Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shiro has learned many things in his first four months of working a delivery route part-time.

Some, he’s found out by word of mouth. He’d learned that his route, also called the “Gunderson Route” is always given to the rookies as a test. As far as he’s been told, there are only three ways out of the Gunderson Route: the hiring of a new employee, and therefore new rookie; promotion to a better route; or demotion to package sorting at the delivery center. The route was, according to Hunk, a senior delivery person, notorious in its toughness. Lance, whom Shiro has replaced, had done a dance in the middle of the break room upon the announcement that Shiro would be taking over for him.

Which leads Shiro to the second thing he’s learned about: the namesake of the aforementioned route.

With one exception, the Gunderson Route is an easy one - about seven blocks, mostly businesses and a few condos, and one apartment building with six units. The building - and most of the building’s tenants - was older, quiet, and unremarkable from the outside. Five of the six units received little to no mail on a regular basis. But apartment No. 5, on the eastern corner of the building, got enough packages on a daily basis to form its own delivery company.

Shiro had done a double take the first day Shay, his shift manager, had handed him the clipboard with the scheduled deliveries. How, he’d asked, could one address be expecting thirteen packages? Shay’d just shaken her head and sent him off with that sweet smile of hers. It didn’t take long to find out why.

Pidge Gunderson was young, maybe twenty-four at max, barely came up to chest height on him, and had what he’d heard a fellow grad student once call ‘resting bitch face’. When he’d rung the doorbell (with his foot, since his arms were laden with eight of the thirteen heavy, misshapen packages to be delivered to the address), he’d had to wait three minutes before she even swung the door open.

“There’s supposed to be thirteen,” she’d said, squinting at the packages through a tangle of brown hair that fell over her face and past her shoulders.

“The other five are in the truck,” Shiro had said, taken aback. “I could only carry these eight up at once.”

How he remembers months later that she’d been wearing an oversized and hole-pocked NASA tee-shirt, he isn’t sure, but it sticks out as clearly in his mind as the thing she’d said next: “You’d be able to carry nine if your prosthetic were fit properly. Maybe ten, since you look pretty strong.”

He hadn’t known how she’d seen his arm under the mountain of packages, or why she’d decided to point it out like they were discussing the weather, but Shiro’s immediate reaction had been to drop the packages at her feet, whip out his clipboard, and ask her to sign. He hadn’t said a word to her on his second trip up, and she didn’t even seem to notice. Lance had seen the look on his face back at the center and passed him an unopened juicebox without question.

The third thing he’s learned is that “Pidge Gunderson” isn’t her real name. That one hadn’t taken long to figure out. Lance and Hunk had been speculating that for months before Shiro showed up that there was something strange about Pidge (besides her general demeanor and persistent package deliveries), but their guesses always ended in alien conspiracy theories and government cover ups. It had been Shiro who’d confirmed it, simply by looking at the signature afterwards. Whatever name she’d scribbled on his clipboard, it’d been much shorter than “Pidge Gunderson”, and contained at least one ‘t’.

The fourth thing, he’s learned - well, he’s still learning it. He’s learning that, as ridiculous as it sounds, he might be falling just a little bit - just a smidge - in love with the odd and demanding girl on his delivery route.

…

It starts around Christmas time.

He’s in a good mood, despite reaching the dreaded end of his route. The elderly woman in apartment 1 gives him a festive tin of freshly-baked cookies, and even Slav, the nervous gentleman in 3, gifts him a hand-knit scarf to 'avoid a potential reality where you die of hypothermia’.

Maybe that’s why he attempts to initiate communication with Pidge, despite the near month of silence he’d imposed after their first, inauspicious meeting. He’s noticed an uptick in the number of packages she’s getting, unusual even for her. So, when she answers the door her standard three minutes after he rings the doorbell, he passes the packages over to her and while she’s signing, goes, “A lot of Chistmas gifts, huh? Whoever is getting them must be pretty lucky.”

Pidge looks up from the clipboard with a start. Her hair is pulled back from her face for once, and sits atop her head in a messy bun. It gives him a great view of her red-latticed eyes and the dark circles surrounding them. She looks like she needs a nap, like, last week.

“Christ… mas?” she gurgles.

He catches the clipboard as she drops it to pat frantically at the pockets of her sweatpants. Whatever she’s looking for - her phone, he assumes - isn’t there.

“Shit!” she says. “What’s today?”

“December 16th,” Shiro replies, trying to keep the question out of his voice. How could she not know what day it was? Maybe she never left her apartment. Kind of looked like it.

Shiro gets his thoughts together - he is on the clock, after all, and there’s a level of pride he takes even in this part-time job - and rattles off the information Coran had gone over during their last meeting. “Amazon does free two-day shipping up until the 22nd, and will expedite packages for a fee up until the 24th. We deliver until the 24th, too.”

All he gets in a response is a long, slow blink before the door slams in his face.

…

The next day, the boxes listed for one Pidge Gunderson are noticeably more festive-Amazon-Prime-Delivery and less obscure-Chinese-electronic-company. He hauls them upstairs and tries not to let the thought of another interaction at Apt. #5 dampen his mood. There’s still a long thesis meeting with his advisor after his shift, and no doubt Dr. Holt will notice if he’s being dour.

