee, looking for all the world like he doesn’t give a damn about anything.

Lance silently berates himself for being totally into that as he unloads his pastries from the van and heaves them into a tall stack just behind their stall.

Allura has already started setting up their tables and getting their cash register and display stands ready. He catches her eye and smiles at her a little as he heads back for yet another round of unloading. Even though they’re both morning people, they’ve been awake for a few hours already and aren’t fully into speaking territory yet.

Coran and Shiro both failed to mention that the new guy sharpens knives. Because that is some pertinent info. Who the hell sharpens knives at a farmers market?

As Lance thinks it around in circles, he guesses it makes some kind of sense. He’s just never seen it before and he’s worked at markets in the surrounding area for years. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing and has the tools to make your shit sharp, sure. It’s still weird though.

Plus, the dude looks intense. Long dark hair and heavy eyebrows combined with knives and all that plaid? He’s cultivating a very specific look. And now okay, Lance didn’t say it was a bad look, but it’s a look nonetheless. It’s going to scare the shit out of all the old women.

It takes a bit of time for he and Allura to get all of their shit set up, but they manage to before the market opens which in itself is a win for them. They always have bullshit old people regulars who show up at like 6:55 and demand their favorite loaves of bread before the market has even really opened. Lance rants on and on about entitlement and appreciating market hours to both Allura and his ma frequently, but they just roll their eyes and tell him to help the elderly out.

Whatever. It’s fine. He’s fine. He goes about his market day.

He just can’t stop glancing over at the Knife Guy.

From where their stall is situated, he can’t really see the sign that hangs from Knife Guy’s tent to tell what his stall is called. Even if he pitches over to one side like a dumbass, the brick pillar that his tent is pressed up against blocks it.

He’s cute, though. Real cute. And now that Lance has been watching him for a hot minute, he can see that Knife Guy looks a little bit nervous. He’s staring straight off into space and keeps rubbing his thumb against his pointer finger in a kind of repetitious, comforting sort of way.

Lance should probably go over and say hi, right? It’s been a few hours since they all got here. That’s what normal people would do. Miss Kelly from the vegetable stand next to Knife Guy’s has already talked to him a little earlier. It’s probably weird and hard to start at a market a few weeks into the season and not know anyone aside from fucken Shiro.

And speak of the devil. Lance glances up from putting raspberry danishes into a pleasing arrangement after they sold about half of them earlier to see Shiro slinking across the middle of the market where the plant people are to cut across the aisle way and sidle right up to Knife Guy’s table.

He smacks a coffee cup down against the cheesy plaid tablecloth and Knife Guy, on god, literally flails all of his limbs. Shit falls on the ground and he glares up at Shiro, and Lance…has the good sense to feel a little winded by that glare. It’s not even aimed at him. This dude is good looking, what the fuck.

Lance is still shuffling pastries and cookies around to appeal the most to market patrons, that shit is his life blood and what he’s best at, when he looks back up to see Shiro and Knife Guy chatting a little. He takes a break from organizing raisin croissants and just watches the easy way they both interact with each other.

They’re definitely friends. Of course Shiro would have good looking friends. They’re both wearing plaid too, must be some sort of good-looking dude wavelength they’re both on. Lance only looks good in very certain colors of plaid and he likes wearing his overalls to avoid dressing himself at four am in the dark and getting to the market looking like an actual dumbass. Plus, yellow tie-dye is kind of hard to accessorize. He’ll stick with his denim and zip up hoodies, thank you very much.

He keeps watching them and notices the specific moment where Knife Guy zones out again and then they’re making eye contact. It takes a little bit for Knife Guy to even realize they’re looking at one another and by then Lance is already waving at him a little bit and smiling what he can totally feel is a huge, dorky smile.

Knife Guy…straight up turns pink. Blushes so bright that Lance can see it from across the way. It’s the cutest fucking thing. He can feel warmth curling in his stomach and he laughs a little as Knife Guy is startled into giving him a salute with his coffee cup.

It should look stupid. It doesn’t.

Knife Guy is now resolutely looking anywhere aside from Lance, which makes the warmth in his stomach rock back and forth like he’s on a boat out at sea. He keeps pushing his hands into his dark hair and messing it all up and it serves to makes Lance smile softly down at his pastries.

He should probably leave well enough alone and not embarrass the guy from across the aisle. He should probably go over there and actually speak to him. Introduce himself and Hunk and maybe Pidge and ask him what his name is, find out why in the hell he sharpens knives. How he knows Shiro and where he’s from and what he likes to do in his spare time. Maybe find out what his favorite pastry is.

He should probably do a lot of things.

And yet, he spends the rest of the day sweetly waving at Knife Guy and making his entire face turn red each time. Because this is who he is, not being able to leave well enough alone. He winks at him once right before he leaves and he’s pretty sure Knife Guy chokes as he lurches towards his weird pickup truck and tosses all of his supplies in.

Lance is absolutely not going to let this go.

It continues on in this way for the next few weeks. Lance mans his ma’s farmers market stall. He interacts with his regulars and gives them good deals because they’re nice to him. He chats with Hunk and Pidge and Coran. He makes Knife Guy blush.

They still haven’t spoken, but it’s become a thing. A capital T thing. Lance’s favorite kind of Thing.

It becomes a routine. A few times a day Lance will glance over to Knife Guy’s stall and smile at him, especially big if Knife Guy is already looking. He peppers these ten second interactions with a few thumbs ups, maybe a wink here or a finger guns there. Knife Guy never stops blushing. Lance might be a little bit in love with some random dude in a brown Carhartt jacket that he’s never spoken to.

It’s chill.

He and Hunk make a whole lot of jokes about the Murder Pickup Truck. Knife Guy drives a beat up cream and brown pickup that makes horrible noises when he starts it up and has a lot of weird shit in the back. Hunk is absolutely convinced that he’s a serial killer from the pickup alone, so the working with sharp bladed objects really doesn’t help.

It makes Lance laugh because he’s pretty sure Knife Guy is just a normal dude and once he and Hunk actually speak to him, it’ll be chill. But their jokes give him a hell of an excuse to look at Knife Guy a lot. Not that he wouldn’t anyway, but still.

Over the last few weeks, Lance has subtly watched Knife Guy get more comfortable at the market. Not a lot of people talk to him, usually just Shiro and Miss Kelly and occasionally Coran. But the difference in the way he holds himself in his folding chair a few weeks in compared to his first day is noticeable. It’s sweet, almost. He has a few regulars who bring him their knives and their tools and seems to be able to connect with them a lot more. Lance doesn’t even know him, but he’s proud of him anyway.

Lance had been watching covertly from behind a pyramid of their French bread when Knife Guy had made his first customer laugh. It was revelatory. Knife Guy had seemed surprised but then so, so pleased, smiling shyly from where he sat, and it had made that stirring warmth in Lance’s stomach spread out and fill his entire body.

He might be in trouble. He doesn’t really mind.

Talking to Knife Guy soon might be in the cards, though.

Hunk leans against the outside of the table that all of their bread is piled on and gestures vaguely towards the Knife Guy with the leftover half of his croissant, “I don’t know, man…I just think he’s weird. He puts off a vibe. A very specific vibe. Vibe with a capital V. And also, he may be an actual murderer? Who sharpens knives as a job?”

Reaching over the cash register to pick up fifty cents in change that the woman with the Can I Speak to the Manager Haircut didn’t deem appropriate enough to put in his hand instead of on the table, Lance considers this.

“Hm, okay, duly noted. But his hair is actually pretty nice?” With a cursory glance to be sure that Knife Guy’s head is ducked down focusing on whatever it is that he’s sharpening, Lance takes thorough note of his thick head of dark hair that he’s been appreciating three days every week for the last few weeks.

“It looks even better when it’s pulled back though, he’s done that a few times since he’s started.” Lance decides on after careful deliberation, turning his body back towards Hunk just in time to catch his mouth drop open.

“I- what, we were literally just talking about how he might be a serial killer? Not talking about how nice his hair looks! Do you care at all for our potential safety?”

“Hunk, please, you know I don’t want you to get mur-“ before Lance can even finish, Hunk is straightening up and frantically slapping Lance’s arm, motioning back toward Knife Guy’s stall.

“Look! He’s sharpening an axe right now! Is that not the perfect weapon for horror movie style decapitation?”

“Okay, valid, but it’s not his axe…I saw Mrs. Fitzsimmons drop it off at his stall when she got to the market.” Lance clearly had been keeping a very close eye on his neighbor across the way. So what? Sue him.

Hunk makes a noise of pure disbelief and finishes off his croissant before wandering back to his moms’ stall.

Even though Hunk isn’t looking his way anymore, Lance shrugs. Knife Guy is cute and gets very obviously worked up when Lance winks at him. Plus, he’s got a soft spot for guys in work jackets and plaid, what can he say?

It all comes to a head about a month after Keith first started at the market. Things have been going surprisingly well. He likes being at the market and likes the few friends he’s made. It’s something to look forward to every few days because it’s easy and chill and non-committal.

Shiro is very smug about it. Keith ignores the stupid faces he makes.

It’s a Thursday market day, so there weren’t as many people as there is on Saturdays, but Keith still did pretty well. He had a lot of bigger things to sharpen today, a few lawn mower blades and an actual deadass scythe that a tiny old woman brought him earlier.

It’s about one, so he’s packing up all of his stuff and looking forward to going home and melting into his couch and watching whatever show Adam and Shiro deem good enough to put on when they come over later.

As he’s tucking his finer grade sandpaper loop into his toolbox, he’s startled by what sounds like someone hissing. He whips around only to see Bakery Guy hunched over his front table and beckoning him over. He’s wearing an actually giant sun hat with his usual overall ensemble.

Keith wants to hate it. He, yet again, doesn’t.

“Psssst, Knife Guy, over here!” Bakery Guy makes pointed eye contact with him and waves him over in a flurry of hands.

Keith looks around to either side of him, but Vegetable Lady is gone and the soap booth on the other side of the entrance is just about packed up.

He glances back and makes eye contact with Bakery Guy, pointing at himself with what he knows is a stupid, bewildered look on his face.

Bakery Guy rolls his eyes with practically his whole body and points directly at him, “Uh, yes you, you’re the only knife guy around. Get over here.”

His voice is really nice, musical and fun. It wasn’t what Keith was expecting but absolutely should have been. This is the first time he’s heard it and absolutely the first time it’s been directed anywhere near him. He snaps his toolbox shut and edges around his table to make his way across the aisle.

“What’s…up?” Jesus Christ, is Keith an actual dumbass?

“Uh…” Keith has no idea what the fuck is going on right now and he knows that his eyebrows are furrowed in a way that always makes Shiro laugh, but he can’t help it. What is happening.

Oh, okay. Yeah, Keith wants something. He’s been inadvertently staring at all of this stuff for the last month.

“Yes, please.” Has he never spoken to another human being in his entire life? Clearly not.

“Oh sweet, awesome. Cool cool cool. Take whatever! Do you like really sweet things? You don’t really seem like you do, but obviously that’s a totally unfounded assumption, so some of the less sweet stuff would be our pain au raisin, maybe a muffin, or a cream cheese danish!” Bakery Guy’s eyes are so fucking blue up close that Keith is pretty sure he’s going to close his own eyes tonight and see this color reflected on his eyelids when he goes to sleep.

