Chapter 2: 2. A Silly Tradition

8th December

Shiro

“How’s the Christmas party coming along?” Allura asks, taking a seat opposite me in the school cafeteria. I poke at my meal to test if it won’t bite me back when I start eating it, but so far, so good.

“Fine. We have a venue—the Old Red Lion bar. They should handle the catering, too, and the invitations went out a week ago. That’s pretty much everything, I think.”

“Excellent. Good job, Shiro.”

“Happy to help.” I take a careful bite out of my ground beef sandwich. The taste won’t prompt anyone to compose songs about it, but as school lunches go, it could be worse, although I’m still not sure if the free meals here are a perk or punishment. Allura keeps staring at me, her tray untouched in front of her.

“Is there something else you want to discuss?”

“How’s Keith adjusting?”

Ah, so that’s the reason Allura decided to eat lunch with me today. Should’ve known. While we’re on friendly terms, Allura doesn’t stop by just to chat. No, she wields her time off like a weapon to check up on less formal matters and ensure the school runs smoothly. 

“No idea.”

Her brows knit together.

“I’d have to actually see him sometimes to know how he’s doing,” I answer her unspoken question. “He’s been avoiding me.” Ever since the morning when I showed him around and introduced him to staff, he kept clear of me. I have no idea why, but it bothers me. Most people enjoy my company. This is as though I still have my office all to myself, which might sound great, but I’m a social person and wouldn’t mind talking to someone occasionally. Even when Keith and I happen to cross paths, he barely grunts out a word or two. His record is two whole sentences, and that was to apologize for spilling filthy brush water all over my desk. 

He’s a bit of a disaster, but a cute one, and I’d love to get to know him better. Even before realizing we would become colleagues, I wanted to ask for his number, not because of the cost of dry-cleaning, but because I wanted to ask him out. Our working together complicates matters a little, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with a quick visit to HR. If Keith was interested. His lack of contact suggests he isn’t, so I should forget this stupid idea, but for some reason, I can’t get it out of my head. Can’t get him out of my head.

“Are you listening to me, Shiro?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I said that Keith’s been doing great with the students but doesn’t really fit in otherwise, so I wanted to ask if you could make sure he comes to the party. Gets to know everyone with less pressure.”

“Again, he’d have to be around the office sometimes so I could invite him. The guy’s a ghost. I’m not sure he even works here at this point.”

“He does, and he’s right over there.” Allura points to a table where Keith sits alone, shoveling food into his mouth without paying attention to what he’s eating. Clearly, he’s already mastered the trick to surviving cafeteria fare. He stares into his phone, lips turned up at the corners, and he types out something with his unoccupied hand. My throat tightens a little. Why does the guy have to be so unbearably hot? And why the hell does he keep dodging me? He can’t be embarrassed about our first meeting anymore, can he? I assured him over and over that it didn’t matter. In fact, I found it pretty funny, and I was glad to have an excuse for getting rid of the ugly sweater.

“Why don’t you tell him to come? You’re his boss.”

“Exactly.” Allura spears a piece of carrot and examines it thoroughly before eating it. “It’ll sound like an order, and I don’t want to pressure him. I want him to feel welcome.” 

“But it’s okay to pressure me?”

“Pretty please?” she flutters her eyelashes at me.

“Those tricks don’t work on me, you know.”

“Dammit. Well, you owe me one for covering your classes in November when you had that nasty flu.” 

I clasp my hand over my chest in mock outrage. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends. And what kind of person wouldn’t help a friend?”

“Explain to me how don’t you rule the world already?”

She shrugs and sends me a wink. “I like teaching. So?” 

“Fine, I’ll try asking him, but I don’t promise anything.” 

“You’re a doll.” 

“Weird, I feel more like a fiddle.”

“Because you’re so fit?”

“Because you played me like one,” I say, glaring, but Allura only laughs. 