He rings Pidge’s doorbell. The door opens a second later.

“Holy crow, you saved my life,” Pidge says in a rush. She takes the packages a few at a time and gingerly sets them right inside the door.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said something,” she continues. “I’ve been so wrapped up - ha, get it, wrapped up? - in my project that I almost completely forgot to order gifts for Christmas. Mom probably would have understood, but Matt would have never let me hear the end of it, and Dad… Dad would have insisted that I-” She cuts her ramble off, rolling her eyes at whatever her dad would have insisted she do.

Apparently she remembers how to breathe then, because she pauses for a long moment, lets loose a long exhale, then locks eyes with him. Her eyes are a honeyed brown, maybe veering somewhere into amber.

And apparently Shiro forgets how to think, because he just stands there, taking her in, too stunned by her sudden, chatty about-face to react or, at the very least, pass her the clipboard to sign. He blinks. Pidge breaks her stare and looks down at her feet. She’s wearing mismatched green socks.

“So thanks. You really saved my ass.”

“Oh, ah, yeah,” he replies. The syllables sound lame in his own ears. “No problem.”

There’s another pause, this time longer and more excruciating in its awkwardness. Pidge toes at a chipped tile in the apartment’s entrance.

“I should probably apologize,” Pidge says abruptly. “For earlier. I mean like way earlier, a while ago. I shouldn’t have said anything about your arm.”

Shiro looks up at her, surprised. It must register on his face, because her cheeks flush red and she ducks her head.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that was pretty rude,” she continues. She lets out a flat chuckle and her eyes dart up to glance at him. “That says a lot about me, I guess.”

For someone who often erred on the side of being over-polite, Shiro still feels like he’s lost his footing. Regular decorum would dictate he accept the apology, then pretend from this point forward like the slight had never happened in the first place. But he doesn’t get the sense that Pidge is the regular decorum type. Something about her tells him that she’ll notice if he’s not being earnest. He hopes to the Ghost of Christmas Future that this doesn’t lose him his job.

“The comment was insensitive to say the least,” he says. “It’s not something I talk to even my closest friends about very often, let alone a complete stranger.”

To his surprise, Pidge doesn’t try to interrupt or defend herself. Her lips pull tight, and she nods along as he speaks. There’s a military-tautness to her frame as she listens. He gets the sense that, for the first time since they’d started interacting, her attention is fully his.

“If it weren’t for the fact that I need this job, I would have told you where you could stick all your packages.” He feels his face heat up, and watches her reaction. She doesn’t look offended… but she also doesn’t look amused. He thinks he sees the corner of her lips twitch. Resting bitch face was a bitch to read. But he’s already hurled himself off the edge. May as well try to stick the landing.

“So yes, it was pretty rude. But…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t noticed the tension he’d been carrying between his shoulders until it slides away now. “I appreciate your apology.”

Pidge waits a beat before responding, as if making sure he was done. Like him, her squared shoulders relax as she speaks. “I swear I won’t say another word about it after this, but… I feel terrible about how careless I was before. Can I make it up to you? It’d be easy enough to make the adjustments on your prosthetics, and I have all of the tools. Of course I’ve never worked on a human subject, but my brother let me play around in the robotics lab for years, so-”

Pidge’s words gain speed along with enthusiasm, but she stops short at his sharp look. She winces.

“Right. Yeah, uh, sorry.”

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. If things kept going like this, all of the season’s charity and goodwill wasn’t going to be enough to keep him at Pidge Gunderson’s doorstep. But maybe the way she looks up at him next, gaze determined and unflinching, would be.

“Let me make it up to you,” she says, voice going quiet. “Please.”

“Okay.”

So far, Pidge was one for three when it came to not saying something wholly tactless. Given what Lance and the others had shared from their time on the route, Shiro is inclined to doubt that extended contact would help improve that ratio. He nonetheless follows when she waves him in.

“It’s Takashi, right?” she says, closing the door behind her. “That’s what’s on your name tag.”

“Yeah, Takashi’s fine.”

He swallows his usual response, “But my friends call me Shiro,” because he and Pidge aren’t friends. They have an employee-customer relationship, he tells himself. It’s nothing more than that, despite the fact that she’s now invited him into her home, and despite the fact that it feels so much more intimate the moment Pidge flashes him a quick grin and goes, “Takashi, then. Well, it’s a pleasure to get a proper introduction, Takashi. You probably know this already, but I’m Pidge.”

Pidge is a student like him, he learns as she guides him through her cluttered apartment. She tells him she’s working on her final project as part of her doctoral thesis, but the mountains of electronic parts, wiring, and tools that turn her otherwise spacious living room into a claustrophobic cave make him question the veracity of her story. He’s seen how much stuff she orders, and there’s no way she’s affording that on a research stipend.

Lance and Hunk’s wild theories about who or what Pidge truly is seem more within the realm of probability as she guides him past a glowing, whirring machine that she fondly introduces as “Rover 2.3”. She chatters on about the direction of her research and her findings, and even with Shiro’s background in mechanics and computer systems from his time piloting, he finds himself well out of depth in a matter of minutes.