“Um, a cream cheese danish…sounds good?”

Before he’s even finished, Bakery Guy is darting forward and closing Keith’s hands around an already plastic packaged danish. His hands are soft as fuck and Keith is going to drop dead.

“I’ll keep that in mind! I almost always try and go around before everybody leaves, but I don’t always get to it. Plus, you seem to leave pretty early and I’ve never been able to catch you before you’ve packed up.” The look Bakery Guy sends him makes his heart stop, because it’s sweet and a little flirty and an admission that he’s been watching Keith. Admitted like a secret that they both share.

His eyes scrunch up when he smiles, and Keith is composing sonnets in his head as he stares at this freckled son of bitch who’s wearing the biggest sun hat that Keith has literally ever seen. How is this his life?

“Well, thank you? I, uh, really appreciate a good danish. Also, what’s your name?” Keith has to struggle to get the words out of his mouth because he and this guy are still making really intense eye contact and his big ass hands are still curled around Keith’s, the danish sandwiched in the middle in a weird cradle.

Bakery Guy smiles even bigger and Keith literally has to shut his eyes in the face of that solar power.

“Oh shit, I totally forgot we’ve never been introduced! The name’s Lance! And you are?”

Does he have a name? Is he anything but an entity-less soul bouncing around in the ether? What the hell is going on here? Why are they still holding hands?

“Keith.” It’s literally the only thing he can say. At least he remembered his own name.

Lance is opening his mouth to start speaking again when someone reappears back beneath the tent of their stall.

“Are you done packing up yet?” comes from the other tall beautiful person that Keith has seen behind the table of the bakery stall. She’s tall and posh-sounding and also probably the third most good-looking person Keith has ever had the misfortune of standing next to, behind both Shiro and Lance.

She touches Lance on his shoulder lightly as she says it and in a way that suggests familiarity before she turns around to do something or other with the plastic wrapped brownies.

Lance and Keith both jump, and their hands immediately fall to their sides. Keith has to flex both of his hands to rid the sensation of Lance cradling them from his skin.

Great. Back on his Mr. Darcy bullshit. He has got to protest harder when Adam and Shiro binge watch period dramas.

Keith’s jams his hands into his pockets and Lance’s fall to rest on the assorted jumble of pastries.

“Almost done, ‘Lura.” He sends a little smile back her way and it’s so sweet and small that Keith can hear his own heartbeat echoing in his head.

Well, fuck. Maybe this incredibly good-looking tall person is dating the other incredibly good-looking tall person in front of him?

The thought almost strikes him dead. He knows next to nothing about Lance or this other ethereal person whose platinum hair seems to be reflecting the sunlight and fucking blinding him. What if they’re dating, oh god, or worse, what if they’re married? And Keith has been pining away uselessly from his Knife Hut for the last month over a married man?

Jesus H. Christ. They probably have kids. Beautiful brown children running around that are adorable and perfect in every way. They probably own the bakery together. Hell, and here Keith was mentally preparing to be a homewrecker.

Holy shit, death is the only option here. He may be getting ahead of himself, but the ball is already rolling and there’s no going back.

They’re all just kind of standing there looking at each other and the Kill Bill sirens are sounding in Keith’s head, but he doesn’t move to do anything.

Thankfully, Lance smiles his way again and snags another danish from his pile, handing it to Keith delicately.

“Here’s another for the road. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

All Keith can do is nod like a fucking bobble head and return the little wave Lance gives him before he about faces. As he’s hopping into his truck, he glances in his rear-view mirror to see the two bakery workers packing up all their things and laughing together. Probably talking about something cute that their two-year-old did last night. Dear lord.

Yep, the only solution here is death.

Friday night, Lance is so keyed up to get to the market that he’s practically vibrating. He succeeded in actually speaking to Knife Guy on Thursday, who he now knows is named Keith. Which is cute. Kind of dweeby and not entirely fitting, but still cute.

He also now knows that Keith is a little socially awkward but not in an unbearable way. In a way that Lance knows how to navigate, usually by asking specific questions and kind of talking a lot like he does anyway.

So, moral of the story, he’s hype to get back to the market to maybe actually talk to Keith a little bit more rather than just making fucking googly eyes at each other from across the aisle like they’ve been doing for the last four weeks.

But when Saturday morning arrives, he’s forgotten that Allura took the day off and is dismayed to realize that he’ll be running the entire stall by himself.

Packaging everything, packing everything into the van, unpacking everything, and then dealing with the weird old dudes and condescending soccer moms all day. By himself. He’s sufficiently less hype by the time he actually gets to the market at quarter to six.

Keith is in his Knife Hut, which makes Lance laugh a little every time he thinks about it, already unpacked and set up for the day. He’s fucking around with something on his phone and rubbing a chunk of his long hair between his thumb and pointer finger.

Lance kind of desperately wants to run his fingers through that hair. But first, he has to get through the day. Then he has to actually talk to Keith again. Then they have to fall in love. There’s a process to these things, you see.

And with that, he begins the arduous exercise of unpacking the van. Usually it’s not that big of a struggle, they’ve got about fifteen plastic pallets with all of their product in with weird little handles that he’s able to stack behind their tables but it’s a lot more work without Allura here to toss things around with her stupid buff arms.

He’s going to be late setting up, which flusters him, because then all the fucking early ass old people will bitch about how he’s not set up, which will prevent him even farther from being set up. Endless cycle of not being set up until like an hour in when he’s all good.

The days that Allura’s gone are the worst, but his ma is right to give her them off. She deserves a break once in a while. She’s a great general manager and helps out a whole lot when she doesn’t even really have to, so Lance doesn’t begrudge her her days off.

He might die today though.

Hefting huge trays of bread and pastries out of the van is kind of a bitch and he’s hyper focused on doing it as fast as he can without hurting himself, which is why he’s truly startled when someone clears their throat behind him.

It’s Knife Guy. Er, Keith. And he’s standing there in his brown work jacket layered over a maroon and gold plaid flannel that really brings out the grey of his eyes. He looks kind of...off balance and Lance sort of wants to kiss his face a little.

“Do you, uh, need some help?” Lance has been pleasantly surprised when he hears the raspy quality to Keith’s voice all like, four times he’s heard Keith speak.

Lance casts a quick look toward the empty Knife Hut, but nobody is really around yet and it’s safe to assume that Keith had been watching him flap around frantically for the last thirty minutes.

“If you’re offering? Absolutely.”

He gives Keith a few pointers on the easiest way to maneuver the unwieldy bakery trays and they make quick work of stacking them all up behind the tables. When he tosses the table cloths to Keith, they make even quicker work spreading them over the tables, making beautifully uncomfortable eye contact, so Lance can start placing all of the stuff he has today out.

They work in silence for a while, Keith handing him things and Lance setting them all up in the specific way he likes. After he gets everything set up, he’ll have to put all the little labels and signs out, but he’s feeling way better now that everything is at least out of the van. Thank god for Keith.

“So, uh...where’s your wife?”

When Lance glances over at him to see if it was really, truly Lance he was speaking to, Keith won’t look at him. Just keeps making laser eyes at a loaf of wheat bread he’s fondling.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Keith shifts uncomfortably, and Lance tracks his movements.

“Your, uh, wife?”

“Who?”

“The lady from Thursday? The one that’s normally here with you. The white-haired good looking one?”

Lance can feel his eyes practically bug out of his head as Keith trails off quietly. He glances around the market to make sure he’s not like...being Punk’d or something. What in the fuck.

“You mean Allura? British accent? Built like an actual goddess? Able to handle the most passive aggressive of patrons with a sense of poise and rationality?” Lance cannot fucking believe this. He wants to laugh in disbelief, but doubts that would go over well with Keith.

The group chat is going to blow up when he relays this information.

When Keith finally chances a quick look up at him, he looks brutally uncomfortable. Red dusts the tops of his cheeks and ears and he’s twisting the wrapper of yet another loaf of bread around his fingers so tightly that it’s turning his fingertips purple.

Lance reaches out to grab the loaf from him and their fingers touch. He smiles at the jolt it sends through them both.

“She’s not my wife, dude. She’s a lesbian, first of all. And she’s the general manager of my mom’s bakery. I wouldn’t even be allowed to look at her if my mom thought I was trying to get with her.”

He can visibly see the distress disappear from Keith, the tight way he was holding his shoulders all but melts out of him and the only thing Lance can do is smile like a dumbass until they make eye contact again.

“Was that a Panic! at The Disco lyric?” is the only thing Keith says back to him, his mouth curving up into a crooked smile.

“Shut up. Let’s finish setting up so I can set you free to sharpen knives, you little weirdo.”

After that morning and the wildly uncomfortable clarification that followed, Keith comes over to the bakery stall to help set up most days. Even if Allura is there.

Lance is a just and fair motherfucker, so he makes Allura, Hunk, and Pidge promise to not bring up the wife thing until Keith is actually like, cool with them. As to not embarrass him and ruin Lance’s chances of kissing his stupid face, mostly.

He gets along well with Allura, which is nice because Lance doesn’t fuck with people who don’t get along with Allura. They talk about shit that Lance doesn’t really care about, like, old books and Downton Abbey and Jane Austen or whatever the fuck and they have pointless, winding arguments about the architecture of the market.

Keith is a little quiet, like Shiro had said, but still funny and easy to get along with. He makes a lot of small pointed comments that have Allura and Lance cracking up, especially when they’re about some of the patrons they have.

He spends fifteen minutes one day ranting about a woman who wanted her blender blades sharpened. Which, Keith maintains, would have been fine, if the blender blades actually detached from her shitty old ass blender. He’d had to explicitly detail why he couldn’t sharpen the blades in the blender if the blades were still in the blender to this woman for upwards of twenty minutes and he’d come over to the bakery stall after she’d left red in the face.

At the end of market days, Lance usually moseys on over with leftover pastries and bread for him, now that he knows that Keith has a secret spot in his heart for the energy bars that the bakery makes. The smiles he gives Lance are enough to make the entire day and all the bullshit that comes with it worth it.

It takes a little bit of persuasion on Lance’s end to get Hunk to agree to actually talk to Keith. He spends a lot of time at his moms’ stall but always seems to vanish whenever Keith shows up in the morning to help Lance and Allura unpack. Probably because he still thought Keith was going to mcmurder them all.

“Did you really think I was a serial killer?” Keith is pouting a little at Hunk, who looks horribly offended that Lance just threw him under the bus like that.

They cluster in little groups at one person’s stall depending on the time and the day and right now Lance and Hunk are loitering in front of Keith’s Knife Hut while Allura mans the bakery stall. There aren’t that many people here yet so nobody feels that bad about abandoning work to troll the other vendors’ stalls.

Hunk is weak in the face of Keith’s naturally occurring puppy dog eyes and is actively trying to backtrack, “No, dude, no, of course not. I didn’t really think that. I was just, well, ya know…concerned.”

“You don’t think that now though, right?”

Lance can’t help it when he taps the knife that Keith has just sharpened and set down beside one of his grinders, “You better not think that still, because if Keith knew that you convinced everyone he was a serial killer when he first started here, that could be a pretty good motivator for him to actually start killing.”

This causes Hunk to flap his arms a little bit and whine, “It was just the truck, alright? It gives off really intense murder vibes.”