“You’ll do fine. Keith isn’t a ghost, and he doesn’t bite. Probably. Let me know how the operation ‘befriending the introvert’ goes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She laughs again, finishes her lunch, and departs, leaving me to focus on my lunch, which I hoped to avoid. Well, no reason to postpone this, right? I wolf down the rest of my sandwich and search the cafeteria for the familiar dark head, only to discover that Keith’s already left. How fitting. Chances are, I won’t see him again today. Or till the end of the week. Unless I plan ahead and ambush him as if attempting to photograph a skittish wild animal. I much prefer stars and nebulas. They’re vast, endless, immovable, and couldn’t care less about people’s opinions.

I scrub my hand through my hair. Today is Thursday, which means I only teach one class after lunch, from which I usually head straight home. Guess it’s time for a change. Time to surprise my elusive colleague. 

The class is—fun might be a strong word, but I enjoyed it, and the students didn’t fall asleep, so I call it a win. I’m aware many people dread math and physics, so I try to make the subjects as approachable as possible, using real-life examples, always taking care to stop and explain when people fall behind. So far, it seems to work. 

Afterward, I return to my office to see if I can surprise Keith, and it doesn’t take long for my sneakiness to be rewarded. Muted voices from the hall grow steadily louder, and I recognize Keith saying goodbye to a student. The door creaks open, and my colleague steps in, a tall stack of palettes balanced in his hands. 

“Hey, Keith.”

“Holy fuck!” 

I’ve always thought ‘it happened in slow motion’ was an exaggeration, but in this case, it’s true. Keith’s entire body jerks back, causing him to lose his grasp on the palettes, and they crash down to the floor, where they shatter into a thousand shards. When he attempts to grab them, the spasmodic motion drives his elbow into the wall.

“Ow, motherfucking piece of drywall!”

I jump to my feet, cross over the palette graveyard, and stabilize him before he can injure himself further.

“What are you doing here?” he looks up at me, cradling his hurt arm. We’re standing so close. My hand rests on his hip, and his head is tucked under my chin. I want to pull him even closer and blanket him with my body so he stops hurting himself. Given the circumstances of our coffee place meeting and the accident just now, I’m sensing a pattern, one that results in Keith bruised and bloody.

“This is my office.” 

“Right.” He glances down at the destroyed porcelain. “We were doing watercolors today, and I thought these would be safer here. That was dumb.” 

“Sorry about that.” 

“Nah, wasn’t your fault.” He looks completely dejected. Much more than a couple of palettes deserve. “This is awkward, but could you help me clean up? I’m likely to impale myself or slice my thumb off. Or something worse. There are no limits to my clumsiness.”

“You seem a bit, er…”

“Uncoordinated? Awkward? A klutz? A walking, talking disaster?” 

“Spatially challenged.” 

“That’s a good one. I’m going to borrow that if you don’t mind.”

“Go nuts. Can I check your elbow? You bumped it pretty hard.”

“Be my guest.” 

We carefully walk over the porcelain shards to Keith’s chair. With a deep sigh, he sinks into it, rolls up his sleeve, and exposes the injured joint, which is bloody and swelling up already.

“Maybe you should have the nurse look at it.”

He pumps his arm experimentally.

“Nah, it’s just bruised. Believe me; I recognize a fracture by now.”

I grab a tissue from my desk and start collecting the remnants of the palettes to throw them in the trash. 

“So how come you’re here? You’re usually gone when I finish my afternoon classes.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Bet you regret that now.”

“Only because it led to you maiming yourself.”

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“Well, don’t worry; if it weren’t you, I’d find another way to do that. I’m kind of an expert.” 

I hand him a tissue, and he presses it to the bleeding wound, inhaling sharply. Used to injuries or not, they still hurt, and I want to ease his pain somehow.

“What did you want to talk about?” Keith asks, his expression guarded.

“Why are you avoiding me?” I blurt out. Dammit. I intended to ask if he was coming to the Christmas party, but seeing him all sad yet adorable scrambled my thoughts, and the question just slipped out. To my surprise, Keith blushes, angling his head away.

“I wasn’t… I’m not… oh, crap. I didn’t want another chance to look like an idiot in front of you, okay? Guess that ship has sailed, huh?”

“Keith. I don’t think you’re an idiot.” 

