#it was a white guy with a beard and long hair okay it coulda been one of like a hundred dudes

[dykecassidy]

anyway that match i posted like 'haha good goofs' uhhh ends with chuck getting attacked by i dont know who and yuta rushes out to fight them off and defensively grabs chuck to him and uhhhhhh wasnt expecting the hee hee arte comedee match to make my feelings hurt

[boshaw-manor]

Atlanta

More John and Harlow drabble because I love them. Sorry about it.

Seed ranch was boring as hell. There was nothing to do and John was always busy with the Project. Harlow would hazard to stay she hated it sometimes when she snuck off to visit him for a few days but she couldn’t resist. There was something about John Seed that had a real hold over her.

After spending a good ten minutes sliding across the polished dining room floor in her navy woollen socks, Harlow wandered out into the living room. Yawning, she rubbed her tired eyes as the morning sun glittered through the window. Bored. Oh so very bored. She should’ve brought her old Gameboy to play Pokemon or something. Sliding to the floor behind the couch, she rolled her ankles around before letting out a long sigh. The sound of gunshots in the distance outside would’ve made any normal person bolt but to her it was just background noise now. The same as the birds in the trees, the whir of a plane’s engine or the bark of a dog. Smirking to herself, Harlow pressed her fingers together to form a gun.

‘They’ve got me surrounded captain. I might not make it out alive, but it’s a sacrifice I gotta make.’ Whispering into a pretend com, she leapt to her feet and shot the fake gun at imaginary enemies. ‘Pew, pew, pew!’ Harlow combat rolled across the floor and took cover behind the taxidermy wolf by the stairs. ‘You’ll never take me alive!’ She howled, vaulting over it and pretending to spray bullets

‘What are you doing?’ John’s cutting tone made her jump and she spun around, pressing her mirrored index fingers to the skin of his slightly exposed chest.

‘I’ve found him sir, the ring leader! I’ve got a point-blank shot!’ The Deputy grinned at the Baptist in hopes he’d play along but knew it wasn’t meant to be the moment he rolled his eyes.

‘If you’re bored come and help me clean out the office.’ John’s hands wrapped around her ‘gun’ and lowered it, tilting his head to the shut door across the room. ‘You’d be actually making yourself useful for once.’

‘Fine. Mission aborted.’ She grumbled, unclasping her hands and taking the liberty of skidding across the floor once more before opening the office door. Piles of paperwork littered the desk and boxes upon boxes of crap towered up to the ceiling. ‘You’re messy.’ Harlow stated, reaching for the first box on top of the highest pile.

‘I am not. I’ve just been neglecting my duties somewhat to spend time with you.’ He ran a hand through his distressed hair, pulling loose unkempt locks back from his forehead, before busying himself with a filing cabinet in the corner.

‘You coulda fooled me.’ She muttered, placing the cardboard box on the ground and rifling through it. It was all old contracts and legal stuff signed off with John’s dramatic signature. Shoving that hunk of junk out of the door, she motioned to take another one down. Teetering on the tips of her toes, Harlow’s fingers grazed the top of the box as she tried to reach it. ‘Almost... there...’

‘Wait-‘ John tried to stop her but it was too late. The tower began to waver, shifting its weight and toppling down on top of her. Books and papers buried her body as she struggled to free herself from the fragile binding now pinning her to the ground. Emerging, her head popped out first and a hand soon followed to rub at her temple.

‘You have a lot of shit.’ Harlow groaned, releasing her other arm to pick up a leather bound black book and wave it in the air. John frowned at the mess she’d made, slamming the cabinet draw shut and stalking over. Taking the black book into both her hands, Harlow smoothed a palm over the cover. A big white sticker had started to peel at the corners in the centre, reading ATLANTA in block capitals. Flipping it open, her curiosity was piqued at the sight of dozens of photographs.

‘Huh. Haven’t seen that in a while.’ John’s frown dissipated into an intrigued smirk, looping his arms under Harlow’s armpits and pulling her from the wreckage. Her attention remained focussed on the pages as he dragged her to his office chair and sat, practically yanking her onto his knee.

‘Looks like quite the life.’ Harlow remarked as he rested his bearded chin on her shoulder. One page was decked out with fancy cars littering a driveway, another saw a slightly younger John and a group of men in a casino winning big money. Flipping the page, a panoramic shot of a penthouse filled with people partying reminded her of a more expensive looking Where’s Wally? scene. The drinks were flowing, the people looked happy and right in the centre of it all was John. Turning the page again it landed on the Baptist, or in that time the lawyer, with his arm looped around the back of a young woman. Harlow’s eyes traced over the long red gown and sizeable jewellery clinging to her tiny frame. The next page was almost identical but with a different woman in a different outfit. And the next page. And the next page. And the next page.

‘Wow...’ She mumbled under her breath. They were all so opulent and luxurious and she was... not. She could never be that. Damn she’d tried it as a teenager but high school prom had been such a disaster that she’d decided maybe sticking to shorts and a novelty t-shirt was a safer bet. It was better than crying in the toilets alone. And rather than being sweet and smiling, she’d learnt to scowl and throw bitter insults at any guy who approached her in the university common room. It became easier for her not to be taken the piss out of that way. Insecurity washed over her as she leant back into John’s chest.

‘You okay?’ He asked, dragging a hand down her arm. She’d tensed up and was still staring at the same picture.