Keith is starting to look actually affronted, pressing his hand to his chest like one of the Victorian women he and Allura always go on about. It makes Lance outwardly laugh, he can’t help it.

“What’s wrong with my truck? I love that truck.”

“Dude, are you fucking me? It’s weird and old and makes creepy noises and is not one, but two, horrible colors.”

“So what? I’ve had it forever and I love it. It’s not weird.”

“Whatever man, it’s weird.”

It’s fun, being friends with Keith, even if had taken a while. He drifts between them like a satellite, coming to talk with Lance and Allura and then down to Hunk’s moms’ stall to talk in depth about foraging for mushrooms, and over to Pidge’s parents’ stall to talk about bees and honey.

They tease him a lot, especially Hunk and Pidge, because he gets along really well with their moms. Shiro eventually gets wind of it and gives him mad shit for befriending all the older women at the market, including Miss Kelly and Auntie Shirogane. Apparently, it’s always been kind of a thing. Shiro’s mom loves Keith too.

For two market days, everyone makes wildly pointed jokes about Keith attracting cougars and being into older women until he loses his shit and practically shouts “I’m gay!” in the middle of yet another conversation about it, making a few of the market patrons stop and look at him.

He looks embarrassed for a few seconds after until he powers through and continues with, “So, no, I’m not a cougar hunter. Excuse me for getting along really well with older women. It’s more than I can say for the rest of you.”

And that’s that.

Except that it isn’t.

Because hearing that proclamation makes the warmth swirl around low in Lance’s stomach again and he’s reminded just how strongly he wants to kiss Keith’s stupid, red face.

Lance and Hunk hang out a decent amount when they aren’t at the market, perks of being best bros obviously, and occasionally Pidge will come out as well. A lot of the time they just hang out at one of the bars downtown but sometimes they go out and do fun things, like movies and apple orchards and seasonal shit like that.

They’ve been trying to get Shiro to come for literal seasons to no avail, but Keith may be their in.

It’s Hunk who actually verbally suggests they invite Keith to go out with them after the market the upcoming Saturday, but Lance has been thinking about it for, well, weeks.

Lance doesn’t even have to Hunk to get behind the bakery table and keep things running before he’s already doing it, he heads over towards Keith’s stall with a skip in his step.

Before he even gets there, he’s smiling like a dumbass bastard, because Keith is wearing the ridiculous magnifying headset type thing that he sometimes wears. It has a light in it to help him see better and it also serves as one of the best things Lance has ever seen in his dumb life.

“Good looks out here, Knife Guy.”

Keith starts and bats the magnifying headband up from his line of vision and is starting to blush before he even realizes that it’s Lance who’s giving him shit.

“Oh, get fucked.” His words sound dismissive but he’s setting the pocket knife he was working on aside and turning off his grinders, smirking up at Lance from the chair that he now knows is horribly off balance.

Keith lets him sit in it sometimes, while he quietly explains the intricacies of knife sharpening to Lance from over his shoulder. He lets Lance sharpen things occasionally, hand over handing him along so he doesn’t do anything stupid. Lance…truly doesn’t give a shit about knives, but he gives a shit about Keith and what Keith gives a shit about, so he shuts up and listens and presses close when he’s allowed.

“I’d sure like to get fucked, but only if you come with me.” He’s saying it before he really has a chance to think it through and then he’s just committing, leaning into it. Full speed ahead, boys.

It’s stupidly obvious that he and Keith have a bit of a thing going on. They don’t talk about it or confront it, but it’s very obviously there. He’s just waiting to see which one of them breaks first and makes the initial move.

He’s pretty sure the rest of them have bets on when it’ll happen but he doesn’t want to know any of proposals for fear of swaying a certain way. He wants this to happen naturally.

Keith is bright red and rolling his eyes so far back into his head that Lance is concerned that it hurts, but that’s all he does.

They watch each other for a few seconds before Keith uses the pocket knife to kind of make a “well, what do you want?” type of gesture at Lance. It’s kind of hot.

“Come out with us tonight.” It comes out softer than he intends, more of a request than the command he means for it to be and he leans up against the brick pillar to look down at Keith. It doesn’t feel like a power move, things feel perfectly balanced and Lance is caught in the intensity of Keith’s half lidded gaze.

“Where ya goin’?” The more comfortable Lance gets against the pillar, the farther down Keith slouches in his chair. His legs are spread wide and he looks comfortable and relaxed and just a little bit challenging and Lance wants to crawl in his fucking lap and cuddle up. This is absolute bullshit.

“Probably just Ryner’s. We usually go after the market and she lets us chill because we bring her free shit.” Please say yes, Lance is viciously wishing, chanting over and over in his head. Come hang out with us, you big idiot. Let me buy you a beer, let me see what you’re like when you aren’t at the market.

“Alright, I’ll be there.” Keith’s smiling up at him and Lance feels like his knees are going to give out and he’s going to collapse on the cement floor in a gooey, love struck pile.

It becomes a thing. Because of course it does.

They go every weekend. Lance buys Keith a whole lot of beers.

As the season progresses and the weather gets colder at the end of September, Lance starts to bitch more about his wardrobe.

It makes Keith laugh, mostly because of the overalls and the fact that Lance refuses to stop wearing them and also refuses to wear anything resembling socks. The big sun hat goes away for the season, unfortunately enough.

The plimsolls and the bare ankles stay, and Keith still can feel himself get pink when he thinks about how every part of Lance is nice. He’s a dumbass.

Their mornings stay dark and cold and Keith always brings as many layers as he can because he can’t sharpen knives if his fingers don’t work.

It’s six am one morning when Keith wanders over to the bakery stall after setting up all of his own stuff to see Lance shivering aggressively in only a zip up. He says nothing at first, but he takes note that Lance still seems cold after all of the manual labor of unpacking the van.

“I hate this stupid state. Why don’t we live somewhere where it’s eternally warm?”

Hunk rolls his eyes at Lance saying the same thing he says every morning of the market at six am and snags an old-fashioned donut from the display.

“I can’t feel my fucking hands. Weather below 60 degrees is cancelled. Fall, whomst? I don’t know her.” As Lance continues loudly damning the weather, he sneaks up beside Keith and under his arm to snuggle into his body heat.

It’s not the first time they’ve touched this close, but it still feels like the first time. Keith can actively feel the heat rushing up his face as he lets Lance tuck his taller self up against him.

He’s about ready to offer Lance the work jacket off his back and just suffer through the chill in the air when his mind flashes a picture of yet another jacket tucked in the backseat of his pickup. He ducks out from Lance’s octopus limbs and throws a quick “I’ll be right back.” to Allura, Hunk, and Lance.

As he’s shuffling past his own stall, he can hear Hunk crow “Look what you did!” and Lance squawk in offense. He smiles and ignores it, jogging to the parking lot to rummage around in his truck.

By the time he’s back, Lance and Hunk appear to be trying to put each other in headlocks and barely notice when Keith sticks his arm out and taps Lance with the hand the jacket is in.

“Here. Wear this.”

Lance is big eyed and silent as he glances over at Keith and it makes him resolutely look the other way to prevent a full-bodied blush from taking over. He doesn’t have time for this.

He doesn’t glance back over at Lance and Hunk until Lance has pushed his arms into both sleeves of the leather jacket and tugged it on. It looks kind of dumb, because Lance’s limbs are a lot longer than Keith’s, but his hoodie is long enough to cover his wrists and it’s warmer than nothing.

It causes something warm to unfurl in his chest and he can’t help but smile at Lance’s slightly reddened cheeks. He wants to do shit like this always.

Allura is looking on with an absolutely unimpressed expression and she turns to Hunk with an elbow to his solar plexus.

“Hunk, I’m cold as well. Where is your convenient leather jacket that you can give to me for the day?”

“Damn Allura, I can’t control the weather. Get off me.”

They’re so clearly making fun of Keith, but he barely even feels it, he’s too busy watching Lance’s dumbstruck face.

He feels tingly and alive and he’s so glad that he works at this stupid farmers market and that these are his stupid friends. He pushes his shoulder up against Lance’s and they spend a few seconds suspended in each other’s smiles and it’s, on god, one of the dumbest things that’s ever happened to him and Keith loves it.

Weeks pass like this, the four or five or six of them, depending on Shiro’s level of bullshittery that day, fucking around on market days and giving Coran grey hair and exchanging their wares for promises of beer on the weekends.

Keith learns that he actually really likes Pidge and that she actually really likes bees. Her parents are apiarists who do weird, complicated scientific research with bees which resulted in a farmers market stand and copious amounts of different flavored honey.

He goes over to her house one afternoon after the market closes to see her parents’ colonies and it’s one of the coolest things he’s ever witnessed. It feels like some sort of weird fantasy movie where he’s able to talk to bees and they don’t sting him, because the honey bees as Pidge says, are docile and sweet and only sting as the last resort.

Hunk’s moms take him out to forage for mushrooms with their special Italian mushroom dogs and Keith gets dirty and grimy and laughs more in one afternoon than he has in ages. He comes home with a little brown paper sack of some of the best mushrooms he’s ever had.

The five of them spend slow and lazy autumn evenings tucked into a copse of trees on the Shirogane farm and it feels good. Good in a way that Keith didn’t even know he was missing before this.

They meet Allura’s new girlfriend, a soft-spoken blonde named Romelle, who turns around and gives Lance a run for his money in terms of drinking him under the table. They love her.

He’s so pleased with how this random choice in his life turned out. He really does owe Shiro a thank you.

He’ll get around to it.

One crisp afternoon in the beginning of October, Lance invites him, just him, over to the bakery for a cookie making demonstration from Lance’s very own mother.

She’s sweet and shorter than Keith but takes up a perfectly appropriate amount of space in every room and Keith might be a little bit in love with her too. He’s forced into a dorky apron with the bakery logo on it and it makes Lance laugh so hard that he sprays flour everywhere with the force of it and Keith feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

His ma, Lance explains to him after she heads to the front to work the register, started the bakery ten years ago on a whim. She didn’t know if it would work but it was something she had thought about for years and her culinary and baking background was sufficient enough to get it up off the ground.

“I love it here, and I love her, and I love that this is what she loves to do,” Lance is telling him as he frosts little cookies with a pastry bag with such concentration that it takes Keith’s breath away.

“Do you see yourself doing anything else?” Keith is hesitant to ask, but he’s also genuinely curious. His eyes keep catching on the flour that’s dusting over Lance’s freckles. He wants to reach out and brush it off, mostly for an excuse to feel Lance’s face, but he focuses back on poorly decorating his own cookie.

“I can see myself doing a lot of other things, but I’m not sure if I’d like anything as much as this, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Ma will get, I don’t know, probably fifteen more years out of the bakery if she chooses to, and I think after that she’ll pass it along to me. I hope so, at least. My other siblings have all either moved out of town or aren’t interested in the bakery.” Lance glances up at him as he says it, a sweet little smile on his lips.

“Plus, the market part is one of my favorite things in the entire world. I like being there and I like the vibe and Coran giving me shit. I more or less run that entire part of the bakery and it’s a responsibility that I didn’t even know I was going to like so much.”

Keith is diligently trying to pipe icing out in the way that Lance’s mom showed him earlier when Lance bumps his hip into Keith’s to get him out of the way. He takes over and Keith just lets him, watching his long-fingered hands.