But regardless of who she really is and what she’s really doing, regardless of whether or not she was just an invested student or more, Pidge makes good on her apology. With shocking delicacy, she reaches across a table covered in a mix of coffee stained diagrams, textbooks, stale pizza crusts, and other various bric-a-brac, and examines his prosthetic. It takes her less than five minutes to make her adjustments to his arm. By the end of it, his whole right side feels lighter, more balanced. It is a gift, and he says as much.

Pidge leaves him at the door with one more gift. As he exits the apartment, behind schedule and unable to care about it, she stops him with one, final apology. Then, before he’s braced himself, Pidge hits him with a smile. It’s quick, a little crooked, but warmer than one hundred mugs of hot chocolate or ten Slav-knit scarves.

He doesn’t feel the December chill for the rest of the day.

…

“You know, sometimes I think you order bricks just to make my life harder,” Shiro says as he comes up the stairs. Pidge is waiting for him at the end of the hall. She rolls her eyes.

“Not my fault hard drives are so heavy, but thanks for the bricks idea,” she says. She makes a show of moving out of his way once he gets to the door. He just shakes his head.

Despite his complaint, Shiro takes care in setting the overlarge package down in Pidge’s front hall.

“The minute you start ordering bricks is the minute I start leaving missed delivery notices on your door,” he says as he stands. “And then you’ll have to come all the way out to the post office just to get them.”

“And miss out on my stunning wit and intellect?” Pidge says with a snort. “Whatever you say, Takashi.”

It’s January, and still cold as hell, but in the last month he’s noticed an unusual trend of feeling inexplicably warm at unexpected intervals. His whole body seems to heat up as his name rolls off of Pidge’s lips. Maybe not so inexplicable, then.

“What I’d really be missing out on is my daily workout bringing all of your crap upstairs,” he shoots back. It has the desired impact: she smiles, one side quirking up higher than the other. Her eyes are bright - she must have been gotten some sleep last night - and he’s hit with another wave of heat.

“Speaking of crap,” she says, “do you wanna slice of pizza before you go? You’ve got class after this, yeah?”

She gestures towards the kitchen, and from where he stands, Shiro spots the remnants of what looks like a buffalo chicken pizza.

“Is it anywhere in the realm of fresh?” he asks. “Like, did you order it today, or am I signing up for week-old pizza?”

“Depends,” she says. “What’s today?”

“Tuesday.”

Pidge pretends to take a long time thinking about it. She taps her chin and purses her lips.

“Pidge, am I going to die if I eat this pizza?”

“Probably not,” she says, drawing out the syllables as if she weren’t entirely sure. It’s his turn to roll his eyes.

She laughs, a hearty, sound that rings like pleasant bells in his ears. “I’m kidding, I ordered it this morning. Let me wrap up some slices for you to take. Can’t have you being too healthy.” Pidge pads over to the kitchen without waiting for his response.

“Trying to make me in your image?” he teases.

He leans on the doorframe and watches as she places two slices of pizza on some paper towels and folds the paper towels into a neat package. It fascinates him, how she could live in such self-made squalor yet also be so precise.

She returns with his pizza and passes over. Her grin is a bit smug as she cocks her head, looks up at him, and says, “Something like that.”

…

Coran calls him in for a glowing 90-day review, and asks not for the first time if he’d be willing to expand his hours. Shiro declines - he is, in theory, supposed to be setting aside a few hours for sleep - but takes the praise to heart. For months after the accident, he’d worried about how much his arm might limit him. But this, this is a success.

Lance teases Shiro about the Gunderson Route, telling him to pray that Coran hires someone else to get stuck with the route. The look on Lance’s face is worth revealing the discovery Shiro’s made in the last month: he rather enjoys his deliveries to Pidge.

It’s supposed to just be a job, he figures, but it’s more like an exchange. He gives her packages, and she gives him a smile he can’t seem to wipe off his face for hours afterwards.

…

“Well, Shiro, your work looks good as always,” Dr. Holt says cheerfully. “Do take time to flesh out the considerations I mentioned, but otherwise, you’re right on track.”

Dr. Holt closes Shiro’s notebook and slides it back to him across his desk.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, not bothering to keep the relief from his voice. “I’d been concerned about the second batch of calculations. I must have re-run them three times.” And then had Pidge go back over them twice he thinks.

Laughing, Dr. Holt leans back into his chair. “You know what I always say-” he starts

“Greatness is measured by diligence, not talent?” Shiro finishes.

“I was going to say 'Never trust a number you haven’t put some sweat and blood into,’ but that one’s true, too.” Dr. Holt says with a smile. “Speaking of diligence though, I stopped by Katie’s a few days back, and you would not believe the work she’s been doing! She denied it, but I’m certain she hasn’t been sleeping.”

Shiro shifts in his seat and fixes a polite smile on his face. For the last year and a half, Dr. Holt had been advising him on his thesis project, and he knows he wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for the man’s vast knowledge and kind but firm guidance. Shiro owes Dr. Holt everything, but any mention of Katie, Dr. Holt’s prodigy of a daughter, makes him squirm. He’s sure she’s lovely, and every bit as bright as his advisor makes her out to be, but ever since Dr. Holt had taken Shiro under his tutelage, any mention of Katie Holt inevitably ended up with a-

“I know I say this every time,” Dr. Holt says, and here it comes, “but you and my Katie would get along famously, Shiro.”