‘In the real world you’d never of chosen me.’ Harlow finalised quietly, snapping the album shut and tossing it on the floor with a thud.

‘Is that envy I see?’ He chuckled, squeezing her sides teasingly. But she wasn’t laughing.

‘No. Just honesty.’ Sighing heavily, the usually stone-cold Deputy scratched at her neck and tightened her lips to stop tears from forming in her green eyes. ‘I could never look like that.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’d look stunni-‘

‘No I wouldn’t.’ She interrupted knowingly. Trying to picture herself on John’s arm in a skin tight dress or sitting in the passenger seat of one of his sports cars made her want to barf. She’d look frumpy and out of place and just plain wrong.

‘Sweetheart, I don’t even remember half of those women’s names.’ John crept his hands soothingly up her back and rested them at the base of her neck. ‘Everything in there is fake. Fake asses, fake tits, fake smiles. All of it.’ Harlow wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

‘But if you passed me on the street, that’d be it. Just passing. You wouldn’t pay me an ounce of attention. I feel like...’ Incisors nipping into her lip, Harlow cursed herself out for getting emotional. ‘I feel like maybe I’m just convenient for you.’ Slipping off of his knee, she padded out of the office and shoved her hands in her pockets. Of course he’d pick the women with the perfect hair and the trim waistlines and the big beautiful smiles over her. She knew that. She was short, swore like a trooper and was still on a personal mission to complete her damn Pokedex. Trudging up the stairs, going back to her room seemed like the best option. Maybe she could cry for an hour and then resume her internal struggle as to which Star Wars film was the best.

‘She’s found me! Agent Fox has found me!’ Harlow’s footfalls paused, as she looked over her shoulder at John. He was half-heartedly holding his hands up like he had an invisible gun in them. Blue irises staring right at her, he nodded a little to try and coax her back down the steps. ‘But wait, she could be waving the white flag? This could be our chance to blow up the world!’ He mimed an explosion, even making booming sounds under his breath. John felt like a moron in this moment. But he knew he had to give her an inch. He had to try at least a little bit. Granted, she wasn’t his conventional type. She was mouthy, unfeminine and, to be honest, a massive nerd. But she was also calculating, perceptive and far smarter than most people would give her credit for. She was a challenge, willing to butt-heads with the Baptist just to get a reaction. He liked that. The way she wound him up pissed him off but turned him on at the same time. Being with her was the most fun he’d had with a girl for a very long time and he didn’t want to lose that. If the Project ended tomorrow, he knew he’d rather stay in Hope County with her rather than return to his flashy lifestyle. Because unlike everything and everyone else before her, Harlow was real.

He watched as her lip quirked in confusion before she warily turned around and lifted her hands back up to form a pistol shape.

‘Mission resumed captain. I’ve got eyes on the target.’

[crsinclair]

No Extreme G-Force Required

This whole thing is based off this post by @shir-oh-no.

Enjoy! (cross-posted onto ao3 here)

It all went downhill for him after the motorcycle crash.

He’d just accepted a job at the Garrison as a Test Pilot and of course the day before he was to fly out there and officially join the ranks some idiot in a red corvette ran a red and did their damned best to smear him across the streets of Manhattan. When Shiro had woken up, his hair was long, his bangs were white, and he was not only missing his right arm but four months.

When he’d finally had the strength to figure out what had happened, he contacted the Garrison to find out what had happened to his position. “Due to the unpredictability of your recovery,” the woman on the phone had said, chipper and not caring that Shiro’s heart had stopped, “we canceled your position here at the Garrison and handed it over to the next available applicant.”

And not only did Shiro suddenly no longer have a job, they had taken his medical coverage with them.

The hospital was nice enough to not kick him out immediately, but Shiro had only gotten his legs under him again (literally) before they had said he was “good to go” and let him walk out the door, massive bill in hand. He couldn’t remember how he had made it back to the small house he owned (he was so thankful that it wasn’t an apartment he could get evicted from), but he flopped down onto his couch with a heavy sigh and stared at the number of zeros attached to his medical bill.

“…Fuck,” Shiro whispered roughly.

It was a few days after that he was finally able to sit down and try to come up with…something of a plan. A bit hard, especially when he realized he couldn’t just write things down anymore considering his dominate hand was gone and let’s not go into where that thought left him for nearly an hour but he made due. He didn’t need the car in his driveway – he wasn’t going to try and drive stick with only one hand, and especially since he couldn’t afford the physical therapy to help him figure things out – so that could go. And he didn’t really watch television, so the 50” in his living room could be sold on Craigslist, right? And while his motorcycle was totaled and he would never be able to ride it again, he still had all the tools he used to keep it in perfect condition. Those were expensive, right?

In the end, the list of things he was getting rid of was about 3 pages long.

It was several hours that he spent posting each thing online individually, painstakingly doing his best to take photos of everything with his phone and not cry type everything up one handed. Once that was done, notifications of people liking his postings popping up every now and then (but not offering to buy), he took a deep breath and looked up jobs.

And if Shiro had thought his situation was depressing before, then wow he was in for a surprise.

Turns out, even with the excuse of being in a coma for four months, not having a job for too long was not good for your resume. Didn’t matter that he lost his last position due to a medical emergency, didn’t matter that he had two separate degrees in both Aeronautical Engineering and Astrophysics, didn’t matter that every manager or boss he’d ever had thought he was God’s gift to mankind. He apparently was unable to hold a job and “disabled”. So all the salary jobs that he knew he was qualified for?