“Like, having regulars is one of the coolest things to me. I know these people and I know what they like and I can have their orders ready before they even tell me what they want. It’s rewarding in a way a lot of other things aren’t, ya know?” Lance is so close to him now and looking at him while piping at the same time and the knowledge that he’s choosing to share this with Keith, here, in this space, makes him warm from the crown of his head down to his toes in his boots.

“Mm, I get that. It’s not quite the same for me, but I definitely understand the familial ties to a specific craft.” Keith doesn’t really say much more than that, doesn’t want to bring the mood down out of his own volition.

“Yeah?” And Lance stops what he’s doing entirely, focuses his huge luminescent anime eyes on Keith and he just crumbles. Whatever normally stops him from talking about this part of his life kind of gives way in the face of how interested and genuine Lance seems to be.

So, Keith talks.

“My dad, he, uh, passed a way a few years ago. Around five or so now? I was young when it happened, about eighteen. So, it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happen, I could have been younger, but it wasn’t easy either.” He searches about for something to do with his hands so he’s not just standing here monologuing to a boy he likes about his dead father.

Finally, he spots a dish rag and sets about cleaning the gleaming chrome countertops of Lance’s mother’s kitchen.

“I don’t know how the hell he even got started sharpening things, but he’d done it for as long as I’d been alive. He had all of the tools and stuff, everything I have now is actually his. And when he died, I just had a surplus of what felt like useless knowledge about knives and tools and shit. And basically all the paraphernalia.”

Lance is still watching him as he turns lazy circles around the island that they’re working at. It doesn’t feel heavy or like Lance is making him speak, he just keeps looking.

“I had dropped out of college about a year after he died because I’d lost essentially the only structure I’d ever had and just kind of floated for a bit. I realized, eventually and only because one of my dad’s old restaurant contacts called looking to set him up with a new client, that everyone my dad had been working for had nobody taking care of their stuff. So I figured, okay, might as well take up the mantle. Be the knife sharpener I wanted to see in the world.”

He looks up from sweeping flour into his hands to toss in the trash to see Lance smiling at him. It’s soft and sweet and makes Keith want to kiss it off him.

“I like it a lot, though. More than I ever thought I would. It’s nice being able to do something with my hands. And now I’m here. Well, not physically here, but like…at the market. So, I figure it was worth it.” Keith should be legally required not to speak anymore.

“Thanks for sharing that with me, Keith.”

Normally something like that feels weird and forced and clichéd, but yet again, Lance just seems truly genuine to the point where Keith can’t look at him anymore.

“Uh, yeah, of course. Thanks for making me feel like I could.”

The market feels comfortable to Keith in a way that he never thought that it would.

He knows most of the vendors, by sight if not by name. He’s, by law, allowed to give Coran mad shit about just about anything.

When his grinders make horrific squealing noises during a particularly tricky knife sharpening, all of the other vendors ignore it while the patrons all act like he’s murdering someone in real time. At first Keith adamantly apologized to anyone who was around when it happened, now he just lets it go.

Sometimes people hover behind him and watch him sharpen like they’ve never seen a dude with a knife before. At first it made him tense, made him feel like he was being judged. But he realized after a while that people are just interested in something that doesn’t get done often enough.

And kids love to watch. They’ll stand beside him for the entire time it takes their parents to make a round of the market. Sometimes he lets them sit next to him and watch, answers their poorly phrased questions and let’s them look at his tools. He loves that it makes Lance blush from across the aisle.

He talks more in the last few months than he’s talked in the last six years. Mostly explanations for what he’s doing and why. He gets to talk about something he’s really passionate about to people who are occasionally equally as passionate three days a week.

If he looks up, about three quarters of the time he’ll catch Lance’s eye and they’ll smile at each other in a way that Pidge says should precede the chorus of a boyband’s Top 40 single.

It’s around this time in late October that Keith realizes that the season is ending soon. The market won’t be open after the first weekend in November.

He, predictably, freaks the fuck out.

How is he going to see Lance? And Hunk and Allura and Pidge? The main reason he sees them so much now is work and the odds that they’ll want to hang out with him when they don’t see him three times a week is slim.

What in the hell is he going to do?

A full two days between Tuesday and Thursday are spent going balls to the wall crazy with anxiety, but Keith can’t help it. He doesn’t want to lose this new-found friend group and go back to only watching Downton Abbey with Shiro and Adam on the weekends. He may not survive.

He can feel how weird he’s being when he gets to the market on Saturday and Lance picks up on it almost immediately.

Keith is so freaked out that he dumps the entirety of his toolbox on the floor when Lance pops into existence next to his table about half an hour before the market opens.

“Keith, dude, are you alright?” Lance’s eyebrows are well up his forehead and it makes Keith’s face flush so red he feels fluorescent.

“What. Yep, totally fine. So good. Just great. Thank you for asking.”

“That was like, five different responses. What’s going on?” Before Keith can come up with another evasion, Lance is reaching out and lightly touching his shoulder and it stops Keith in his anxiety driven tracks.

He must see the look on Keith’s face because before he really registers what’s happening, Lance is tugging him up out of his folding chair and ushering him into the weird little overhang that the market bathrooms are in.

“Keith, did something happen? Do you need help with something?” Lance’s brows are furrowed and his mouth is turned down in a frown and Keith wants to kiss him so badly he can barely think straight.

Both of his big hands are pressed firmly to Keith’s shoulders, which shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. They’re so warm that it feels like palm prints of sun. One leaves his shoulder to nudge Keith’s chin up so Lance can meaningfully meet his eyes.

Before Lance can start up again, Keith is blurting, “Does the bakery have knives I can sharpen? Like, when the market season ends?”

He feels like an actual dumbass as soon as the words fall out of his mouth. It’s a fabulous summation of every thought he’s had over the last two days, purely distilled anxious worry.

Lance tilts his head to one side in a way that’s so reminiscent of a Golden Retriever that Keith has to stop breathing in order to not kiss him. They’re so close that all Keith would have to do is lean in just a little bit. But that’s an entirely different thing to panic and obsess over than what’s happening right now.

“I mean, yeah. I guess. Why does that matter right now, though?” Lance is so clearly trying to think through the connection of his weird knives question and why he seems so weird and anxious about the market ending.

“Are you guys still going to hang out with me when the market ends?”

In between this thought and the next, Lance is lunging forward and wrapping his arms around Keith so tight that he can barely breathe. He’s a couple inches taller than Keith, so his head fits perfectly in the crook of Lance’s neck. It’s so comforting that it has him reeling, especially when Lance’s hands rub up and down the expanse of his back.

“Dude, are you kidding me? You aren’t going anywhere.” It’s said into Keith’s hair, so it’s kind of muffled.

“We aren’t going anywhere either. You’re in our group chat. This is a solid and unbreakable market bond, Keith. We’re ride or die now.”

It settles something that was swirling inside Keith almost instantly, hearing it from Lance’s mouth.

Lance pulls back to look at him and reaches out to tuck a piece of Keith’s unruly hair back behind his ear. It makes his breath catch in a way that he’s almost immediately annoyed by.

“Seriously, don’t worry. We aren’t letting you go.” It’s so soft, the way Lance says it, that Keith has to surge back up onto his toes and hug him again. He lets Lance press him back into the brick wall and relishes the feeling of the soft hair at the back of Lance’s neck and the uneven press of their chests when they breathe.

Instead of acknowledging this comfort like a regular person, all Keith can think about is when he’s going to see Lance like this next.

“Do you, uh, want to come over later? Like…to my apartment?”

Lance pulls back and smiles bright, it’s teasing and stupid and Keith has to thunk his head back against the brick wall in the face of it.

“Aw Keith, you just want to get me alone, don't ya? Get me to your creepy murder house so you can kill me?”

Keith shoves past him with a reluctant smile and heads back to his stall, ignoring Lance’s shout of “See you later tonight so you can kill me in the privacy of your own home, bud!”

Lance, admittedly, is a little worried about what Keith’s apartment is going to look like. Mostly curious, but a little worried.

From what he knows about Keith, there’s a lot of plaid and leather and knives and not much else on the wardrobe front. Keith acts like nobody can see the literal knife sheath that he has strapped to his belt, but everybody knows it’s there.

He follows behind Keith’s rumbly truck after the market closes to a sweet little brick apartment building above a pharmacy on a not-so-busy street downtown.

Keith is out and heading towards the door before Lance even has a chance to park, so he’s frantically catching up as Keith unlocks the door, running into his back and looping his arms around his waist in a way he’s trying to convince himself is friendly but ultimately misses the mark just a bit.

He’s led up a few flights of stairs into a brightly lit and open living room and it’s safe to say he’s pleasantly surprised.

There’s a lot of exposed brick and a few big windows and a decent amount of slightly weird but homey touches. Keith has an entire row of plants lined up along the top of a jam-packed bookshelf, which Lance inherently knows is filled with a weird mix of sci-fi, romance, and Austen and the Bronte sisters.

Keith bumbles into the kitchen after dropping off his market supplies in a chair by his dining room table, mumbling something about tea and giving Lance free reign of his living room.

Another book shelf has a line of knick-knacks and tchotchkes, mostly small animal figurines and little bowls filled with miscellaneous items like mismatching buttons and single screws. On his coffee table rests a few good smelling candles and a red lighthouse miniature that flickers with warm light when Lance clicks the switch. It’s sweet and so unassumingly Keith that Lance almost can’t breathe around it.

He puts his hands on his hips and stands in the middle of the room, turning so he can get a good feel for it and also so he can catch all of the paintings and posters on the wall in one go.

There’s an artisanal lunar calendar that looks like it may have been made by one of the artists at the market on one wall and vintage Star Trek posters that make Lance smile.

“Is this a Pride and Prejudice movie poster?”

Keith pokes his head around the entryway of the kitchen and glowers at him.

“Fuck off, it’s the 2005 version and it holds a very special place in my heart. Don’t talk shit or Allura will know and kill you.”

Lance has to stifle a snicker and throws himself back on the couch, ghosting his fingers along a throw blanket that he can tell has been hand knit.

“Hey,” he calls out in the vague direction of the kitchen, “who made this blanket?”

With two mugs of tea in hand, Keith emerges from his kitchen and takes a seat next to Lance. He folds his legs beneath him and hands one mug off to Lance.

“Oh, my mom did? A long time ago. I think when she was pregnant with me.” Lance leans into him a little bit, because they’re alone and just because he can. The mug he has is a reproduction of a summery looking landscape from the National Gallery of Art. He wants to know everything about Keith ever.

A vaguely committal noise is all it takes for Keith to keep talking.

“She’s traveling abroad right now for a few months. Her and my dad were like, stupidly in love even though she didn’t always live with us and she spent a few years feeling like she had to be here for me until I convinced her that she just…needed to go somewhere else for a while. I think she’s in Germany right now?”

“That’s cool as hell.” Lance chances a light brush of his fingertips against the back of Keith’s hand and is unmeasurably pleased when Keith twists his palm around and twines their fingers together. He doesn’t even have to look at Keith to know that he’s flushed red as hell.

“Yeah. Uh, you wanna watch something? I have the old BBC Pride and Prejudice on Amazon Prime. I know your uncultured ass hasn’t seen it.”