Shiro swallows his sigh.

“You’re both promising young engineers, and you have the sort of down-to-Earth steadfastness that I think would do Katie some good,” he continues.

It’s dangerous how easy it is to imagine how Pidge would react to a conversation like this. Not that it’s hard to predict; she reacted to most things with an eye roll and a snappy, sarcastic comeback. But Shiro can practically see her slumped in the empty armchair next to his, groaning, firing back, or both.

“-can arrange something if you’d like,” Dr. Holt says.

Shiro blinks, refocusing on the conversation at hand.

“Thanks, Dr. Holt,” he says, and he does mean it. “But right now, between work and school, I just don’t have much free time.”

Dr. Holt sighs, but smiles nonetheless. “I understand, my boy. Just don’t work yourself too hard, all right? And if you do manage to find some of that rare spare time…”

“I’ll let you know,” Shiro promises.

But he won’t.

One, because he doesn’t anticipate having any time to himself until after graduation.

And, two, because, if he does, he’s already got someone in mind that he’d like to spend it with.

…

She opens the door a second before he knocks. Shiro takes one look at her face and just about drops her package.

“Shiro…” Pidge says, voice wobbling. “I’m ruined, everything’s ruined, I fucked up-”

Distantly, Shiro’s aware of the smell of burning plastic wafting from Pidge’s apartment, but he’s too preoccupied by the way Pidge’s shoulders start to rise and fall with hiccuping sobs. He sets down her box.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asks, scanning her body first for any injuries.

She’s barefoot and wearing gym shorts, and Shiro has to scold himself for letting his eyes linger on her pale - uninjured - legs for a shade too long. Not the time or place. Outside of the red rings around her eyes and the tears streaking her cheeks, Pidge looks no worse than her usual wear.

“It-it’s Rover,” she gurgles. “I was testing out the first batch of new code on him and apparently I missed something in the de-bugging stage and- and he overheated and- and- it really fucked him up-”

Rover, the name Pidge had given to the computer system she was building as part of her doctoral thesis, was her pride and joy. But even without the dozens of conversations they’d had about Rover since the first time Pidge invited him in, Shiro would feel for her. He’s not sure what he would do if all of the work he’s put into his own project had suddenly gone up in flames.

Maybe that’s why he does what he does next. Sympathy, knowing how he’d feel if he were in her shoes. Or maybe it’s just that he can’t stand to see Pidge looking so upset, so torn up over Rover. Shiro abandons all pretenses. Her whole body shakes, and so he takes a step closer, wraps her in an embrace, and pulls her to his chest.

Without hesitation, Pidge throws her arms around him and sobs.

He’s not sure how long they stand there, holding each other in the threshold of her apartment. At some point, he slides one hand up to her head and runs his fingers through her hair, soothing.

“It’ll be all right,” he says after a time. He keeps his voice low. “You can figure out what in the code went wrong, yeah?”

Pidge nods into his shirt.

“So you’ll be able to fix it. No doubt it’s a setback, but better you figure out the problems with your code now rather than at your doctoral defense.”

Pidge sucks in a few shaky breaths before she sighs a miserable sounding, “You’re right…”

She lifts her head to peek up at him. The gloss of tears adds a swimming shine to the flecks of gold in her eyes. He wants to lean in, examine them more closely.

Her lips part and for a beat he fears she’s somehow read into the thoughts he’s been trying to bury. But rather than lift up on tiptoes and thin the gap between them, Pidge hiccups.

Silence, and then they break into laughter. She hugs him tightly. He wishes she wouldn’t let go.

Letting go, Pidge flashes him a watery smile.

“You’ve probably got to get back,” she says, scrubbing her cheek with the heel of her hand. “Sorry for crying all over your uniform.”

It would be easy to follow her inside, look through the rubble of her busted machine, provide comfort and aid in equal measure. Something - the way she continues to smile at him, or how her hands still grip the back of his shirt in loose fists - reassures him that she wouldn’t mind. She has a point, though. Shiro is still on the clock, and he’s been getting more and more sideways looks from Coran and Hunk as they compare Shiro’s logged package drop off time

to the time he makes it back to the depot.

He pulls away with the uncertainty of a skydiver backing out of a plane for the first time. Her hands slip away, her smile flickers a bit, and the realization hits his heart with the same lurch of adrenaline that comes when one finally decides to make the jump: gradually, and then all at once.

And like that first leap into open sky, he’s terrified and he’s utterly hooked.

“Guess I shouldn’t keep the boss waiting. Try and get some rest before you start fiddling with Rover again.” Shiro says. His words sound a whole lot different than what’s screaming in his chest.

…

Four and a half months into his part time job, AlteaX hires a new employee to help keep up with the company’s expanded delivery area. Keith Kogane is a hard worker, if not a bit sullen, and has more than a bit of a mouth on him. He and Lance bickered so much in Keith’s first week of training that Coran had asked Hunk to step in and take over.

Keith is strong, and quick to pick up the routes and package coding, and thoughtful in the oddest of moments. He’s studying law but talks, when he does talk, an awful lot about flying helicopters. He’s also the new rookie.