Well.

Every cent, every penny that he’d managed to put away into a saving account over the years was soaked up by bills so quickly that within days of his fruitless search for a job he knew that if he didn’t cut back somewhere then he was probably going to starve before he ever got a call back. So with great reluctance – great, great reluctance – Shiro turned off the heating. “It’s fine,” he told himself, ignoring the tightening in his chest, “that’s what blankets and layers are for, right?”

It didn’t matter that since he woke up he couldn’t hold onto heat, but who cared?

Two weeks after that he stopped trying to buy fresh food and stuck with things in cheap packaging.

Four weeks after that he had to call his internet provider and cancel, deciding to just use the unlimited data on his phone plan.

A few days after that he sold his laptop - it was a recent model, and it’s not like he really needed it now without internet.

The week after that? Shiro found himself staring at the paperwork to sell his house.

-

He had managed to save half of the money he had made off his house and use it to rent out a small, cheap, small efficiency. Did he mention it was small? It was small. There was just enough money to pay for the first three months and a month of electricity, which gave Shiro a little bit of time to try and find some place that would hire him.

Salary jobs were now out of the question, and so Shiro turned to the papers for just about anything.

But no one - no one - would hire him.

The restaurant owner? Politely told him that they’d already found someone to man the host stand and that they were looking for servers with “more experience”.

The grocery manager? Didn’t look him in the eye to tell him that he didn’t fit the personality profile they were looking for at the register.

The convenience store manager? Nervously said that they were looking for people who were younger and “more capable” while staring at where he’d pinned the sleeve of his right arm up. If Shiro had the money for it, he’d take the discrimination to court. But hey, he couldn’t afford to pay for the gas to heat the water in his fancy efficiency, so hiring a lawyer was out of the question. Instead he slowly made his way through the papers daily, hiding around the corner at the local Starbucks to steal their wifi, and called any and every place looking for a helping hand.

He just needed one. Please.

One morning he’d blearily stumbled into the bathroom and caught himself in the mirror. Still tall, but his hair had grown…even longer, the stubble on his face was forming into a beard peppered with white, and his face seemed thin. Thinner than he’d ever seen it.

“Wow. No wonder no one will hire me,” he croaked to himself. He didn’t spend much longer looking in the mirror after that.

But that once look told him that, yes, he did need to try to do something about his appearance. The only problem with that was, of course, the cost. A hair cut? He’d go down to a Sport’s Clips and get a cheap cut - his usual undercut was pretty cheap, and he could just skip the hair wash - but getting a shave? That was…a bit more.

Shiro did his best to shrug on his jacket and walk down to the shop, struggling with himself over the decision to get both. Perhaps he’d just get the shave and leave his hair? He never did like having more than just a little bit of stubble. But then he’d still have all his hair that he had no way of putting up. So maybe he’d get his hair cut and stick with the beard.

But. God, he hated having a beard. And his brief look in the mirror showed him that he really didn’t look good with one.

He needed to look his best whatever that was anymore for an interview.

Of course, Shiro’s internal conflict distracted him from reality, and just as he was passing by the entrance to the Starbucks, something thin suddenly met his shoulder. He stumbled, yelping a bit and startled when something hot and wet splashed across his shoes.

“Ah - ¡Mierda!”

Shiro blinked, turning to look at what he’d stumbled into, and saw a young man, clear tanned skin and dark brown hair cropped short yet stylish, and was that an Armani scarf draped across his shoulders? “I - I am so sorry,” he managed to get out - and his breath was punch from his lungs when two fierce blue eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Dude, I haven’t even had to chance to have a sip of that!” the man snapped, one hand moving to his narrow waist and the other waving his now empty coffee cup in the space between them. “I’ve been out of state for months and I haven’t had a good Pumpkin Spice latte since last year, and because you can’t fucking watch where you’re going it’s gone!”

Shiro winced. “I’m sorry, really, I-I was just lost in thought - “

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll be paying for a new one!”

“I - you’re right, absolutely,” Shiro babbled, hand going into his jacket pocket and fumbling his wallet out. “Right, sorry, I - here - “

He was doing his best to pull the twenty out of his wallet out of the money pocket when he froze.

‘Wait,’ he thought, staring at the wrinkled bill caught between his pointer and middle fingers. ‘I can’t just hand over the money. I need this - to get a shave or a haircut to get a job, to pay for groceries.’ He pressed his lips together and blinked quickly. ‘Damnit, I can’t…’

“I…” Shiro swallowed, licked his lips and avoided the man’s eyes. “Sir, I’m sorry, but. I can’t afford to pay for a new cup.”

“What?”

Shiro winced, chancing a glance up and cringing at the frown on the unfairly pretty face. “I’m sorry. If I had the money, I’d pay for the drink, I promise, but I can’t - “

“No, no, no, wait. Hold on.” The stranger stepped back a pace, frown deepening and looking him up and down. Shiro fidgeted, anxiety creeping up his throat. What was with this guy?

He was stared at for a few uncomfortable moments, and just when Shiro was about to try walking away - seriously, what was with this guy - the man’s frown smoothed out, lips twitching upwards. “…Okay,” he suddenly said, shoulders dropping and whole posture going from tense to loose in no time at all. “So I probably could have been watching where I was going, too. My bad, all’s forgiven. And I might have ruined your shoes, so.”