“Probably because it’s fucking old, dude.”

Lance begrudgingly agrees simply because he knows that Keith will mouth along to the proposal scene. He’s rewarded pleasantly when Keith doesn’t let his hand go for the entirety of the first few episodes.

It’s a different night later in the week but Lance and Keith are in the same position on the same couch. This time, they get Indian take out and burrito themselves in blankets and drink probably just a little bit too much of the mulled wine they got at one of the stalls before they left the market.

The twilight settles over them like another blanket and no one bothers to turn on a light after the sun slips under the horizon.

They’re both leaned back against the couch, looking at each other and not really moving. It’s soft and comforting and sweet in a way Lance isn’t always sure he deserves.

The last day of the market is next week and he’s pleased to say that Keith only seems sad in the expected way, not the I’m Going to Lose All My Friends kind of way that he was earlier in the week. They already have plans to go to the Shirogane farm next weekend to pick and carve pumpkins and have Auntie Shirogane make them too much pie.

“My dad and I used to live in this apartment when I was younger.” They’re talking slow, sharing bittersweet things between them in the same way they keep passing the mulled wine bottle back and forth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We moved to a different house a few years before he died but he kept this apartment. I think because he knew I liked it so much.”

“It’s a good place. It feels like you.” Lance barely knows what that means, but he knows it’s true as soon as he says it.

“I forgot about it for a while but once I left school, I came back here. It feels like his, but in an echoey kind of way, where sometimes I see something that was so clearly belonged to him that I have to stop and breathe. But It feels like mine, too. So much of my shit is here, stuff that he wasn’t ever around to see but I’m pretty sure he’d like. It’s nice.” Keith’s voice is soft and quiet, like he’s just a few more minutes off from falling asleep.

The vulnerability of it makes Lance ache. He drags his fingers through Keith’s thick hair and leans over to press a quick kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m glad you’re here to see it.” Keith says it quietly, but Lance still hears.

“I am too. Thanks for letting me be here with you.”

They sit there like that for a while and time passes strangely, thick and syrupy and good.

Lance is just about to drift off to sleep when Keith sits up slow and tangles their fingers together.

“Come to bed with me.”

He goes.

They fall asleep curled around each other like parentheses in Keith’s bed with his handmade quilts and in the morning, Lance wakes up to the sweetest blush on Keith’s face.

It feels like the best thing in a long time.

As expected, they’re too loud and stupid and rowdy at the Shirogane farm the next weekend. They’re not even drunk yet and Lance is atop Hunk’s shoulders and commanding him around the pumpkin patch like he’s a horse. He doesn't know why Hunk puts up with it.

It makes Keith roll his eyes but he’s not going to pretend he doesn’t love it. Adam and Shiro keep pointing out the ugliest pumpkins and loudly declaring “that’s you” like middle schoolers.

Auntie Shirogane is sitting on the back porch watching them all wild out and it feels right in a way that pulses out of Keith’s chest.

Romelle, Pidge, and Allura are taking the quest of finding the perfect pumpkin way too seriously and he’s pretty sure Pidge is incessantly chattering about the mathematical way to find the perfect pumpkin that doesn’t seem like it’s a real thing.

They carve pumpkins on the back porch and get the slimy innards everywhere and Auntie Shirogane serves them blisteringly hot apple and pumpkin pie. Hunk forces everyone to watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown even though Halloween was last week.

It’s good, it’s so good and Keith gets to sit on the couch sardined in between all of these people that he loves and just radiate with how good it feels.

During what Keith now knows from Lance is "golden hour," he feels a light tap on his shoulder and a hand thread through his. He glances to the side and predictably, it’s Lance, a grin cut across his face that’s so bright Keith has to shut his eyes a little bit. He wonders if it will always be like this. He’d like to think that it will.

“Come with me, I have to show you something,” Lance all but whispers to him, excited and tugging him up from the couch. Everybody is doing their own thing, so no one really notices when they slip out of the living room onto the back porch.

“Come on, pick up the pace, Lil Knifey, let’s go.”

“Do not under any circumstances call me that ever again.”

He drags Keith bodily up the hill that bumps against the back of the pumpkin patch. He’s drenched in gold and it makes his hair shine coppery and his eyes look almost see through when he glances back to make sure that Keith is still attached to him.

“What are we even up here for?” Keith finally asks when they crest the hill. There’s a little red barn on the top of the hill that he casts a glance at before Lance is pulling them behind it, facing the setting sun.

“Look,” is all Lance says as he sweeps his hand over the vegetable fields that the Shirogane house is nested between. There’s a thick forest that surrounds the far ends of the fields and the setting sun makes the fall colors of the trees look like flames.

It’s beautiful in a very quotidian way and Keith belatedly thinks that he loves it, thinks that he may love Lance too, for bringing him up here.

Lance turns towards him and his eyes are shining and he’s smiling just as bright as the fiery trees, “I just wanted you to see this. It’s my favorite part of fall and I wanted you to know.” Keith is so fucking stupid for him.

He can only nod and reach out to tangle their fingers together, tugging Lance closer to him by the arm.

With a slight shuffle, Lance disengages from Keith’s clinging and wraps his arm around Keith’s shoulders, bringing him close. He presses a light kiss to Keith’s temple and all Keith wants to do is seal his mouth to Lance’s.

They stand there while the sun begins to drop below the horizon until Lance gets restless. He abruptly pulls away from Keith and turns his whole body toward him.

“Okay, well, really quick, before we go back inside, I’m going to do something I’ve wanted to do pretty much since I met you. If you’re not down for it, just let me know, that’s totally fine. Totally good. Cool cool cool.”

“Just, here we go.”

And he presses his fingers so delicately to the side of Keith’s jaw and kisses him so sweetly that Keith is pretty sure that this is a vivid day dream that he fucking made up.

But it’s absolutely not, because Lance pulls back and gets a good look at Keith’s face and smiles so brightly that Keith just has to…kiss it off of him. It’s what he deserves, after five months of looking at his dumb happy face all the fucking time.

Lance backs him up against the rough wood of the little red barn and Keith belated sends a little thanks to whatever deity hooked him the fuck up when Lance presses his entire body against Keith’s.

Soft little open-mouthed kisses are being dropped along the side of his neck and his jawline and the only thing Keith can see is the very edge of the sun finally dropping below the horizon and he makes a noise that he is absolutely going to be embarrassed about later.

Lance’s mouth is so fucking soft and his big warm palms feel like brands against Keith’s slightly chilled skin and this is absolutely the best thing to have ever happened.

Between kisses pressed all over his face, Lance breathes out, “I’m so gone over you,” and Keith is pretty sure that all of the light from that sunset and the fiery trees is welling up inside of him and threatening to spill over.

He loops an arm around Lance’s neck and pulls him down to whisper “Me fucking too,” against his lips.

Things go wildly downhill from there, or uphill depending on which way you look at it. In a truly stunning turn of events, Lance is the one to reluctantly suggest they go back inside because it’s well and truly dark now. Keith has to unwrap his legs from around Lance’s waist after he’d been hoisted up and pressed back into the barn again. He’s fairly sure he has bits of wood all over the back of his jacket and a pretty vivid hickey on the soft spot just below his ear, but the look on Lance’s face and the wild state of his curly brown hair leaves him mostly unconcerned.

There’s a pointed chill in the air when they finally amble inside. Keith is normally a bit apprehensive about the winter, but he has a good feeling that he’ll be very warm this season.

When they get back inside and pointedly ignore all of the jeers from their friends and the money changing hands, Auntie Shirogane corners him in the kitchen.

She’s a slight woman, tiny but intense. She’s been in Keith’s life just as long as Shiro has and he has a fierce love for her that he doesn’t think will ever go away.

But it’s tested pretty thoroughly when she looks at him and smirks, “Glad whatever that boy did stopped your scowling. Your face is too handsome, I don’t want you to get wrinkles.”

Keith lets Lance drive him home and lead him up into his own apartment. Lets him press Keith up against the doorjamb of his bedroom, because, apparently, they’ve both got a thing for that. Lets him spoon up behind him when they finally get into bed and lets him steal all the covers, but only for a little bit until he kicks Lance awake and they kiss gently in the two am darkness.

And when he wakes up the next morning to see Lance looking at him through sleepy eyes, he blushes and doesn’t even feel bad, because Lance descends on him and kisses all over his face like an idiot.

And it’s good. It’s so good.

Thank god for Keith’s Knife Hut. He’s got to tell Shiro that.

He’ll do it tomorrow, for sure.

#rise and grind y'all lets get this schmoney #klance #klance fics #farmers market au #keith #lance #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #I went hard for like three days and ended up with this #they fall in love over a market season #they work at market stalls across from each other #and make mad fucking googly eyes for weeks #then kiss kiss fall in love #it's just...rly fucken soft y'all

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ikonislife · 6 years

Text

Spellbound

-Hanbin x Female reader

-Hanbin’s birthday project (:

-Hogwarts au, friends to lovers, school life au.

-Spellbound masterlist

-A/n: Please, please read this with an open mind. I’ve never done anything like this before so I know it’s lacking. I know there are thousands of better Hogwarts au out there but I haven’t found too many for iKON so I thought what better time than to create something fun for Hanbin’s birthday. I tried to include other members in the stories because why not, I love them all (:

Chapter 2: Crush??

As October made its way to the ground of the castle, the world suddenly burst into flames of vibrant gold and shades of crimson. The air seemingly fresher and exhilaration filled the atmosphere. First years could barely contain their joy of experiencing Hogwarts’ famous Halloween feast having heard it from the reminiscing second years for weeks on end. Even amongst the faculty, a sense of blissful urgency spread about as they planned their course of action for the holiday season. Decorating an entire castle was no menial task and even with magic, it was still quite a serious job. Everyone seemed to be hopped up on pumpkin juice and sweet potato pie doused in enough whipped cream to construct a Michelin puffman, even Jiwon seemed to have forgot the torture Hanbin put him through, seemingly excited even for weekend practice.

Well, nearly everyone.

As the dismissal of their last class of the week had everyone erupting in cheer, excited for the freedom of weekend and the seasonal sweets Honeydukes had put out in commemoration of Halloween. The group of students buzzing by like bees on their way to sweet nectar leaving behind the Gryffindor’s quidditch team captain alone with his thought. He had shooed away Jiwon and Donghyuk after their third attempt to get him out of the classroom had failed, silently scribbling away a few notes he had missed as the thundering footsteps of the two boys grew distant. As the last sentence finally pen down, Hanbin stared back at the impressive three chalkboard worth of writing, intimidation mixing with hopelessness left him sighing heavily.

“So hard at work on a Friday afternoon?” He didn’t need to look to know just whom that voice had belonged to. Fingers gripping at his quill harshly, Hanbin bit his lips silent, unsure of what even to response when you settled in right beside him.

“Yea, I’m already behind as is… Missing notes isn’t going to help.” Hanbin scratched his head sheepishly, an awkward chuckle in his throat ripped away as you leaned in, eyes intently searching amongst the chicken scrawl for writing on the messy pages.

“Neither will incorrectly copied note.” Humming softly, your eyes were still glued to the mess on the paper as your hands moved to pull out your own book, flipping pages until the one dated 10/3 appeared. “See this part here, about derivative? You copied the formula wrong.”

