kokirane:

The first time, it’s a genuine accident. Shiro gets a little too caught up in singing Drunk in Love, slips, and brings the hand shower down with him. It rips out cleanly, something that the apartment handyman whistles at when he shows up. Shiro, partially in sweats in a tank, partially in embarrassment and a blush, fidgets besides the crime scene.

“So can I hear it?” The guy – Keith, according to his name tag – says as he scribbles on his clipboard.

“What?”

“The song that brought down your pseudo microphone.”  Keith looks up, winks. “It’s more common than you think. More people injure themselves instead of the wall, though.”

Shiro can feel himself blushing, feels the familiar pinprick of sweat at his underarms. Keith has lovely dark blue, almost purple, eyes, and a messy fringe of dark waves. He’s slight and honest to God beautiful, but there’s a ripple of muscle under his overalls, an endearing grease smudge on his neck. There’s ink stains on his fingers; everything shifts in and out of focus for Shiro. The wink, the sly smile, the whisper of something – Shiro’s itching to know, to unpack whatever Keith can be.

“It was Beyonce,” Shiro says belatedly. “You can’t blame me.”

And yet Keith blinks. “Who?”

“Beyonce,” Shiro repeats, slower, as if that’ll do anything, and somehow it does, because Keith’s clipboard ends up resting on his table as they pore over Shiro’s laptop on his couch, watching everything and anything they can get their hands on.

“You’re right,” Keith says, when the sun has dipped low under the horizon. “She’s good.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, and the moment dies like that. Keith smiles at him, a bit awkwardly, and picks up his clipboard.

“Thanks for making a slow day better.” Keith stands, his joints popping audibly. He winces. “Be safe the next time you’re, uh, in the shower.”

“Thanks. Sorry.” Shiro watches him go, almost misses Keith’s you don’t have to apologize because he’s trying to figure out what this is: this being that he’s sad to see Keith go, that he’s trying to drink in every detail about his apartment’s mechanic before the elevator doors close.

He realizes it’s been a while since he’s spoken to someone in person – and Keith hadn’t even said anything about his prosthetic. Oddly enough, Shiro hadn’t even thought to worry about it in the face of Keith’s earnestness.

Thoughts of Keith come back to him during the next day’s shower; Keith’s be careful has him staring at the hand shower. Slowly, he reaches out and tugs on it. It’s secure. He tugs a little harder.

With a glance around him, as if anybody would be there, he pops it off. It sends a thrill up his spine, but once it sinks in – once he finds himself face to face with the void in his wall again – he gulps.

He probably should’ve just asked for Keith’s number, but well. Here goes.

His heart thuds as he phones management, requests the mechanic as calmly as he can. He thinks about making too much breakfast so he can offer it to Keith, but that feels too obvious, so he settles for pacing until Keith arrives with his clipboard, toolbox, and a frown. “I thought I soldered it back on pretty tight.”

“You did,” Shiro says quickly. “I, uh, don’t know what happened.”

Keith’s lips quirk up, a little more to the left than the right, a little bit of tooth poking through. “Was there a dance number this time?”

“Yeah.” Shiro latches onto the excuse with an embarrassed smile. Keith sets to work almost instantly, hair put up in a small ponytail. Shiro leans against the wall, watches, and agonizes.

When Keith finally stands back, Shiro blurts, “Do you want breakfast?”

Keith looks surprised, but smiles. “Yeah, sure.”

Shiro has instant coffee and microwavable strawberry waffles, but Keith seems more than happy with it.

“You’re the nicest tenant ever.” Keith bites into a waffle with a visibly frozen patch. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Shiro’s trying to figure out what to say next when Keith’s coffee mug nearly careens off the table. Shiro darts forward, catches it, and when he looks up, he’s eye to eye with Keith and a feline smirk.

“You’re not that clumsy, are you?” Keith says, amused.

“I’m not,” Shiro confesses, but – he thinks really is falling for Keith.