It was Shiro’s turn to stare.

“Hi, I’m Lance,” the man chirped, sticking hand out - his left one - with a wide grin. “You’re Takashi Shirogane, right?”

“I - how - what?”

Lance snickered, reaching out and taking Shiro’s hand - still holding his wallet - and shook it firmly up and down a couple times. “Nice to meet you. Though, uh, I wish it coulda been under better circumstances,” he said sheepishly. He released Shiro’s hand (Shiro barely managed to not drop his wallet in bafflement) and pointed down at Shiro’s feet. “Seriously, I think I might’ve ruined your shoes. I can buy you a new pair, if you want?”

Shiro did drop his wallet at that.

“Wh-what? No, no, that’s - that’s fine, it’s fine - “ Though now that Shiro looked down at his own feet he could see that his shoes had definitely seen better days. “I’ll just, just throw them in the wash or something - “

Lance slapped a hand to his mouth in horror, face actually going a few shades pale. “NO! You can’t do that! That’s - no!” He shook his head, frantically tossed his empty cup into a nearby trash can, and grabbed Shiro by the wrist. “No, my dude, I can’t let you do that, nuh-uh, I am buying you a new pair of shoes right now!”

“What!? No! You don’t need to - sir!” Shiro attempted to dig his feet in, but Lance’s thin frame was surprisingly strong or maybe he’d lost strength.

“It’s Lance, Mr. Shirogane, and you not having a pair of nice shoes is a goddamn crime!”

-

The next hour was the most fast paced Shiro had ever experienced in his life. Lance had drug him into Paul Evans - Paul Evans, what even - slapped him onto a bench next to the dressing rooms, where an attendant quickly came up and Lance started quickly speaking to the man in rapid Spanish, and suddenly Shiro was trying on several different types of shoes of all different styles. He blanched the first time he caught sight of the price on one of the pairs, but Lance simply rolled his eyes and said they were going in the keep pile. The attendant refused to say anything to him unless it was a complement.

Lance had then flipped out his phone and called a cab, said some short words to the attendant with a smile, told Shiro to quickly slip into one of the pairs in the keep pile, and without even grabbing the rest of the shoes grabbed him by the wrist and out the doors to a cab that was already waiting. “B-but you didn’t even pay?”

“I’ve got a credit there through some business,” Lance shrugged. “They’ll box up the rest and get them delivered to my place.”

“I, um. Thanks, Sir - “

“Lance.”

“ - but I was really just stepping out to get a hair cut?”

Lance beamed. “Where do you think we’re going?”

Shiro shortly found himself in a very stylish Salon - the kind he thought he’d only ever see in movies - and sitting in a chair getting the best scalp massage he’d never thought he’d ever get. Lance was speaking swiftly to the woman rubbing magic over his head, again in quick Spanish, and before he knew it Shiro was getting his hair towel dried, brushed, and buzzed into…into his old undercut. He didn’t even get a chance to ask about it before he was being leaned back and a warm towel draped over his face, and ten minutes later he was staring at himself in the mirror with smooth cheeks and his white bangs a soft floof styled just out of his eyes.

Lance grinned, slipped a few bills into the woman’s hands - w-were those one hundred dollar bills - before kissing her on the cheek and pulling Shiro out of the chair. “Come on, hot stuff, you’re not done yet!”

“Sir, why - “

“Lance!”

“ - why are you - ?”

He never got the answer to that question, as he was dragged into a store just across the street - O.N.S., Jesus - and Lance was tossing shirts and jackets and pants at a very eager attendant and Shiro was pushed into a changing room to try everything on. The storm of clothing eventually ended (in which Lance had Shiro come out so that everyone could tell him if it worked or not - and Lance, strangely, seemed to pray whenever he came out to the main area), and Lance simply popped the tags off the clothes Shiro had on and tossed them onto the keep pile before grabbing his wrist again and pulling him down the street.

Which is how, finally, Shiro found himself in a booth of a busy restaurant with a pasta dish in front of him, smelling strongly of lemons, garlic, and butter.

“I mostly come here because the garlic knots are amazing, though not nearly as great as my Uncle Estaban’s,” Lance said, waving around his fork of spaghetti. “Come on, eat up, my dude, you look half starved!”

Shiro blinked down at his food - chicken limone, with penne pasta instead of linguini (much easier to eat with just one hand) - and carefully picked up his fork, stabbed a few pieces of penne, and took a bite. For the first bite of real food in over two months, it was phenomenal. He groaned around his bite of food, loving the taste of the lemony sauce mixed with the sprinkles of parmesan and minced garlic.

“…Oh my god,” he choked out once he’d swallowed, and Lance grinned brightly.

“Right!? Amazing food, I swear.” Lance chomped down on his forkful of noodles, slurping it up noisily - and spattering the marinara sauce over his nose. “Seriously, eat up - I’ll keep chattering away to fill up the awkward silence and when you’ve finished eating what you can then we can talk, m’kay?”

Shiro hesitated, glancing from his plate of steaming food to Lance’s face. “Are you…I mean, why are you - “

“Eat up, and then we’ll talk.” Lance softened his grin into a soft smile, blue eyes sparkling. “I promise, nothing bad - I don’t even want anything. Promise.”

He licked his lips, turning his eyes back to his plate, and slowly started eating. He heard Lance giggle - of course someone that pretty would giggle - and start to fill the air between them with nonsense, talking about the weather, the price of gas in Taiwan, whether or not he was going to throw a surprise party for a ‘hunk’ after New Years.