His eyes couldn’t part way with the gentle smile on your lips, eyes sparkled in the stale sun of a cold autumn afternoon. The scent of apple lingered in the air and he was certain it wasn’t because of the reddening orchard Hagrid had kept so perfectly nor the freshly baked caramel apple pie luring the students back to Great Hall for dinner in a few hours’ time. He got so lost in the way your words danced about in the slight breeze, hair twirling in the air like ballerinas on stage.

“Hanbin, are you listening?”

“Oh, sorry. You were saying?” At the calling of his name, Hanbin startled himself back to reality, mortified that he had been so blatantly staring…Happy, albeit shock, that you knew his name. Luckily, it seemed as though you didn’t really mind or at the very least hadn’t realized that he had been searing every inch of your face with his soul, studying your dainty features because who know when would the next time such opportunity would present itself neatly wrapped in a bow. Even your giggle was like music to his ears, falling from your lips as you continued pointing out all his mistakes.

“No wonder my homework mark had been so dismal. Thanks again.” he muttered grimly after you had spent nearly half an hour fixing bits and pieces, filling in the blank he had left for a later date but never gotten around to.

“Do you want to take my notebook? I’d hate to see such little thing messing up your grade.” Before you could finish the sentence, your hands already pushed the object in question toward his way.

“A-Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from studying.” Hanbin half offered but his hands were telling another story, already gripping tight onto the notebook, thumb gliding gently over the little pink nametag on the cover.

“I’m fine, I can use the textbook. You can just give it back to me after the weekend.” With one last smile and backpack slung over your shoulders, you bid him goodbye but not before one last supportive pat on his arm with a soft “you can do it”, searing the words into his brain. He had let you walked away, yet before your feet could peddle through the threshold of the empty room, Hanbin called out. For the first time, he let your name danced at the tip of his tongue, loving the fact that you had turned around with a smile already on your lips.

“I- Can I walk you back? Seeing how I kept you here late and all…” Half way through the sentence, Hanbin could feel all his blood draining from his body as he stared down at his own feet kicking at the floor scuffed with centuries of students passing through.

“Oh you don’t have to, Gryffindor dorm isn’t exactly close to Slytherin. Plus, it was no trouble at all!” Your cheerful reply like a knife to his heart. Hanbin wanted to keep on insisting, that he must walk you back to your dorm because how else could he work up enough courage to finally ask you to study with him. Turmoil within his heart but alas, his courage this very moment would be shameful for a Gryffindor, abandoning the thought of raising that same question a second time.

“O-Oh. Okay. Well I’ll see you around. Thanks again.” So he bit his lips, not wanting to cross boundary when you had so graciously offered him a way out of his personal hell but there was no stopping the disappointment in his voice. However, it seemed as though lady luck had taken a liking to the poor captain because just as he had bent down out of sight to pick up his bag, your voice called for him once more.

“We can walk together till the hallway, I wouldn’t mind that. It’s a long way down.”

Hanbin needed nothing else to light fire under his step as he near raced toward the exit, books shoved hastily into his bag… Except for your notebook, that he had very delicately slid in between the old fabric, taking the utmost care. As the both of you taking the long winding staircase one step at a time, letting the comforting silent basked in the soft breeze reaching its frosty fingers through the many windows of the tower. For a moment he had forgotten the companionship offered by the girl he had so long watched and admired from afar, nearly hopping two steps at once.

“Are you always this excited to run down these endless flights of steps?” Your voice cut into his reverie of warm pumpkin soup and shepherd pie, a night in spend under the cover and maybe he would finally have enough peace and quiet to finish that latest episode of Attack on Titans.

“I’m sorry. I forgot for a second, thought I was alone.” Shuffling awkwardly on the step he had just landed on, Hanbin gave an apologetic smile, watching as you imitated the little hop he had taken, closing in the distant. He found himself biting his lips, words of adoration threatening to spill.

“No worry. I’m just not as athletic as a quidditch captain, you know. Take me awhile to conquer the trek up here.”

“Well, I don’t think many people like this class very much. I still don’t understand why we have classes at the highest floor.” Glancing back up toward the long-winded way you both have made, Hanbin shook his head in fake disappointment, never before had he been so glad of the strenuous walk and just how long it gave him to be with you. “As if calculus isn’t hard enough.”

“I think it’s some sort of messed up, forced physical education. It’s not like we have P.E. in here and apparition is a thing.” Landing right beside the boy, you threw your hands up in the air as if a gymnast landing her tumble, elicited a soft giggle from Hanbin. If the first half of your little walk had been like a love story unfolding in the bright sun of summer, hand in hand as you both run through the salty air of the beach, laughter in place of words because what else is there to do when the fun of it all contained within three short months. Then the second half, a spring romance, there was a gentleness in the way his attention solely on you as you went on, overcomplicating an answer to a simple question simply because you were nervous. It was delicate, walls established boundaries around your hearts yet with each question answered, excitement of learning the likes and dislikes of the other unlock yet another layer. Neither of you had gotten a clue as to what this air of contentment had been, but there was no denying that it was something wonderful, something you’d like the experience again. But like all good things in the world, what started must end and this was the end of the road for your little walk. As the distant run low, there was an urgency in Hanbin’s forgetful heart to speed up his words but found himself unable to do so, loving the soft pace of your conversation. And so he lingered, shuffling from foot to foot as you wrapped up your little story about your hometown, the most important question of all still had yet to see the light of day.

“Sorry I talked so much. It’s not often I get to talk about my life outside of Hogwarts. There isn’t exactly too many of me in Slytherin.” The bit of grimace on your face struck a chord in his soul, sadden with the sudden realization that he hadn’t seen you socialize much beside the small group always surrounding you.

“Not at all. I think it’s cool, chat about home life.” You nodded, bit sad the walk had been much shorter than memory served, by the little pout on his lips, you suspected Hanbin felt the same.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” First to break the silent, as much as you’d love to stand here all night with chatting about donuts and going to the movies, Hanbin would probably prefer to spend his precious time elsewhere… With other people. He nodded back, eyes dashing about nervously as if words threatening to spill, so close on the tip of his tongue but perhaps it was best not to.

“Hey, can I have your number?” Just as you were about to turn on your heels, something built inside his heart that finally lit the fire of courage. “For homework help… And, maybe if you know, you need to talk to someone about home.” Correcting himself, a small smile dashed across his lips before hope extinguished itself in face of your silent. “I’m sorry if I was too forthcoming.”

“Oh, not at all. Of course. I supposed it’d be easier too, if you do finish with my note early, I don’t have to chase you about the school to get it back.”

Suddenly it felt as if you were basking in the warmth of sunrise, the smile breaking over Hanbin’s lips could only be liken to the golden yolk of a new day. You watched as he dug through the mess of his bag before timidly pushing a very battered phone your way.

“Uhm, I dropped it couple practices ago…” Catching your lingering eyes on the webs of crack atop his phone, he explained, bit of embarrassment toying with his smile. “Forgot to take it out of my pocket. Jiwon had been laughing at me for days now, such a rookie mistake.”

“Have you tried reparo? We learned that… First year?” Fingers swiftly typing in your number, hanbin watched with the utmost focus, completely taken back by the suddenness of your question. He mumbled in confusion, doing his best to recall if reparo was taught first year or second before light of revelation broke over the handsome features. Once more the boy before you chuckled in embarrassment, kittenish grin met the small glances you stole in between each digit. Soon that grin turned into confusion, you held out your empty hand in front of him, gesturing as if you were to give the phone back yet it was still so tightly gripped in your other hand, loosely swinging by your side.

“Hand please!” Hanbin got no clue what you got plan but his heart eager, following your every word as if they’re spellbound, commanding him to obey. Right hand balling into a fist, Hanbin was so nervous that a shiver was rummaging through the svelte digits, he shook his hand slightly before placing his left, palm up over your small one. Delicate as ever, you placed the phone back where it belonged, wand at the ready.

“reparo.” The spell fell off your lips with a small wave of the dainty wand, in a flash, the web of cracks down to the tiniest scratch mended itself in a golden light, the surface of his phone once more pristine as if it had never seen a day of usage. His eyes widen in amazement, childlike wonder reaching through his lips in a soft smile as if never before had he witnessed such magic.

“Wow” he whispered, fingers turning and flipping the phone, studying it as if one of those obscure ancient objects he had seen so often in history class.

“Good as new.” You tugged at your heavy bag, a knowing smile on your lips, bit of pride swelling in your chest when he stared back at you, the light in his eyes full of admiration.

Hanbin really wanted to hug you, like really, really wanted to hug you, so much so that he had begun leaning forward, hands reaching out toward you before the realization that he had in fact knew you for about 25 minutes stopping him dead in his track. You were swaying a bit, robe swinging back and forth as you watched in silent, studying his expression, not really wanting to leave but what other reason could you quote as a reason to stay.

“Yah! Y/L/N Y/N! You coming with me to dinner or what?” Rushing in from the cold grasp of an Autumn evening, Junhoe pulling his robe close, vexation taut on his furrowing brows. And although he was nowhere near the staircase where Hanbin and you had been huddling together for who know how long now, you could see so clearly a tint of cheekiness shining bright in his eyes despite not wanting to break the persona of a true Slytherin royalty in front of the Gryffidor’s prince. You surmised a guess that sleep won’t be what on your mind tonight, not when Koo Junhoe had seen you so chummy with Kim Hanbin.

“Goodness, it’s already this late?” You stared pass the boy with a scowl on his lips, none to please with the sudden intrusion of your best friend. The sky now inky, cloud had surrounded the bright moon above, the breeze seemingly much much colder by the look of Junhoe who was even paler than usual. Yet you couldn’t feel the frigidity of the wind, not when there was still a comforting warmth emanating from the boy donning gold and crimson crest. “I’m sorry, I keep making you late. I’m sure you got important plans.”

“Oh no, no plan. I’m glad to be here with you.” That shy grin had returned to those soft plump lips. You whispered a small goodbye to which he awkwardly waved in return, still thanking you endlessly.

Hanbin stood there, watching as you jogged your way to the tall boy rushing you about with the ridiculous flapping of his large hands. It’d be a lie if Hanbin said that a bit of joy didn’t surged in his heart when you landed your right elbow into Junhoe’s side sending the tall man nearly tumbling to the stone floor. Just before you turned the corner and out of his sight, you stole one last glance back at the boy still dreamily smiling your way, something was definitely stirring in his heart.

When the soft nagging of your voice at a cackling Junhoe could no longer reach his ears, Hanbin finally spun on his feet and traveled down the empty darkening hallway. His newly repaired phone still clutching so tightly in his hand and that small smile still very much on his lips. He was so lost in the memory of recent event, doing his best to commit every details the little time you spent together to heart. You were just as gentle and bright as he had thought yet he could tell there was another side to you, a cheekier side that every now and then would slip up and surface under a well disguised a tease. After all, he had heard so many times in passing by, you were one degree away from burning Junhoe with a calm remark sending the boy into a huffing fit. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of first time and the unclear boundaries it came with it that had suppressed your true self, for he too hid a part of himself fearing you’d find it weird. He suspected that in time, he’d be able to be friend with the you that wasn’t scare to put Junhoe in his place and countless time leaving everybody in your group crying with laughter. For now, he’d have to stick with talking about calculus and of the muggle life, patiently await the day he too could crack a rib laughing to your joke.