His head whips up, and his eyes find mine. How inappropriate would it be to bring him into my lap, wrap my arms around him, and bury my head in his neck? Extremely. The answer is extremely, but the desire is a molten heat in my gut, almost impossible to resist. 

Focus, Shirogane. You’re here to ask him a question and leave. Nothing more. 

Besides, the guy is a bit of a mess. A cute mess with a sharp face, lithe body, and perfect ass, but a mess. Chances are, if I keep him company, I end up in a friendly fire of porcelain detritus, hit by a meteor, or jumping from a plane without a parachute. 

“Yeah, well. I’m gonna head home. Need to stop by an art store to pick up more palettes.” 

“I’ll walk you out.” To ask about the party. Not to protect him from himself or anything. No, I have a task to do and don’t want to find myself at the business end of Allura’s disappointed glare. Another weapon in her arsenal that she wields with laser-like precision. By now, she has it down to an art form.

“Sure you want to risk it?” 

“I’ll brave the danger for you.” I send him a smile, causing red stains to pop up on his cheeks.

“Okay, yeah, um. Fine. That’s fine. Is it hot in here?” 

“Same temperature as always.” 

“Weird. Could swear the thermostat was broken.”

Keith pushes to his feet, blushing, but he doesn’t protest my company anymore, so we head out together, strolling down the empty corridor.

“How do you like it here so far?”

“It’s pretty cool. I worried about teaching a bunch of teenagers cause, hello, monsters, but they’re okay. Guess I lucked out. Two or three kids are really talented and could go far if they’re willing to put in the work and effort. I’d like to introduce digital art into the curriculum, though, because you can’t do shit without it these days. Every major studio works in digital.” 

Huh, so this is the key to getting Keith talking. All I have to do is ask him about art. In hopes of keeping the conversation going, I shoot another question at him.

“Digital? That’s interesting. I thought all artists did was…”

“Splatter paint over canvases? No. Used to, but these days, not so much. Very few people make it big making traditional art, and if you want to work, for example, as a concept artist, you have to know how to handle a graphic tablet and various software from Photoshop to Z-Brush.”

“That sounds like a whole different language.”

“Sorry. I tend to ramble when I get to talk art.” 

“You’re passionate about your subject. I can relate.” 

He sends me a sideway glance.

“Don’t tell me you’re passionate about… math?” he gives an exaggerated shudder.

“Sure am.” I clap him on the shoulder, and he stiffens under my touch. Right. Not everyone’s a fan of casual, friendly gestures. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I continue. 

“I know that it’s everyone’s least favorite subject, but to me, it’s… elegant, you know? It makes sense. Everything fits. Plus, physics allows us to understand the universe we live in, and I think that’s fascinating. I dreamed of being an astronaut when I was younger, but I suffer from severe claustrophobia, so… not possible.”

“That’s a bummer. Have you tried therapy? Hypnosis?”

“Trust me, I tried about everything. Nothing helped. But I’m pretty happy teaching, so no complaints.” 

“Glad it worked out for you.”

“How about you? What drew you to art?”

“Not sure if something drew me as much as I’m hopeless at pretty much everything else.”

“That can’t be right.”

“I applaud your optimism.” Keith grins at me, and the gesture ripples across his face, transforming his sorrowful look into something vibrant. All the sharp slopes and severe lines shine with a new light, soft and glowing. My heart trips over itself as I watch him, and the urge to claim him as mine expands into a deep thrum in my bones, but we’re almost out of the building, and I still haven’t even asked Allura’s question, let alone gathered the courage for anything else. Taking action is not my strongest suit, but I should stop waffling and bite the bullet. I come to a stop, and Keith follows, staring at me with question marks in his eyes. Here goes nothing.

“Do you plan on coming to the Christmas party next week?” 

He pushes a stray lock of hair out of his forehead, then adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder. A clear stalling tactic, which means he doesn’t want to respond, giving me an answer without uttering a word.

“Would you believe parties aren’t my thing? I get awkward around people. Not just crashing into the glasses and spilling champagne everywhere awkward, which unfortunately happened, more like staring at everyone, not knowing what to talk about, wondering how everyone excels at small talk—like seriously, are there classes? I’d love to take one. And then blurting out something dumb or offensive and embarrassing myself. But on the plus side, I remember every mortifying encounter and play a highlight reel of my greatest hits before falling asleep each night.” 

