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It’s just shy of ten pm on a Friday night, and Shiro is halfway through unbuttoning the nice shirt he wore tonight, when the phone sitting on his bedside table lights up the darkness of his bedroom and begins to buzz.
He takes the call, against his better judgement.
“Dude why are you home already?” Matt prods without so much as a greeting first.
Making a habit of texting your best friend that you got home alright after a date is a good habit. Shiro will stand by that. He will, however, admit that in retrospect it would have been better to wait until a more believable time of night to do so if he didn’t want his self-asserted wingman to make inquiries.
When he pointedly doesn’t answer Matt’s question, but puts the call on speaker and continues on his mission to get naked and fall into bed, the man on the other end continues to prod.
“How was your date with Nathan?”
Shiro wrestles out of his too tight jeans, thinking for a moment.
“The food was really good.” He says eventually, balling up his socks and aiming them for the hamper across the room.
It’s a perfect shot. A small victory.
Matt grumbles, and Shiro can see him in his mind's eye, dragging his fingers across his face while he curses Shiro’s lack of cooperation for the upteenth time.
“ The food was good?” Matt repeats, strained. “You got nothing to say about the man you shared your extraordinary meal with?”
“ Really good.” Shiro corrects, and falls back on cool sheets. “And no. Nothing that you want to hear, I think.”
Matt groans, long and dramatic. There’s a thump over the receiver, like his friend has dropped his head on the nearest hard surface.
“What did he do?” Matt’s voice is muffled by whatever wall or desk or tabletop he’s got his face planted on. “What was wrong with him?”
Rolling over to get under the duvet, Shiro tries to pinpoint what it was.
He finds that he can’t.
Nathan was handsome, pleasant. Funny, sure. Smart, clearly, based on the circles in which Matt does his hunting for potential boyfriend material. There was nothing wrong with him, persé.
He reluctantly admits this out loud.
“Shiro, my dearest, dumbest friend.” Matt sighs again. “How many perfectly good men will I have to throw at you before you get your head out of your ass and open up to the possibilities, huh?”
“I never asked you to throw anything or anyone at me, so there’s that.” Shiro retorts, watching his own toes wiggle under the blanket.
“You’d never get out of the office if I didn’t take care of you, dude, you know you can’t live without me.” Matt says in a flat tone. “And I’ll tell you this. The longer my best friend goes without getting some, the worse for us both.”
Shiro snorts. “How does it affect you if I have sex or not?”
“First of all! I’m a great fucking friend, and I suffer when you do.” Shiro rolls his eyes. “Secondly, you may not realize this, but the longer you go and blue-ball yourself like this, the less friendly you become.”
There’s a moment of silence, where Shiro looks back over his behavior in the past seven months since his relationship ended.
Matt sounds far too smug when he speaks again.
“Go on. Tell me I’m wrong.”
🍴-🍴-🍴
It’s not that Shiro doesn’t want company, or even that he isn’t ready to date again. He isn’t hung up on his ex and he isn’t scared to have his heart broken again.
He’s just… not getting there.
In the months since Matt assigned himself the job to run Shiro’s non-existent dating life, he’s been on more blind dates than he ever has in total in the rest of his life.
It was fun at first. Really fun, even. He’s always enjoyed meeting new people and the men Matt fished out for him were always good guys. Attractive, brainy enough not to run screaming when he started talking about his work.
But after a while of nothing happening, none of his dates stirring up that feeling in his gut that he wanted, the fun of it had begun to fade. It’s still nice, most of the time, but that kind of makes it worse.
It’d be much easier if his dates were just shitty, and he had a real excuse for never attempting a second.
He’d say he doesn’t know why he still lets himself be set up, but that’d be untrue. There’s something to what Matt said about Shiro never leaving his office without something to drag him out, and going on blind dates is as good a pastime as any. It’s landed him a few new beneficial contacts, a handful of restaurants he would have never tried if it weren’t for his dates.
He’s a positive guy.
Or he’s trying to be, tonight.
After last week’s failed attempt, the oil is burning very low. The nights are getting colder and darker, and the past week at work has been hell. So he’s probably the least excited he’s been for a while.
It doesn’t help that even before the date has even started, things have started going wrong.
He’s back in the same restaurant as last week, because honestly, the saffron risotto he tried last week is probably the closest he’s come to an orgasm brought on by anything other than himself for a long time. When he got here, a waitress led him to a corner table by the window. She came back a minute later with two menus, and went on her way.