“Oh look who finally decided to join us.” Donghyuk cheered loudly the second Hanbin stepped foot into the empty common room, Yunhyeong tottering over from the far corner holding something in his hands.

“Ah, lover boy’s back!” Jiwon emerged from the door to their dorm, sticking his head over the railing of the balcony.

“What are you doing canoodling with the enemy there, you brat.” Hanbin shot Jiwon a few daggers for glare before turning his attention to the Ravenclaw boys. “Hey, Yunhyeong!”

“Jerk.” Donghyuk mumbled darkly, hand reaching for the cupcakes Yunhyeong carried over.

Bag thrown onto the floor, Hanbin slumped into one of the red and gold stripes armchair right beside the crackling fire, shoes kicked off clumsily onto the floor.

“I thought you were all going to Hogsmeade, what happened?” Offering a quick thanks to the cupcake Yunhyeong was shoving his way, Hanbin slid further into the soft embrace of his seat.

“We were, then we got lazy.” Jiwon finally reached the group of boys toasting themselves in the redden glow of the warm fireplace, slapping Hanbin on the back of his head. For as long as he could remember, Jiwon had always used slap in place of a normal wave hello. At first Hanbin was of course pissed, rightfully so when the boy kept bulking up, muscles grown and the slaps weren’t getting softer. But now, he had just accepted that it was Jiwon’s own way of saying that Hanbin holds a special place in his heart.

“Yea, plus Yunhyeong made cupcakes.”

Hanbin hummed silently in acknowledgement, eyes glued to the flaring flames before letting himself immersed in the rare peaceful moment while surrounded by his rowdy friends. Should he text you tonight? His thought of the first message to you stirred up all the things you had told him about your home life, how you have a little dog named Ollie that you endearingly referred to as Ollie-bum because his butt was apparently perfect. What was it you had said about music? Why didn’t he paid closer attention because now he was wrecking his brain over anything at all to say to you. A grumble left his lips as he vexingly tugged at his hair, unbeknownst to him, the boys had been paying attention very closely with a grin on their lips.

“So, lover boy!” Jiwon was first to break the silent, a smirk on his lips at the little jump hanbin did in shock.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Shoving the last piece of cupcake in his mouth, he gestured for Yunhyeong to give another cupcake his way.

“Oh come on, we’re not daft. We saw the princess lingering when we left. That’s why you stayed behind, isn’t it? Talk to her?” Jiwon teased and normally Hanbin would already drop kick the boy but this moment, he was still soaring in cloud nine, still too happy from the aftereffect you had on him to care.

“Yea, so. What’s to it?” He replied curtly but there was no stopping the little smile already warming through his lips.

“What’s to it? Well did you get her number or not? Or all that fussing by the staircase was for nothing.” Donghyuk chimed in, devouring probably his 5th cupcake.

“You spied on me?”

“No, no. Not spy, happened to stumble upon is more like it.”

“Fuck you all.” Finally fed up with vultures feeding upon his sad excuse of a love life, Hanbin got up, book bag once more slung over his shoulder as he marched toward the dorm room. “If you guys decided to stop being lonely single dicks, I’ll be in my bed watching Attack on Titans.” Just before he could disappear from the rowdy boys, Hanbin leaned over the railing overlooking the grand common groom festive in levitating jack o’ lanterns, gleaming tinsel of purple and orange draping the length of the room and over bookcases. “I was thinking, if I ever get close enough to meet her friends, maybe I can finally introduce you to Junhoe, Donghyuk. But now…” with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, Hanbin turned on his heel and headed straight to his bed ignoring the groan in protest of his sunshine friend.

Somewhere across the castle, deep beneath the dark glow of Black Lake, you too were dealing with your very own pests. Junhoe had been relentless, even got Lisa and Chanwoo to join in with the annoyance he called banter.

“Come on, Y/n. You were all whispering and intimate with Kim Hanbin for like hours.” His large body sprawled across your bed, head hanging off the side slowly going red from all the blood rushing to it.

“There’s nothing to tell. He asked me about homework! And it was five minutes you butt!” Taking the flailing arms begging for help, you pulled Junhoe up with a loud grunt before slumping right beside the dizzy boy.

“That’s bullshit. You tell me all that time you spent alone in class, the whole walk down stair and according to Junhoe,” Lisa gestured to the boy who was regretting his decision to feel how a bat would, rubbing at his head furiously. “You were standing there all giddy with him for ages and nothing happened during all those minutes alone.”

“I don’t know what to tell you guys, he’s hopeless at math. And it was five minutes damnit!”

“Fine then, what about the phone. You were holding his phone.” Junhoe chimed in again, this time laying starfish on the floor making an invisible snow angel on your rug.

“He asked for my number…” A cheer erupted throughout the small room, “for homework purposes.” Lisa chucked her stuffed toy at your correction while Junhoe who had propelled himself off the floor in excitement splatted once more onto the ground. Although Chanwoo didn’t seemed all the phase by your answer, a strange look on his features.

“Well it’s not strange for boys to say shit like that. It could just all be an excuse to be alone with you.” That boy, as clever as ever. He was the first to have taken notice of the lingering stare and soft smile you had whenever the prince of quidditch sauntered by. He said nothing, waiting patiently until the day he caught you doodling a little character bearing striking resemblance to the Gryffindor captain. Still, Chanwoo would’ve let it go waiting for a better opportunity. Yet as he stood there, deciding whether or not to wake you from your day dream, you had absentmindedly jotted down Hanbin with little hearts and flowers and tiny bees buzzing about. No way in hell he’d let this good of a chance go, not after you had grilled him on the little crush he had on a certain Ravenclaw 7th year.

“That’s so true. Hey, have you met any of his friends yet?” Junhoe suddenly taken an interest, eyes ogling at the plate of meat pie Chanwoo had dragged up, realizing just now he hadn’t gotten dinner. Too much excitement and too good of an opportunity to pass up, he and the rest of the gang had opted for interrogating you rather than food.

“You mean Donghyuk? No, I haven’t. I’ve known him for 3 seconds and spoken to him a grand total of one and a half sentence. What make you think I know his friend?” your brows furrowed incredulously at the preposterous question. Yet before any of them could pipe up in protest, your phone chimed loudly like an omen to the vultures eating away at your heart.

“It’s him isn’t it. Tell me it’s him.” Lisa scrambling to her feet, propelling herself onto your bed faster than you’ve ever seen her go, not even during the house quidditch match. You slapped the hand buzzing by like flies to honey, wanting so badly to ignore the second chime reminding you of the text awaiting just to spite the ravenous raccoons staring at you so intently, awaiting for any trash to be thrown their way, serve them right for being so nosy. Yet the chance that the text could be from Hanbin was much greater than any sense of personal justice against your friends, and so you reluctantly turned your attention to the phone.

“What did it say??” Chanwoo was now hopping up and down in Lisa’s bed as she eyed him carefully, one second away from pulling out her own phone to film him just in case the bed cave under the weight of the elated boy.

“Calm down. He just said hi, let me know it’s his number.” In unison, they all heaved a disappointing groan, Junhoe ever so dramatic, slapping his own hand onto his forehead and once more letting his body thudded heavily onto the rug.

“Out of all the things he could’ve said,” Lisa murmuring, still dissatisfied with what in her opinion, an utterly lame and bullshit opening. “He said, ‘Hi, it’s Hanbin.’ Boy didn’t even try, I tell you.”

“You don’t know that.” Chanwoo defended, “He could’ve typed and deleted so many lines before going with that one.” He shot you a wink, knowing full well you had nearly blurted out the same yourself but chose to save you the pain of being tease… Or he was just getting tired of watching you being demolish ever since the other two had found out about your little crush on a certain quidditch captain.

It was by no one’s fault that Lisa happened upon the heartfelt conversation meant only for Chanwoo’s ears, happy misfortune you had called it. Happy because no longer did you have to fear the glances you stole would give away the secret of your heart, no longer did Chanwoo had to walk around carrying a lie, your lie. The biggest reason of all for the deceit was because you feared what they’d say once you’ve confessed your heart’s desire. You’ve been wrecking yourself over how to break the news of your treasonous liking for the enemy when Lisa was quidditch captain of Slytherin and Junhoe, he might as well change his last name to Slytherin. There’s no one more prideful to wave the green and silver flag than he. How would they take the news when you not only taken a liking to a Gryffindor, the lucky person in question was their star captain, a true Gryffindor royalty.

“So, Kim Hanbin, huh?” He mused softly and you felt your blood ran cold, body stiffen under the large hand patting at your shoulder. You knew it was far too late but there was no helping the rush in your fingers to flip over the pages of your notebook, ridding of any evident.

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If you hadn’t been caught red-handed, the stuttering would surely give away your guilty conscience. You gave him a weak smile, eyes dashing about for any sign of other life forms lingering about the empty library corner.

“It’s okay, Y/n. You don’t have to lie to me. I suspected for some time now, just waiting on you to finally fess up really.” Large body crashing onto the chair beside yourself, Chanwoo all but laid his whole body atop the messy tabletop, books strewn haphazardly, a clear sign exams were on the horizon.

“Oh” You sighed in relief, awkward chuckle to cover the fact that your cheeks nearly burst into steam at the realization that someone else was now aware of your crush on Hanbin.

“Did you think I was gonna disown you or something?” He murmured softly, fingers flipping back to the little doodle that had gave away your heart, a soft chuckle graced his lips at the little bees buzzing about the page, clearly entertained by their movements. “This is so cute.”

“Honestly? Yea. I mean you and Junhoe are both Slytherin as Slytherin get. I bet your blood is green.”

“Y/n, we’re proud but we’re not old school. You of all people should know that.” Sometimes it amazed you how gentle and thoughtful Chanwoo could be, so different from the rambunctious prankster everyone thought of when his name is said. He had always been a good person, understanding and not a bone of mean in his body, yet moment like these and the profound philosophies of life he carried, made you wonder if you’ll every truly know all of him.

“I know, I guess I’m just scare to lose you lot. Especially not over a stupid little crush.” He pulled you in a hug and even though you were no stranger to how touchy this boy could be, this was different, far cry from the clingy ones on cold nights while all four of you crowd the small space of your room to watch a movie.

“I think I can speak for Junhoe and Lisa too on this matter, we’re gonna be here whether you like it or not. Don’t think something this small could divide us.” Your heart was soaring amongst the stars and a comforting silent was beginning to wash over the small corner, warmly lit by the glowing fire so kindly share its wealth with the cold room. Once more your body froze in fear at the sudden intrusion of a sweet voice and by the way Chanwoo’s skin had lost all the golden goodness left over from a summer well spent, that voice was all too real.

“Yes, Lisa agreed!” She tackled you in a giant hug, soft kisses pressing against your hair and the honey drawn laughter crisp against the slight chill of night creeping up on the library. “Little girl, I could never hate you, even if you did decided to like my arch nemesis.”

“Just because you’re like 5 feet taller than me, that don’t mean you can call me little girl, you butt.” You griped in protest but happiness plastered on the big grin you got going, appreciative that you had found friends who were willing to be there for you no matter what.