Eventually Shiro had to concede defeat and lay down his fork, little less than half a plate of pasta left. He noticed Lance give his plate a calculating look, but the man quickly sported a sheepish expression once he saw Shiro looking at him. “We can get that boxed up to-go for you,” he said, taking some bread and using it to swipe up that last of the sauce on his near empty plate. “Maybe even get you some dessert? The raspberry cheesecake here is amazing.”

“Um,” Shiro said eloquently, fiddling with his napkin. “No, thank you. You've already bought so much for me today, I don't, don't want to put you out of house and home. This is – I really was only stepping out to get a hair cut?”

He wasn't entirely sure why that came out as a question.

Lance laughed, pure and hearty and lighting up his face. “Oh, no, no, you're good. I wanted to, really! You're not putting me out of house and home, promise. I've been looking for something to spend all this money on.” Lance leaned back in his chair, giving Shiro a considering look. “Which it's looking to me like you needed.”

Shiro tensed in his seat. “I...”

The man across from him blinked, then suddenly flushed pink, expression going sheepish again. “Wow, sorry, um. Foot in mouth,” Lance snickered to himself, scratching at his cheeks. “Hold on, I keep forgetting I didn't fully introduce myself earlier. Lemme start over, 'kay?” He straightened in his seat, stretched his hand across the table – again, his left – and put on a wide, charming smile. “Lance Mcclain, Professional Dancer, Dance Instructor, and Former Airforce Hopeful.”

“Oh,” Shiro said, blinking, and with a small smile shook the hand offered to him. “Former Airforce Hopeful?”

“Yep. I'll be honest, Mr. Shirogane, I had followed your career for a long time, back when you had first started in the Airforce,” Lance said, hands breaking up the bread into little pieces. It seemed like he was constantly needing something to do with his hands. “I'd always wanted to be a pilot, and watching your career there grow was a huge inspiration for me. Never got the chance to join, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I'd been dancing since I was seven, and when I was sixteen I was good enough to take part in some small time gigs back when I lived in Florida – paid enough for me to save up for college and help out my Mama some.” Lance gave a somewhat bittersweet smile to the table between them. “At one show, though, the technicians didn't secure the lightening too well and halfway through it all tumbled down. Lot of heavy electrical equipment falling onto some more really sensitive equipment, which sparked a hell of a lot, and as luck would have it, that show also had a lot of pyrotechnics. Needless to say, it all blew up – and I was the lucky fella who was closest.”

Lance reached a hand up to tug his scarf aside and tilted his head so the dim lighting of the restaurant caught on his slim neck. Shiro gasped when his eyes landed on the twisting scars that curled up towards Lance's ear, his own arm throbbing in sympathy. A thin smile twitched on Lance's lips and he smoothed the scarf back in place. “I mean, I healed up fine. But the damage had been done, and I was rejected by the Airforce due to a 'Compromising Spinal Injury'.”

“I'm sorry. That sucks,” Shiro said meaningfully. He was already going through life with the knowledge that he'd never be able to pilot again. But having the dream and then having it ripped away before it could be realized? He didn't even want to think about it. “And you're – you're still dancing?”

“Oh, yeah, no troubles with that at all! Dancing just fine! In fact I just got done with a tour down in South America doing some Star Camps for the young and hopeful. Lots of fun, lots of dancing. But yeah, no extreme G-Force required. Though now that I think about it, some really cool things could be done with a show using G-Force, but wow I am off topic, that's not really what I wanted to talk about!” Lance laughed. “Normally I'd be more than happy to talk about my dancing exploits and skill – I am amazing on a pole - “

Shiro choked on his tongue.

“ – but the reason I brought that up is to say that, yeah. I recognized you, though it took me a bit to place your face, what with the beard and 80's rock band hair you were sporting.”

“Ah. Yes, that was...I didn't mean to let it all get quiet out of control like that.”

“Yeah.” Lance frowned, leaning forward on the table, blue eyes kind. “I remember hearing about the crash you were in seven months ago. That's, uh...that's how that happened, yeah?” He nodded at Shiro's arm.

Shiro licked his lips, suddenly nervous. No one since the hospital had bothered talking to him about the accident. Everyone just “politely” ignored the fact that he was short a limb or stared at him but never said anything.

Honestly...it was nice that Lance was making an effort at all.

“Yeah. Some idiot ran a red and...well, I woke up from a coma four months later to this,” he said roughly.

Lance's frown deepened. “And the job you'd been promised at the Garrison to test the new model planes was given away to someone else.”

Shiro paused. “How'd you know that? I didn't think that was common knowledge.”

“I've got a... Well, I wouldn't call him a friend, pre se, but I know someone who works for the Garrison,” Lance said. “Also someone who looked up to you, though I think you guys may have met. Do you remember Keith?”

“Keith?” Shiro furrowed his brow.

“You know, never smiles, tends to be kinda angry, mullet?”

“...Keith Kogane?”

Lance smiled. “Yep! That's him. He was still in training when you guys met. He said it was a few years ago, and shortly after Keith completed training he was offered a job at the Garrison. Lemme tell ya, he was so looking forward to working with you, but when he'd heard you'd been dismissed from your position there while you were still in the hospital, he threw a fit.”