I close the short distance between us. 

“You’re not awkward with me. Well, not much,” I say, offering Keith a smile. God, he’s cute. My cute little tornado of crappy luck. No. Not mine, I correct myself before that idea can take root in my brain.

“I do okay one-on-one. In small doses, as my friend Lance says.” 

He glances up above my head. 

“Hey, look, a mistletoe.”

I follow his gaze, and sure enough, the evergreen sprig hangs over us, wrapped with a red bow, changing a friendly chat into something tense and uncomfortable. How nice of the students who put it up as a joke. Tomorrow, I’ll find them to thank them in person. 

Keith shifts on his feet but doesn’t step away. Does he expect me to follow the tradition? Does he want to play it as a joke? What’s the protocol here? My body doesn’t care, filling with prickly awareness. The proximity allows me to inhale his scent, paint, and something flowery, like lavender, which must be his shampoo. What a jarring combination, but somehow, it fits him, this chaotic man who burst into my ordered life and turned it upside down. Worse, it makes me want to crowd him into a wall and kiss him breathless, but I have a track record of crappy decisions regarding my love life, so this would probably turn into another debacle. Okay, pretending it’s a joke wins by default.

“It’s a silly —” 

The word ‘tradition’ dies on my lips as Keith draws himself up, grabs the front of my shirt, and yanks me down to bring our mouths together. Our noses bump, and our teeth clank at first, keeping the clumsy theme strong, but Keith’s lips obliterate all these objections in an instant. They’re sweet and warm and addictive. For how anxious he seemed, the kiss borders on desperate. His hands fist in the fabric of my shirt, and little whimpers spill out of him as he chases my lips. Not fighting my desire for him anymore, I bend lower and wrap my hand around the back of his head to slow down the frenetic energy buzzing through us. 

Unrestrained, he moans into my mouth, and my other hand flies to his ass and my reason out the window. His teeth graze my bottom lip, more in control than I’d expect, a little rough but gentle enough to keep the sting of pain on the side of pleasure. My cock turns into a flagpole in seconds flat. For a moment, I forget that we’re colleagues, that our relationship should be sanctioned by HR first, that we’re standing in a freaking school corridor making out like teenagers. Maybe it’s all the pheromones in the air. Or Christmas magic. Not sure, don’t care. The only thing I care about is Keith’s tongue surging into my mouth, dipping in and out, playful, exploring. I chase after it to entangle it with mine, and when I succeed, an out-of-control groan tears from my vocal cords. 

A tinkle of laughter rings out from behind, followed by a flurry of voices. Reality rushes back in with all the previous objections, and I pull off Keith’s mouth.

“We shouldn’t have —”

“Done that. Right. So inappropriate. Of course. God, I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. Um. See you. At the party. Possibly. Have a nice day.”

And he flees, loping away with surprising speed for a self-proclaimed klutz before I squeeze out the entire sentence. 

“— done this in public. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Students throw me a couple of nods and hellos as they walk past me, heading outside. Mind reeling, I reply automatically and follow them out of the school.

Perfect. Just great. But hey, at least Keith said he’d come to the party, so mission accomplished? Except it seems I killed our budding relationship before it could take root. This guy might be more work than he’s worth.

My tongue peeks out, seeking traces of his taste on my lips. I remember the passion in his voice when he spoke about art. The heat in his eyes before he seared my mouth with his lips, forever rendering all other kisses I might ever receive a sloppy imitation of the real thing.

Certainty unfurls in my gut and grabs me by the throat. For a second, I can’t breathe from the sheer intensity of my realization.

He’s worth it.

He’s absolutely worth it, and I’ll make him see that we could work. He just needs to come to the Christmas party and give me a chance to explain without being interrupted by accidents, stolen coffees, broken palettes, or wandering students.

I’m not asking for much, am I? It’s Christmas, after all. 

Surely, Santa can fulfill such a tiny wish?

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