“Yea, yea…” Body dropping across the old wooden table, Lisa got that smirk on her lips that told you she was up to no good. “Besides, if you hang around him enough, maybe I could get insider info on his game plan.”

“Lisa!” You exclaimed perhaps a bit too loud by the shushing from the distant. “Do you really want to win like that?”

“I’m just kidding. But his friends are pretty damn cute tho…” She stared off into space with a dreamy glint to her eyes, no doubt letting her mind wander to the rare occasion she got to interact with the Gryffindor boys.

“You sure that ain’t why you’ve been losing? Too busy staring at the Gryffindor’s beater to protect your own goal?” A loud crash from the giant Ingredients Encyclopedia flying across the way, knocking Chanwoo right off his chair drawn much ire from the librarian. Laughter filled the empty room as the three of you rushed off before the wrath of the keeper of books could be dealt. It was weeks before you had worked up the courage to confide your little crush to Junhoe, and as dramatic as his flailing about had been about you sleeping with the enemy instead of one of his many dashing fellow housemates, Junhoe was quite honestly just relief it hadn’t been Donghyuk you had a crush on.

Before dream could steal another second away from reality, your phone chimed once again leaving everyone in bated breaths awaiting the message to be read aloud.

“What did he say now?” Junhoe asked, far more excited than you had been.

“He thought he got the wrong number, since I didn’t reply.”

“Then reply, quickly so we can go eat. I’m hungry!” he sassed back.

“GUYS!” A sudden shriek ripped from your throat left the trio staring in shock, most at awe that such a sound could come from you and had you been out of sight, they would’ve thought you had just seen Voldemort coming back to life.

“What in the heaven, Y/n? What was that for?” Junhoe wanted to slap you so hard for nearly puncturing his eardrum with your blood curdling scream.

“He, Kim Hanbin, just asked if we wanted to join him and his friends for dinner.” there was a touch of panic in your voice as you delivered the message to the crowd at attention. It was now Junhoe’s turn to let out a howl at the thought of being within reach of the renowned Ravenclaw’s sunshine, on the brink of passing out from the speed at which his heart was pounding.

“Will you two stop it?” Chanwoo muttered in a dignified manner, bit of disgust shooting out of his glaring eyes as he sauntered over to hoist Lisa to her feet. “If you two are going to have a meltdown session, please do it in the confinement of our dorm. I can’t have Slytherin’s good name be muddle by your unnecessary fangirl-ing.”

“Yunhyeong is coming, so is Jiwon and Donghyuk.” Chanwoo’s face pale as snow the moment you had announced the name of a certain 7th year Ravenclaw, nose flaring when you shot back at him a smug grin.

“Ahem, well, I guess one dinner won’t hurt anyone.” You shook your head in disbelief at his blatant change in tone.

Bickering put aside, the four of you begin the trip down toward the amazing scent of roast beef and pumpkin pie mingling in the crisp cold air of an Autumn night, letting your noses lead the way. The moon shining brilliantly through the endless rows of windows, reaching its silvery wisps to caress the stone path of the hall bright still with the chatter of students lingering after dinner. You chatted in excitement partly because in a few minutes, you’ll get to see Hanbin once more but also because through all this, you were reminded of just how blessed you were to have the friends like these.

Somewhere in the depth of his room, Hanbin sprung up from his bed like new grass in spring, elated to bask in the sunlight after a long winter spending time with its head in the ground. He leapt to his feet in a flash and out the door he went, phone clutching tight still in his hand. Once more he stuck his head over the railing, staring down at the boys still very much enjoying the warmth of the crackling fireplace, sharing a funny story or two over the now nearing disappearing cupcake.

“Hey, dorks.” He called out, finding himself dodging a barrage of cupcake wrappers flinging themselves his way like a tiny fleet of fighter jets. He had forgotten just how well versed Jiwon was with his incantations, that boy will seriously give Hanbin whiplash one of these day flip-flopping between the most adorable idiot to a genius in a second.

“What do you want, lover boy?”

“I’m gonna head down to dinner... Wanna come?”

“Why, do you need us to hold your hand and spoon-feed you?” Jiwon bit out curtly, “Fess up, dork. What’s the real reason for your sudden hunger? What happened to having a date night with your right hand?” A thundering roar of laughter filled dispelling the quietness of the empty common room, Donghyuk landed several powerful slaps onto Jiwon’s back leaving him in deep regret of having made the joke in the first place. Awful laughter Donghyuk got, falling and flailing about as if someone had cursed him with Rictusempra, his large hand dealing out slaps and punches to whomever unlucky enough to be within a 5 feet radius.

“God, I said I was gonna watch anime, you shit.” Disgust falling from his lips in a sneer. “And what’s wrong with me changing my mind?”

“Just admit the real reason, Hanbin.” Donghyuk whispered breathlessly, index wiping away a few tears lingering on his lashes, wheezing still from laughing too hard.

“Fine, I might’ve told Y/n we were coming to dinner, all of us, and that she can join us.” He murmured softly under his breath in defeat, as if fearing the wall could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“And why did you do that?” Jiwon mused matter of factly, clearly very amused at the suffering of his dear best friend. Despite the long drawn sentence and his sing-song voice, his question was met with silent. Hanbin far too stubborn to let his friend get under his skin like this, hell, he didn’t even know if there was any reason for them to want to be under his skin.

“Come on, mate. The faster you admit it, the sooner this will be all over with. We’re just having a bit of a laugh, didn’t mean any harm.” Yunhyeong smoothed things over, coaxing a faint grin onto Hanbin’s lips.

“Well I would love to but I don’t even know...” It was true, Hanbin wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to lied about coming to dinner when clearly, he had no plan to leave his bed for the rest of the night, not even to shower.

“Know?” The three boys teetering at the edge of their seats, watching the captain sauntering down the steps with a daze look in his eyes.

“Know what this is.” Body crashing onto the slightly worn couch, Hanbin heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know why I told her we were going to dinner.”

“Well, do you like spending time with her? Looked like you had fun earlier even if you claimed it was just homework.” Sneaking the last cupcake into his mouth, Jiwon muffled out a question that though very simple, it was anything but.

“It was just homework! and yea, I suppose. Felt nice talking to her.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I guess, yea. Been spotting her for ages now in the hall, even before we had the same class.” A dreamy answer left Hanbin dancing in the memories of the past, recalling every details about you that seemed to draw him in like moth to fire. “Anyways, what’s with the 21 questions?”

“Just play along. Now, do you get all nervous and...” Donghyuk droned out, staring off into space as if the answer he was looking for written in the stars, fingers snapping.

“Fluster.” Yunhyeong chimed in.

“Yes, fluster, when she smile or you know, does anything in general?”

“Yea?” The oblivious boy gave a hesitant answer, body folding forward in anticipation and honestly, a bit worry. “What does that mean?”

“Boy, you’ve got to be the stupidest person I’ve ever met... And I’ve met me!” Jiwon teased with a bit of a chuckle, quite proud though he wasn’t sure why. “I feel sorry for Y/n.” He added, to which Yunhyeong had agree with a series of quick nods, muttering something that sounded awful lot like “poor girl.”

Hanbin was still very much clueless as to why his three friends suddenly stared back at him bit in awe and bit concern, like when he had told his mom he given the little girl next door the money she had given him for an ice lolly because “but she was so nice to me”. Donghyuk was shaking his head in disbelief and Yunhyeong kept on about how unfortunate everything was for you. Jiwon, well he got this look to his face that was somewhere in between the time Hanbin had told him he had made the quidditch team and throwing up.

“What is going on, why am I stupid.” The conversation had only piled up frustration over everything else that he got going on, no where close to a solution.

“That’s why you’re stupid, you don’t even know why you’re stupid.” Jiwon sighed with a slap to his forehead, bit too hard by the little scowl on his lips and the his sudden need to sprawl onto the old couch.

“Quit it man, I’m just confuse now.”Slumping forward, Hanbin got his best thinking cap on, elbows on his knees as he called upon the wisdom of the past through the flaring flames of the fire.

“What Jiwon here was tryna say is, you’re in love.” As the oldest idiot of the bunch, Yunhyeong felt a sense of responsibility, be the big brother and the clear headed one when the other three would just rather sit and laugh at one another. He leaned forward with a pat to Hanbin’s back, nearly sending him tumbling onto the floor startled.

“I’m what?” Wide eyes and mouth hanging to the floor, Hanbin stammered in complete and utter shock at the big L-word. How could he be? Was it even possible for someone to be in love and not aware of it, not even the tiniest bit?

“In love, well at least have a very big crush on little Y/n.”

“I do?” Baffled, surprised, perplexed, befuddled ... there wasn’t enough words to describe the tone that the question had just tumbled out from his lips.

“Seems like it to me.”

“Is that bad? Am I like not good enough for her?” He questioned once more, heart beating erratic.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well you said you feel bad for her and Yunhyeong here had been on for ages about how unfortunate it is for her.”

“It’s not bad that you fancy her. It’s bad because you yourself didn’t even realize it. You could’ve gone on for days flirting and confuse the poor girl. Mix signal is dangerous you know, could’ve been leading her on for ages without even knowing.”

Hanbin nodded, that part made perfect sense, he supposed, yet his heart was still so confused at everything else. Could it really have been that he had been crushing on you this whole time. Hanbin surmised that if so, his behaviors certainly the past few months would’ve made perfect sense. How he can always spot you in a crowd, recognize that little tune no matter where. Made perfect sense too as to why there was a bit of souring in his heart (called it heartburn this entire time) whenever another boy so fondly speak of you. But again, how could he have developed a huge crush on you without even having spoken a word.

These questions clouded his mind still as Jiwon quite literally dragged him by hand out the door, hunger now settled into their stomachs once the topic of their friend’s love life was addressed. Their chatter excited and footfall loud yet it fallen deaf on Hanbin as he floated along the hallway, reminiscent that of one of the many spirits dwelling the castle... Just bit more absentmindedly than most. He mumbled and muttered nonsense the entire way, worrying much of the painting, fearing that he had gotten struck with a spell during dueling or worse, possessed. Yet as the delicate aroma of roast beef dinner and various sweets tickled their noses, Hanbin was shaken out of his reverie not by the bright light of the Great Hall illuminating the darken path, but rather, your laughter. He searched and searched and found no word to describe how perfect your little giggle had been. Crisp? Delightful? Sweet? Perhaps all of the aforementioned? Hanbin wasn’t sure any longer, an unbearable sense of urgency flooded his chest as your chatter grew loud. He joined the rest of the boy in rushing about the last few meters toward the entrance but not by the same reason, not because he was hungry.

His heart drummed to its own beat as his eyes met yours, robe and uniform long gone. In their places were plain ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, and perhaps the most wonderful, giant red knitted cardigan that seemingly complimented your glow so adorably. He felt his heart stopped and time frozen, never before had he seen you in casual clothes and Hanbin have got no clue how to react. The world melted away and his vision blurred, unable to comprehend anything that very instant, and really, how could he when you had effortlessly transformed into the cutest autumn fairy waiting for his arrival.

“I do...” Hanbin whispered gently to himself, the questions no longer badgering at his heart as he stepped confidently toward the spot you had been patting softly. He wasn’t sure still if anything happened in the last 10 minutes had made a lick of sense but no longer did he care, though one thing was certain, everything was right in the world when you’re by his side.

-Spellbound masterlist

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