Lance's smile tightened a bit, and a somewhat fake laugh escaped him. “I mean, he called up while I was still on tour down in Argentina to rant about it. He may have also gotten in trouble with...uh, what's his name. Some dick named Iverson, I think. Almost got kicked out.”

Shiro eyed the man across from him carefully. “Okay...so, where are you going with this?”

Lance's lips quirked up, and the tightness almost disappeared. Though not quite. “Well, Mr. Shirogane, I...I mean, you're life kinda got flipped upside down in the last year,” he started slowly. “From what Keith told me, you get kicked out of your job and that...probably took your insurance.”

At Shiro's involuntary wince, Lance continued. “And spending that long in the hospital wasn't...cheap, right? I mean, I know mine wasn't, and I was only stuck in the hospital for a few weeks. I was lucky I'd been saving up for college...” He shook himself. “Anyway, no job, lots of bills, and down a pretty important limb? I...I can't really imagine it's been easy.”

Shiro kept his silence, frowning down at his lap.

“Um.” Lance cleared his throat. “Um, okay, don't take this weird or anything but. I mean, if you'd like,” he giggled nervously, “I could...maybe help you out?”

A shock speared through Shiro.

“Wha...” Shiro blinked, eyes snapping up to Lance's. “What are you – “

“I mean, it's just, I know you don't know me all too well but I promise I'm not weird or, or anything – okay maybe a little bit, apparently the fact that I like pineapple on my pizza is freaky to others – and you've been such a huge inspiration to me, even after I was rejected from the Airforce, and then I spilled coffee on you and I think maybe God or someone is telling me to help you? You can say no it you want, I promise I won't get mad, though I may spend a good hour crying into some double chocolate ice cream later because wow I'm not the best at rejection and you're like, my hero, but yeah, you can say no, I just think you look like a sad puppy and wow I should probably shut up now.”

Shiro blinked again, staring at the rapidly flushing Lance across from him, the spew of words having been rushed and hard to take in. He took a moment, brain not quite catching up with everything in the last...however long it'd been since he'd stepped out of his tiny efficiency that morning. He furrowed his brow.

“You like...pineapple pizza?”

Lance stared back at him, blue eyes wide, and then burst into laughter, bright and delighted. “Out of everything I just word-vomited out at you, that's what you took away? That I like pineapple on my pizza?”

Despite it all, Shiro couldn't help but laugh as well. “Well, it was either that or focus too much on the fact that you just offered to...be my Sugar Daddy.”

For the first time since meeting him, Shiro got to watch Lance choke on his tongue. “W-well, I mean...not...it's...” He coughed. “Technically?”

“That's, uh, very kind of you, Sir.”

“Lance.”

“Right. Um. But...I don't think...”

He looked down at his plate, still half full of pasta. Even though he'd just eaten as much as he could and knew he couldn't eat another bite, his stomach turned at the thought of going another day of eating cheap canned and boxed food. Who knew how long it was going to be until he managed to eat this well again.

'You can't say yes,' a small voice in his head said, indignent. 'What about your pride?'

'What pride, though?' Shiro wondered, frowning. Ever since he'd woken up, everything that his pride once was apart of had been falling apart on him and just...rolling away from him. His pride in his work, his pride in his body, his pride in his home and belongings. Nothing stayed.

“...Can I think on it?”

Lance's guarded smile broke out into a hopeful one, and Shiro's hesitancy broke just a little bit more at the light he saw in his eyes. “Really? Uh, yeah, yeah!” The man near bounced in his seat, fumbling out his wallet and pulling out a small card. “Here, it's my business card if you wanna take a couple days.”

He practically threw it across the table in his enthusiasm, leaving Shiro chuckling. He glanced down at the sleek card, seeing Lance's name in full print, an image of a man mid-dance on one side, followed by a couple of phone numbers and a web address. “I guess I'll let you know?”

“Yes! That'd be - “ Lance was grinning so hard Shiro was sure his face was going to split. “That's great, yeah, let me know, I promise I won't pressure you or anything – just – yeah, okay!” Shiro couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Lance, the pretty, well-put together man in front of him, was...really a huge dork, wasn't he?

-

Lance had swiftly moved the conversation after that to lighter things. And it was actual conversation, not just Shiro listening to the man talk about things. It turned out that Lance had a rather interesting understanding of the field of astrophysics, which...was a huge surprise and yet wasn't. The man was practically made of starlight. They talked about that for a while, followed by a chat about knowing Keith, which delved into a lengthy debate on whether or not the Garrison did human experimentation.

(“You can't really believe those rumors, Lance.”

“I can if there's some sort of proof! And I've got a man on the inside – he's looking for evidence every chance he gets!”

“Careful, Lance, you're starting to sound like a Cryptid hunter.”

“What? N-no! That's Keith! Keith!”)

Eventually, though, Lance smiled apologetically and called their lunch to an end. He paid without letting Shiro see the bill, calling their server over to box up the leftover food. “Let me know, okay?” he had said, pressing the to-go bag into Shiro's hand and opening the cab door (that he had called for him at...some point) for him. “Even if it's just to turn me down. Don't leave me hanging, man.”

Shiro couldn't help the smile on his face. “I'll let you know,” he promised.

He climbed in, Lance shutting the door gently behind him, and the cab slid smoothly into traffic. He turned in his seat, meeting Lance's eyes through the rear windshield, holding the image of him until the cab took a turn and the sight of the slim, pretty man disappeared from view.