It’s with sinking stomach that Shiro realizes, minutes before their team meeting, that Keith and Pidge would get along famously.

“Well,” Coran says, clapping his hands together, “now that we’re all here, we can get started!” He shoots Lance, who’d walked in thirty seconds late, a pointed glance. Lance throws up his hands and makes an affronted face, but seems to know better than to interrupt the boss.

“As all of you probably know, Keith’s finished his three weeks of training and is more than equipped to start handling routes on his own. As such, we have some adjustments to make to our current assignments.”

With a flourish, Coran yanks down a mounted map of the city. A few sticky notes fly off as the map unfurls. Shiro squints at the map to confirm his suspicions, but he’s not close enough to read Coran’s immaculate but tiny script. His leg bounces as he waits for Coran to deliver the final verdict.

“We’ll be doing a simple shift in routes. Hunk will be taking over deliveries in the newest area we’ve expanded into, and Lance will slot into Hunk’s old position.”

Lance fist pumps and lets out a not-so-quiet “Yessss!” Hunk just rolls his eyes - as if Lance had truly expected anything different.

“So, following suit, Shiro will step in and take over Lance’s route, and Keith will be trying his hand at Shiro’s route.”

Chortling, Lance turns to Keith and, in a sing-song, goes, “Keith’s got the Gunderson Route, Keith’s got the Gunderson Route.”

Coran clears his throat, cutting Lance short. Nonetheless, Shiro catches the hint of a grin playing at Coran’s lips.

“Any questions?” Coran asks once Lance stops.

In fact, Shiro has a lot of questions. How would Pidge react the first time Keith gave her sass straight back to her, instead of waffling for a month like Shiro had? Would Keith understand anything about her doctoral project? What if Keith didn’t like cold buffalo chicken pizza? More importantly, what if Keith loved cold buffalo chicken pizza, and Pidge started sharing it with him all the time? And when would Shiro ever see her if it wasn’t on his route?

His hand shoots up like he’s back in primary school. Coran blinks.

“Yes? Shiro?”

“I know in the past the newest person has typically been assigned to the Gunderson Route, but with my current class schedule it might be more convenient if I stay on the same route.”

In unison, Lance and Hunk turn to stare at Shiro like he’s turned purple. Rubbing his hands on his pants, Shiro continues.

“Keith’s been training with Lance on his route, so it’s more recent and familiar to him, and as long as Keith doesn’t mind, him taking over Lance’s area might make the transition smoother.”

Keith shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m taking online classes this semester.”

The long, hard stare Coran gives him makes him feel like a package having its contents excised with sharp precision.

“Enjoying the Gunderson Route, hmm?” Coran twists one end of his moustache and arches an eyebrow.

Shiro doesn’t need to turn to know Lance and Hunk’s eyes are glued to him. Just about the only one who doesn’t seem enthralled with Shiro’s request is Keith, who idly taps at his phone.

“Yes, sir,” is all he says. It’s hard keeping the nervous wobble out of his voice. It’s like the first day of basic training all over again, but ten times worse, because he knows the second the meeting is over, Lance is going to be all over him.

An eternity ticks by as Coran hums and pulls at his moustache. His eyes flick back and forth between Shiro and the map.

Coran claps his hands together so suddenly that everyone - including Keith - jumps a little in their seats.

“Well, that all makes sense, don’t see why not! Keith will take over Lance’s route, and Shiro will stay where he’s at.”

Every scrap of dignity left in his bones is mustered to keep Shiro from melting into his seat. He was keeping the Gunderson Route. He was keeping her in his day.

…

“Dayuuuuum, Shiro.”

Lance slides up next to him as soon as Coran leaves the break room to return to his office.

“Didn’t know you were as good at delivering romance as you were packages. I guess you learned a little something training with the Lancester, huh?”

Keith shoves Lance in the shoulder; Lance has to scramble to stay upright. “Let’s all just be thankful he didn’t learn how to be a bonehead from you instead.”

Yowling in protest, Lance stands up in a flurry of long limbs and starts prodding Keith on the chest. They make such a spectacle, Shiro almost misses when Keith turns his head ever-so-slightly, catches Shiro’s eye, and winks.

The subject of Shiro and the Gunderson Route doesn’t come up again for a good week after.

…

“Door’s open!”

Pidge’s faint call is enough to reassure Shiro that she hasn’t died an unfortunate clutter and circuitry involved death over the weekend. The last time Pidge hadn’t immediately answered the door at his knock, he’d found her buried under a tower of electronics that had, in her words, “Toppled while I was climbing to the top to get something important.” It’d taken him three frantic minutes to dig her out of the mess. She’d seemed startlingly unfazed.

“Just come and get your packages!” Shiro calls back. Content that she’s not in danger, he switches straight back into his usual affectionate annoyance.

“But I don’t wannnnnaaaaaaa-”

Shiro rolls his eyes and leans against her door.

“Sure would be a shame to have to take all these packages back to the warehouse…”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Company policy states that all undelivered packages have to return to the warehouse until they can be transported to the post office for pick up.” Shiro smirks as he hears Pidge’s huff, followed by her loud stomp to the door.