Around the time his date was what could be called fashionably late , his phone pinged.
From: unknown number, 07:38
Hey! I’m running a little late. You can go ahead and order for me, anything’s good!
/Keith
Shiro furrowed his brows, just a little annoyed. Still, it could be worse. At least the guy intends to show up, albeit late. Shiro did as told, ordering two of the blackened salmon appetizer, the root vegetable tatin with blue cheese to follow, and a nice bottle of Riesling.
That was twenty minutes ago.
Not another peep has been heard from Keith, and quite frankly Shiro isn’t in the mood to chase a man he’s never met, either. So he finds himself trying very hard not to sip his wine too quickly, while catching up on some emails.
When he starts to feel his patience slip, he texts Matt.
From: me, 08:05
I think your guy stood me up
The response is almost immediate.
From: Matt, 08:05
He’ll be there, don’t get ur undies in a twist
It’s not helpful.
He lowers his phone to reach yet again for his glass, and almost knocks into the plate that’s come out of nowhere to descend before him.
Which is just great.
First course served, no date in sight.
Great.
But the dish smells deliciously of smoky salmon and sesame oil, and he looks up to thank the waitress. Except it’s not the same girl who’s been waiting on him since he arrived. Not a waitress at all, by the looks of it.
The man carefully placing the two plates on the table doesn’t have the dark button up and bow tie that the servers wear, no black little apron tied around his waist. He wears a chef’s jacket, a little too big and rolled up to his elbows.
“Sorry I’m late.” The, presumable, chef says. He offers Shiro a crooked little smile, like he’s nervous. “You are Shiro, right? I’m not at the wrong table?”
Shiro blinks up at him, trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell is happening right now.
“I- wha-“ Shiro stares at the man, this man who clearly works here and somehow knows his name. “Yes. I am Shiro.”
“Oh hell, thank god.” The other man sighs in relief, suddenly looking much less tense. “That could have been the most awkward shit I’ve ever done.”
Shiro raises a questioning brow, but takes the chef's hand when he offers it.
“I’m Keith.”
Oh.
Oh .
He must look as stupid as he feels, because Keith chuckles under his breath, head tilting down to hide his smile.
It’s… cute.
“I’m sorry I made you wait.” Keith says, a little sheepish, as he takes a seat opposite of Shiro at the table. “It was just too good an opportunity to pass up, when you suggested this place.”
He begins to unbutton his jacket, eyes set on the plate of food before him. There’s a name tag pinned to the chest pocket, with K. Kogane printed underneath the title. Head chef. Shiro watches, a little stunned still, but finally taking a moment to really look at the guy. Slim with sharp features, long hair tied in a messy ponytail. Keith is handsome. Pretty, even.
Different, definitely, from the men he’s dated in the past.
“It was a good ice breaker, I’ll give you that.” Shiro catches Keith’s eyes, just as he slips the jacket off his shoulders to reveal a simple black tee underneath. He returns Shiro’s smile, and Shiro notices his eyes are an unusually dark shade of blue. They’re large, and expressive.
“That’s good, I’ve never been great at that.” Keith admits, reaching for the wine to pour himself a glass. “To be honest it was probably more stressful than it was worth. I felt bad leaving you out here.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Shiro looks back on his food, the side of his fork slicing into the fish like a hot knife through butter. “You got me a nice home cooked meal for my trouble.”
“I guess I did.” Keith smiles again, still a little reserved, timid almost, but getting warmer.
🍴-🍴-🍴
The dinner continues to be full of little surprises, and it only hits Shiro at the end of their meal that for the first time since he became single, he hasn’t snuck a peek at the clock once. He isn’t bored, or drifting off elsewhere while his date talks.
Keith is nothing like anyone he’s dated before.
He doesn’t understand a single thing about astrophysics, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning closer over the table with his chin resting on his palm as he listens with what almost seems like eagerness when Shiro tells him what he does. He didn’t go to college, doesn’t try to hide his fascination with Shiro’s prosthetic.
Keith is witty, and a little blunt. He doesn’t pretend like he knows anything he doesn’t, and isn’t prone to downsize himself to appear any type of way. There’s something genuine in the way he carries himself, and in the way he speaks.
It’s refreshing, and terribly endearing how he doesn’t seem to have a filter.