The ride was silent in comparison to the past couple of hours. The radio played softly in the from of the cab, just loud enough to sooth over Shiro's ears and quiet enough not to clog up his tired brain. It made it easier to think around everything that had happened.

Shiro looked down, taking in the sleek shoes Lance had purchased for him earlier. Sleek, just barely broken in from being dragged around New York. The cuffs of a pressed pair of pants sitting just atop the sleek shoes, light as silk and soft as a cloud. He lifted his hand, pressing it to the fabric on his side – a fitted long sleeve with a high collar and a smooth vest over it. His hand rose and the pads of his fingers brushed his now smooth cheeks and drifted to the line of his hair, cut how he liked and styled for the first time in...a long time. Maybe it was a little over the top of what he'd personally buy for himself (and especially with the non-existent budget he currently had), but he felt...normal.

He let out a short laugh, more a breath than anything else. 'Well, more normal than I've felt since waking up.'

It wasn't long until the cab stopped in front of his apartment building. The driver waved him off when he attempted to pull some cash out for a tip. “That pretty boy already paid and tipped me,” he said. Really, Shiro should have seen that coming.

The cab drove off, tires crunching over concrete as Shiro turned to the building. He tucked the to-go bag into the crook of his arm as he pressed the buzzer; when the door clicked open – the whole frame shuddering, which always made him wince – he stepped through, tossing a tired smile at the young attendant working the desk.

“Hey, you the man living in number 237, right?” she called, voice heavy with the thick twang of New York.

Shiro paused, turning partly to give her a confused look. “Um. Yes?” he answered. He hoped it wasn't a warning about the water bill again, but instead of being met with a stern stare like he was expecting the young woman nodded before hopping off her stool and shuffling into the back office.

When she came back, her arms were laden with several boxes – with familiar name brands on them. Shiro's mouth opened in shock at the pile in her arms.

“These were dropped off 'bout fifteen minutes ago,” the attendant explained. She squinted at him, eyes dragging over his right side. “I, uh, take it you might need some help getting them up to your place?”

“I...sure?” he said. 'When did Lance...?' he wondered to himself, leading the woman dazedly towards the stairs and towards his apartment. From what he could remember, Lance had only gotten his address so he could call him a cab home – which happened about half an hour ago. Which, if Lance had taken the time to get the address sent out to get what basically amounted to a new wardrobe delivered to his place? 'That man sure works fast,' he thought. 'And has a lot more pull with those businesses than I thought.'

He unlocked the door to his apartment quickly and held the door open for the woman. “You, uh, you can set those on the table,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

“No prob,” she grunted, rolling her shoulders after finally putting the boxes done. She sent him a wry grin. “Man, most people that live here can barely afford the rent. Iunno what you're doin', man, but if you can afford to shop at these stores and get it all delivered home, what the hell're you doin' livin here?”

Shiro could only let out a strangled laugh and show her out. He leaned against the door for a moment, breathing. He peeked over his shoulder at the boxes piled on his tiny table. They sat there, innocuous and innocent, and with a sigh Shiro locked the door and put his to-go bag on the counter. Walking over to the pile, he pulled one of the smaller ones to a clear space on the table and looked it over. O.N.S. was on the side, and with a bit of relief Shiro noticed that it wasn't taped shut. He didn't need the stress of trying to open anything with one hand and a sharp implement.

By working a finger under the lid he managed to pull it open. Thin packing paper was wrapped carefully around the contents, and Shiro tugged it aside to reveal a stack of neatly folded socks.

“Socks,” he said to himself. He stared at them – they ranged from plain black and white to bright pink and purple, some ankle length and some tube. And for some reason that made him laugh. A snort caught him by surprise, followed by a chuckle that crept out of him and the next thing he knew he was curled against the side of the single chair that was at his table, gasping for breath against the hiccuping laughs that kept escaping.

“S-socks,” he gasped. “He bought me fucking socks.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually he wrangled some control back to himself and, after wiping the tears from his face, carried the box over to his closet to tuck the new and stylish socks into their proper place. He eyed the socks that were already in place – old, all either white or black, and most of them with holes due to an irregular wash schedule and crappy washing machines and driers.

Over the course of the next hour, Shiro took the time to unpack all the shoes and clothes, carefully tucking them onto hangers (he'd figured out how to hang up his clothes with one hand the previous month without having to resort to using his mouth), tugged the older, less cared for clothes he'd been holding onto and packing them in the boxes like he'd done with his old sock. When he'd finished putting the new clothes away, neat and orderly like his belongings hadn't been since before the crash, he'd taken the boxes one by one downstairs to the dumpster. He'd hummed and whistled all the while, another thing that he hadn't done in ages.

The last box finally thrown out, Shiro eyed the closet with a since of right. He wasn't even really sure why he felt so good – all he'd done that day was step out for a haircut and then get dragged along on a wild ride.

'Maybe,' a small part of him whispered, 'you just needed someone to give you a chance.'

Shiro smiled.

He turned back towards the rest of the small room, and jumped when his eyes caught the to-go bag he'd left out on the counter in the kitchen area. “Dang it,” he muttered, swiftly walking over to the bag. “Complete forgot about this.”

He blamed the socks – he wasn't expecting the socks.

With a sigh he reached into the box, knowing that as long as he put the food away as soon as possible it would still be good to eat, but was surprised when he hand came across two boxes. He blinked, and pulled them both out.