She swings the door open so fast that he’s sure she knew he’d been leaning on it, but he’s ready, and shifts before he falls forward. He shoots her his most professional smile.

“Yeesh, can’t a girl sit around and be lazy for one second?” Pidge grumbles.

If there’s anything Pidge excels at, it’s computers and affecting a constant air of disarray, often at the same time. A pair of glasses with wide, round lenses sit lopsided on the very end of her nose, and it looks like she’s altogether given up on the effort of putting her hair in a ponytail. Instead, her hair’s pushed back from her face by a thin headband that could very well be a strip of cable or a wire casing. She’s traded out her standard winter overlarge-sweater-and-gym-shorts combo for a warmer weather overlarge-tee-shirt-and-gym-shorts-combo and, as always, wears the face of a woman who could use a good month of sleep.

Shiro looks down at his wrist to an invisible watch. “Sorry, can’t afford to wait around for you to be lazy on company time.”

With a snort, Pidge waves him inside and, as has become the case more often than not, he follows. “Like that’s ever stopped you.”

He glances at the clock in the kitchen as he trails behind her towards the living room. Seven minutes until he has to be back in the truck and on his way. Seven minutes in heaven with Pidge, just without the kissing.

He’s sure he’s pushing his luck, given the frequency with which he finds himself blushing in Pidge’s apartment, but once again she doesn’t turn and catch him. Most of his facial features are back under control by the time they reach the dim living room turned laboratory.

With a labored sigh, Pidge flops into the papasan chair closest to her computer setup. There’s a little loveseat with one cushion left free of computer components, but Shiro knows better than to let himself sit. If he sits, he’ll stay. He hesitates.

“Step into my office. I have something for you.”

She affects the tone of a movie mob boss and waves him over. Shaking his head, Shiro walks to papasan.

“Should I be worried?”

Pidge rummages around in the chair, sticking her hands underneath her and in her pockets. Whatever she’s looking for, she finds a moment later, if her excited “Ha!” is any indication.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Unless you have a deep-seated fear of door keys, you should be fine,” she says with a snort.

She’s joking, it’s obvious, but Shiro’s heart gives a startled lurch when she presents the key with a flourish. If this is what he thinks this is, then the hole he’s about to fall into will swallow him whole, rescue efforts be damned.

“What is this?” he asks, voice even.

“I thought the whole 'deep-seated fear of door keys’ and its conspicuous door key shape might have given that away.”

The implications of Pidge offering him a key to her apartment are numerous. Knowing Pidge, she just wants him to be able to come in and drop off her packages without having to get up, but it has to mean she trusts him without reservations.

In his mind, though, giving a key was a lot like giving a heart: done freely and with the expectation that the recipient would keep it, and everything it unlocked, safe. Pidge has never mentioned anything about past relationships, but Shiro has dated people for months, sometimes well over a year, before giving them a key to his place. He could count the number on one hand.

But in a way, they have been seeing each other for months.

“Uh, Takashi? My arm is getting tired.”

Shiro may know the Gunderson Route like the back of his hand, but for the first time, he has no clue where to go. It’s like a giant chasm has opened up in the middle of the street, and now he has to pick a direction around it.

And in a moment of sheer panic, he picks the safest, least satisfying route.

“I can’t take this.” He sticks out a hand in denial. “That’s got to be against every company policy on the books.”

He wishes he felt as assured in his decision as he sounds. Pidge, seemingly unconflicted about the entire proposal, lets her head loll back on the chair and groans.

“But Takashiiiii,” she drawls, “everything would be so much easier if you could just bring my packages right here instead of, you know, me having to come get them.”

The outright confirmation of Pidge’s laziness goes some way towards soothing the sting of his choice. There was nothing more to the request, he tells himself. Just another opportunity for Pidge to stay affixed to her chair and computer monitor.

“Sorry,” he says with his least repentant shrug. “AlteaX doesn’t pay me to deliver packages to customers’ feet.”

“AlteaX also doesn’t pay you to eat pizza and talk about your Master’s project with your customers, but that hasn’t stopped you yet.”

Looking all too smug, Pidge tips forward into the chair until she’s on her knees, then reaches up and wiggles the key underneath his nose. She’s close enough for him to catch a whiff of her: sweat, citrus, the scorched carbon tang of burning plastic. Despite himself, he leans in a fraction. Two temptations before him, and he has to turn down both.

“While I won’t deny that you make a fair point, I get the feeling that my boss would be much more forgiving about me taking the occasional pizza slice from a customer than taking the house key of a customer.”

Pidge lowers the key with a sigh. Her eyes dart down. There’s a lull, but the silence is filled with something else: the swell of a blush to Pidge’s cheeks. She looks up, but avoids making eye contact when she says, “Okay, fine. But there’s no company policy about taking the house key of a friend, is there?”

Shiro is certain that, if he once again turns down the key, nothing will change between them. There will still be friendly banter and a few enjoyable minutes and a signed clipboard at the end of it. Maybe even pizza.

But Pidge has offered a new direction, and he’d be a fool just to stay put. Shiro reaches down and takes the key from her loose hold.

“No, there isn’t.”