Their plates have been empty for a while, the wine long gone. Keith has explained the flavors of the tatin while Shiro ate and tried to keep up, and Shiro has somehow ended up telling the story of how he lost his arm without the conversation turning solemn or with any discomfort.
That was an entirely new experience.
“If you really want to make it up to me for standing in the kitchen knowing I was sitting out here alone like a loser, there’s something you can do.” Shiro says when the mention of the start of the night comes around again. He grins at Keith who looks a little startled, the tips of his ears quickly turning red.
Shiro leans in over the table, keeping his eyes locked on Keith’s as he continues. “You could treat us to some dessert, because I have a sweet tooth that will not let itself be forgotten.”
Keith visibly deflates, wheezing on a laugh and kicking Shiro lightly in the shins underneath the lilac tablecloth.
Once he collects himself, Keith gets out of his seat. He squints at Shiro, smiles, and darts off with a mutter of ‘I'll be right back’. He disappears around the corner toward the kitchen, and Shiro watches him go.
While Keith’s gone, Shiro takes a quick glance at his phone. There’s a string of texts from Matt that he’ll get to later, a few new emails. But what catches his eye is the time.
Ten thirty. The longest he’s been out with anyone, since this whole dating mess began. Something tickles at the bottom of his belly, and it’s not the blue cheese.
He feels a little silly. And happy about feeling silly. And more silly on top of that.
It’s a nice, fluttery feeling.
🍴-🍴-🍴
When Shiro asked Keith to produce some sort of dessert, he expected the man to pick something off the menu. Perhaps even get into the kitchen and prepare something himself.
He didn’t, in any way, expect for Keith to come back with a worn leather jacket slung across his shoulders, and a fluffy scarf covering his face up to his nose, urging Shiro to come with him.
They leave the restaurant, coming out to early winter cold. Shiro can’t do much but follow Keith where he goes.
Conversation flows as easily as before as they walk, except maybe Shiro is a little more distracted now. In the restaurant Keith had been handsome, regal in a way. Now, bundled up in oversized winter clothes with his cheeks burning in the cold, he’s another vision all together. Cute, and so small next to Shiro who’s got at least an entire foot in height on him.
He never knew that was a thing he’d be into.
He’s just about to offer Keith his jacket like some sappy rom-com character, when Keith comes to a halt. And Shiro smells it before his eyes find it, warm and sweet.
“Here we are.” Keith confirms, reaching for the door to a tiny doughnut place tucked in between a dry cleaners and an Indian restaurant. The sign above the door is sun bleached and chipped, with a little cartoon man and the name Sal’s Donuts in red cursive.
“Hey there, Keith!” A cheery voice says before they’re even through the door, and Shiro looks over Keith’s head at the man standing behind the counter. He’s young, with a welcoming smile and a bright orange headband keeping dark hair out of his face.
“The old man’s got you working nights now?” Keith forgoes the greeting, a teasing grin that suits him much too well splitting his face in two.
The man behind the counter waves him off. “Nah, I’m filling in tonight. You just got lucky.” He looks past Keith to give Shiro a polite nod. “Who’s your friend?”
Keith crosses his arms on the counter, stretching to look somewhere behind it. “If everything goes well I’ll tell you later.”
Keith throws a cheeky little smile over his shoulder at Shiro, who has the decency to turn a little red.
“Gotcha.” The man behind the counter stage whispers. “So what are you feeling?”
Keith hums, seemingly completely uninterested in the menu panels above his head that Shiro just started scanning. “Do you have anything new for me?”
Shiro loses focus on the two talking about experimental flavor combinations as he reads through the list of doughnuts the place has to offer, coming to realize it’s not just any little doughnut joint. The little place has an old school rock ‘n roll vibe, with checkered floors and a number of instruments and paintings of famous musicians lining black and grey walls. And the theme translates into their menu, as well.
He’s never been big on the genre, but even Shiro can recognize some of the punny names each item on the list carries.
Purple Glaze - Chocolate donut w. blackberry glaze
Fig Wam Bam - French vanilla donut w. fig jam & cream cheese filling
Mr. Tangerine Man - Cinnamon/nutmeg donut w. candied tangerine icing
It’s fitting, and creative. Shiro chuckles softly to himself reading through the twenty or so options.
He doesn’t notice how his body has decided to go rogue in the absence of his focus until it’s too late, and he has a still chilly, rough denim under his palm.