One box was his leftover chicken limone, cooling condensation from the original heat dripping from the inside of the lid onto his food. The other box? A single yet generous slice of cheesecake, swirled with a dark pink and a thick sauce poured ontop. A small arrangement of raspberries were tucked around the slice, making everything look delicate and delicious.

“The raspberry cheesecake here is amazing.”

Later that night, as he tucked himself into bed, stomach full with good food for the first time in too long, the taste of raspberries and the cream of the cake on his tongue, he realized that he'd smiled more in a single day than he had in seven months.

-

“Hello?”

“Lance,” Shiro greeted warmly into the speaker of his phone. “How are you? It's Shiro.”

There was a crash and the sound of things – many, many things – falling over for a moment, before Lance's voice piped up eager over the line. “Oh! Hey, hey, h-how's it going? What's up?”

Shiro laughed. “Nothing much. Though it sounds like you've, uh, got your hands full on your end.”

“N-nah, this is nothing, nothing up, everything is just – cool,” Lance finished, and Shiro tried (he really did) to hold back his snickers, but he couldn't. The man was the same over the phone as he was in person.

“So I thought about your, um, proposal.”

“...And? I mean, it's entirely up to you, man, I said I wasn't going to pressure you into anything or anything and I just said anything twice, wow what is wrong with me - “ Lance's voice got quieter, as if he were holding the phone away from his mouth and trying not to be heard. Shiro laughed again.

“I think I'd like to take you up on it.”

There was a quiet on the other end. It stretched, long enough that Shiro worried for a moment that he might have broken the young man with his words. It wasn't until a tinny, distant, “Hey, Lance, you okay?” came over the speakers that he heard an intake of breath.

“Yeah, Hunk, I'm fine – more than, just...wow,” Lance replied to whoever was talking to him. He cleared his throat, and Shiro could near feel the nervousness over the phone. “So you're okay with me...um...being your sugar daddy?”

A choked off laugh escaped Shiro at the words, and he could swear he heard the person that was with Lance on the other end burst out into bewildered expletives. “Uh, yes, Lance. Under a few conditions.”

“Right! Yes, anything, man, whatever you say – Hunk, shut up, this is important!”

“One, never say Sugar Daddy again.”

“Well, I mean, you said it first, remember? When we talked about it - “

“Two,” he cut in, and Lance trailed off with a giggle. “I don't want to completely rely on you. Thanks for buying me those clothes and the food – you were right, by the way, the cheesecake was good (“I know, right?”), but I need some independence.”

“Sure,” Lance easily agreed. Shiro could imagine him nodding. “Yeah, no problem. I completely get that.”

“Great. Which brings us to three.” Shiro took a steadying breath. “No exchange for...favors. Completely non-negotiable. I'm not a, a prostitute, and I expect not to be treated like one.”

There was a great amount of sputtering on the other end of the line. “What!? Why would – prostitute!? Dude, I dunno where you got that idea – okay, wait, I kinda get it, but still, how could you – I would never – ”

“That being said,” Shiro continued, smile firmly in place as he listened to Lance sputter. He'd known before he said the words that Lance would be offended at even the idea. Of course he would be – the awkward embarrassment and babbling he'd done when he'd first brought the idea up to Shiro at the restaurant couldn't be faked. “I'd really like it if we could go on a date.”

“...Huh?”

“I said, 'I'd really like it if we could go on a date,'” he repeated. “Not now, since I only just got a job and it'll be a couple paychecks before I can afford to take you out - “

“Um, I – congrats on the job – wait, take me out?”

Shiro grinned. “Well, yeah. You might be my sugar daddy, but that doesn't mean I can't take you on a date, does it?”

“Why do you get to say sugar daddy?”

Shiro laughed. He couldn't help it. “Does that mean yes?”

“Uh, it means hell yes!” Lance laughed a bit, giddy, before coughing nervously. “Um. Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you said yes,” Lance said. “I mean, you had only just met me, and when I look back on it I feel kinda like I was a total creeper, which sucks because I am way too young and pretty to be creeper, but – “

“You bought me cheesecake and socks.”

“....Huh.”

Shiro smiled. “You took the time to buy me cheesecake and socks. The cheesecake was an unnecessary treat that...well, honestly, it just made me smile, which.” He blushed, and was thankful that Lance couldn't see him at the moment. “It'd been a long time since I really had reason to smile. And the cheesecake was delicious.”

A breathy laugh came over the line, more a small, quiet rush of static in his ear, and Shiro's heart warmed. “And, uh, the socks?”

“I mean, you bought me shoes. Brand new, not even broken in brand new. Which means blisters if I walk in them too long at first without a good pair of socks,” Shiro said. “You could have just bought me the shoes and not bothered at all with a decent pair of socks. In fact, most people that buy someone else shoes just assume that the person the shoes are for have some socks they can wear with them.

“But you didn't. You didn't assume anything. You just...bought me socks.”

“I mean...sure?” Lance said, confusion coloring his voice. “But I still don't really...”

“I means you're thoughtful,” Shiro explained, smiling. “And like with the cheesecake, it's been a long time since anyone has been thoughtful towards me.” He paused. “Or you just really wanted to buy me socks.”

Lance burst out laughing, a helpless string of 'ha's' that tugged at something in Shiro. “Um. Wow, okay. That's great.”

“So... We're doing this?”

Lance hummed, a warm note in Shiro's ear. “Yeah, let's do this.”