…

“Well, my boy, I hate to say it, but you’ve missed the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Normally Shiro’s stomach might sink at Dr. Holt’s words, but he’s running on about 3 hours of sleep, and Keith had to take over his route today because Shiro was forced to reschedule his undergrad office hours, and Dr. Holt’s adopted that particular tone of voice that tells him whatever is going to come out next will be about Katie.

And normally Shiro might play along, accommodate his eccentric father figure, but he’s about two blinks from sleep, so he just musters a dry, “Oh?”

Dr. Holt isn’t discouraged. If anything, Shiro’s lack of reaction encourages him to ham it up. He shakes his head and lets out a dolorous sigh.

“I’m afraid we’ve both taken too long, and my hard-headed Katie has gone and found herself infatuated.”

The non-committal noise Shiro makes is taken as a sign to continue.

“Who knows how she met him - she never leaves her apartment - but it sounds like he’s got her quite interested. Of course, Katie would never tell her old dad any of this, but her brother has a way of getting this sort of thing out of her.”

Shiro drifts off as Dr. Holt carries on. Every bit of energy he has left goes into not passing out and falling out of his chair. Some distant, sleepy corner of his mind is happy for Katie. At least someone is having some luck with their romantic endeavors.

“It’s the funniest thing, though,” Dr. Holt continues. “I think Matt said his name was Takashi.”

“It’s a common name,” Shiro murmurs.

Dr. Holt just laughs.

…

Shiro knocks out of habit rather than actual need. He gives Pidge fifteen seconds for good measure, mutters something under his breath about wishful thinking, then unclips his carabiner key chain from his belt loop and lets himself in.

“Takashi, is that you?”

Pidge’s voice is muffled, and doesn’t seem like it’s coming from the living room or kitchen. She must be in her bedroom - a first, as far as he can recall.

“Unless you’re giving out your house key to strange delivery men, then yes!” he calls back. “Want me to just leave this on the table, or…?”

He waves the package as if she could see it. A rare occasion, Pidge only had one delivery today, no doubt some small electronic piece swaddled in packaging material and sent in over of those bag-like plastic envelopes. Whatever it was, the package it was in was pretty squishy.

“Could you bring it here?”

The door cracks open, and a hand shoots out. Pidge makes grabbing motions until Shiro edges over and passes the package to her. Her mostly-disembodied hand retreats a second later, and the door shuts with a solid click.

“Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I just got out of the shower.”

Her words are accompanied by the familiar rustle of a package being torn open. In some beautiful alternate reality, there’s a circumstance in which the timing of his arrival and her getting out of the shower is perfect for reasons other than a conveniently timed delivery.

As much as he’d love to stay and contemplate such a scenario, he couldn’t hang around as usual; the University was holding a dinner and panel for Dr. Holt to discuss his most recent work, and he’d asked Shiro to be there.

“Stay for a minute, I think-” she cuts off with a grunt, and there’s some odd thumping sounds. “Curse these short arms! Yeah, I’m definitely going to need your help.”

“Is it project related, or do you just need help reaching something?”

“Neither.” If it were possible for a person to glare daggers with a single word, Pidge is doing it now.

Shiro checks his watch. A rather responsible sounding voice in his head reminds him that he still has to get back to AlteaX, clock out, take the bus home, get ready, and get back on campus by eight. But he’s been listening to that voice a lot less as of late.

He’s glad he doesn’t listen now.

Her door opens wide, and out wafts the humid heat of a fresh shower. The scent of citrus rolls along with it, but in place of burning plastic, Shiro catches a hint of vanilla. Pidge emerges, skin scrubbed to a peachy flush. His fingers curl at his sides as he resists the urge to reach out and see if she feels soft as she looks.

The dress she’s wearing is all deep green and lace and clings to her frame like ivy. The slip underneath covers just enough, allowing pale skin to peek out from under long sleeves and at the knees. Crisp lines from where the dress must have been folded show at her bust and waist - if he had to guess, he’d say he’s looking at the package he just passed over. If Shiro had known he’d be delivering his own personal heart attack, he might have come better prepared.

“You look beautiful.”

The v of her neckline makes it easy to see just how far down Pidge’s blush goes.

“Dad wanted to go out to dinner,” she says by way of response. “Normally we’d just get pizza or something, but it’s a special occasion, and then I realized I didn’t really have any dresses not covered in stains or holes so…”

She glances down and shrugs a little. One sleeve slips down her shoulder with the motion. With a breathy chuckle, Pidge pulls the sleeve back up.

“Zip me up?”

When Shiro applied to work as a part-time delivery person, he’d carefully read over the job details. Semi-flexible scheduling. Consistent pay. Heavy lifting. Nowhere in the fine print was there mention of falling for a quirky genius with a penchant for throwing the norms of employee-customer interactions out the window.

The plane of Pidge’s back framed by the zipper is marked only by faint freckles. She’s managed to zip the dress about halfway. The rest waits for him, an invitation to touch.

“Yeah, no problem,” he says, though he’s not quite sure how.

Shiro takes a step towards her and pretends as though his hands aren’t shaking just the slightest bit, pretends like he’s not radiating heat from head to toe. Pidge’s breathing stills, but maybe it’s to help him as he zips. He pinches the fabric beneath the zipper and pulls the slider up. Skin disappears, inch by inch.