There’s about two seconds of panic in which Shiro jumps back and forth between wanting to jerk his hand away and keeping it on Keith’s narrow hip about thirty times, and he can practically feel his soul leave his body.
But at the end of the very long two seconds, Keith leans into him, his back colliding softly with Shiro’s chest. Across the counter, Keith’s friend pretends not to see anything.
Instead he hands over a small pile of four doughnut holes, dipped in a swirly kind of glaze with white and blue.
“I call it ‘Little Swirl Blue’.” The man says with a dopey, proud smile. Keith chuckles, and even though Shiro doesn’t know what song the name refers to, he can appreciate the way Keith sways against him, humming a melody under his breath. “There’s blueberry powder, y’know like freeze dried then powdered, infused into the batter. And the glaze is lemon flavored.”
Keith reaches for one of the little doughnuts, and bites it in half. He makes a surprised little noise, and Shiro feels it through layers of clothing.
It’s nice.
Close like this, Shiro can feel the smell of Keith’s hair right under his nose. Masculine, a little smoky. He looks down to trace what he sees. The shape of a pierced ear with two studs and a hoop, the straight line of his jaw.
He barely registers someone is speaking to him.
“Shiro, look.” Keith sounds excited, like a child with a new toy, as he lifts the remaining half of the doughnut to show Shiro the inside. The fluffy little pastry is purple, like a berry all in itself.
He’s no gourmand, but he’s good enough to know that doughnuts don’t usually come in such a vibrant color.
“Is it good?”
“You tell me.” Keith nudges the half closer to Shiro’s face, looking up at him expectantly. Shiro dips his head down, gently taking the piece from between Keith’s fingers.
And it’s lovely. Citrusy and not too sweet, with a strong taste of blueberries.
He makes a stupid, pleased little noise, to which Keith laughs.
“Looks like you did it again, Hunk.” He says, and the man in front of them beams proudly.
“That’s good to hear!” Hunk claps his hands together. “You guys wanna try something else?”
Keith leans back a little heavier into Shiro, tilting his head back to look up at him. Shiro’s heart flutters, just a little.
“I think since it’s Shiro’s first time, he needs to try the trademark.” Keith speaks to Hunk, while looking at Shiro. It’s an odd mix of being very aware of where they are and what they’re doing, but at the same time getting a little lost, just in this.
How long has it been since looking at someone was so new and encompassing? Years?
“One ‘Long Tall Sally’, yep.” Hunk confirms, and it’s ridiculous how much of a loss it feels like, when Keith breaks their eye contact to look back at his friend. Shiro takes the moment to look up and re-read the description to the just mentioned doughnut, listed under ‘Sal’s Classics’.
Long Tall Sally - Long John style donut w. pear compote, brandy/caramel creme & chocolate glaze
🍴-🍴-🍴
Keith picks out a couple of other treats, a cup of coffee each, and they’re back out in the cold. But it doesn’t feel so bad, this time, with Keith walking that much closer now, and a hot cup of coffee in hand.
They settle on a bench right by the entrance to the park, underneath a street lamp that casts a warm glow on them both.
Shiro tries not to lose himself in the gorgeous mix of flavors and textures that come with the doughnut Keith chose for him, listening intently to Keith explaining how they make the compote from scratch at the bakery.
By the time he’s finished his mouthful, Keith has clamped down on something with so much powdered sugar, it clings to half his face. Shiro laughs, and Keith urges him on by trying in vain to reach it all with his tongue, going cross eyed trying to see the white spot on the tip of his nose.
Shiro doesn’t think. He just rides the little wave of sugar and endorphins and reaches up, gently cupping Keith’s face in his hands while still half laughing. He swipes the remaining sugar off with his thumbs.
When he’s done, Keith has shifted, allowed Shiro to pull him in closer.
Keith’s face is warm from laughing, short for his nose that is still red and chilly from the cold. But he isn’t laughing anymore. He looks at Shiro with a shadow falling over impossibly large eyes, his expression soft and waiting.
It’s the first time in about a million dates, that Shiro feels this. This pull and this giddy tickle under his skin that makes him close the gap, kiss sugar sweet lips.
It isn’t chaste, or anywhere near as soft as the moment calls for. There’s a spark in Keith that ignites the moment their lips touch, that makes him draw for breath against Shiro’s mouth and wind his arms around his neck.
Shiro follows willingly, and he has a feeling he will continue doing so, for a long time.