It’s not until he reaches about her shoulder blades that he has to - or, if he’s being honest, lets himself - touch. Gently, he sweeps her loose, damp hair over her shoulder and out of the way of the zipper. His fingers brush the nape of her neck.

The whole process of zipping up her dress takes less than ten seconds, but with the way his heart is pounding, it may as well have taken ten years off his life.

“Good to go.”

Pidge turns back around, but it’s not like looking at her face instead makes it any easier for him. There’s no way she can’t see how red he’s gone. At least, when he looks back at her, it’s like looking in a mirror. She bites her bottom lip.

“Thanks.”

“Happy to help.”

The air between them is thick with more than just the humidity from her shower. Pidge opens her mouth, starts to say something, then presses her lips together again. She bounces on the balls of her feet and tucks her hands behind her before speaking.

“You should come,” she starts. “Uh, to dinner. With me and my dad. You two would get along famously. There’s a thing afterwards, but you wouldn’t have to go, but-”

Shiro’s never regretted Dr. Holt’s success before, but for once, he wishes the university weren’t so keen on celebrating his research tonight.

“I wish I could,” he says with a sigh. “But I already made a commitment.”

Pidge deflates.

“Maybe next time, though?”

He doesn’t know if there will ever be a next time, if he will get another chance to see her outside of her tiny apartment, off the route named for her. Maybe he won’t get an opportunity to act on his feelings.

But as her face lights up in a smile, Shiro remembers just what it was that set off those feelings in the first place.

“I’ll hold you to it, then.”

…

The champagne and hors d’oeuvres are the best consolation Shiro suspects he’ll get. The panel Dr. Holt and some of the other members of the aerospace engineering department hold proves both interesting and entertaining, as always, and he tries to make good on his promise to Dr. Holt that he would network during the reception afterwards.

But it’s not enough to temper the disappointment that’s clouded his entire evening. Images of Pidge, elbows propped up on a table and laughing far too loud for a fancy restaurant, distract him all night.

Shiro excuses himself from a table of fellow graduate students and scientists to stab at a few more tiny sausages at the food table. He’s filled his plate and is contemplating a third glass of champagne when he hears his name from across the room. Well, his name, but a little different than what he’s used to hearing on his university campus.

“Takashi?”

He doesn’t need to turn to recognize the voice and know its her, but that doesn’t stop him from spinning around so fast that his elbow nearly knocks into the lined up champagne flutes. Their eyes meet in an instant.

“Pidge!”

Her grin is magnetic and the force of it draws him to her; he skirts around chatting guests and waiting servers and meets her near the center of the banquet room.

Before he can so much as process how elegant she looks in high heels and pearl earrings, Pidge throws her arms around his neck and goes, “What are you doing here? How did you know?”

Funny, that it’s here in front of dozens of his peers and professors, out and public and not within the confines of Pidge’s apartment, that he wraps her up in his embrace, lifts her a few inches, and twirls her around out of sheer excitement. Laughter bubbles up between the two of them. Her face is flush with happiness by the time he sets her down.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought you had dinner with your dad.”

Pidge squares her shoulders and tips up her chin, a sly sort of pride taking over your smile. “I did. But you know that thing I mentioned, happening after? Well-”

“Ah, Katie, Shiro! Nice to see you two hitting it off so well.”

Dr. Holt ambles up, glass of champagne in hand and lips quirked into a smile. A smile, Shiro realizes with a start, that feels a lot like deja vu. Sly, proud, left side higher than the right. Trace of a dimple in the cheek. Shiro blinks and looks from Dr. Holt down to Pidge, who’s staring back up at him with wide eyes.

“Of course, it looks like you two have been hitting it off for more than just this evening, hm?”

Shiro still has one arm wrapped around Pidge’s waist. He hears Dr. Holt chuckle, but can’t seem to tear himself away from Pidge’s gaze.

“You’re Shiro?”

He nods. “You’re Katie. Katie Holt.”

“Yeah.”

They turn as one to Dr. Holt, who looks all too amused at the events unfolding before him. “I take it I’m missing something?”

“Takashi- uh, Shiro, he’s my-” Pidge fumbles for a moment, “He’s my package, he-”

“I deliver,” Shiro cuts in, but those words don’t seem right either. “She’s on my route, I deliver her packages.”

He doesn’t think Dr. Holt’s eyebrows could raise any further, nor does he think his own ears could get any redder.

Dr. Holt’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. Shiro’s seen that calculating look before, most often when Dr. Holt was scanning Shiro’s work for egregious errors. Shiro can only guess as to what he was trying to find. After a few long moments, he nods.

“Well, Katie, I suppose since Takashi is already familiar with where you’re living, he can make sure you get home at the end of the evening. If that works for you both?”

The way Dr. Holt says his name pings something in Shiro’s memory. A comment he’d made, once, about his daughter and a crush. Shiro looks back down at her, and feels his chest clench.

“That’s fine with me,” Shiro says. She nods slowly, but her brow begins to dip.

“That works,” she says. “Dad, I’m sure you’ve got tons of people waiting to talk to you, so Shiro and I are just going to-”

By now, her lips have pulled tight and her expression has morphed into what reads like panic. She laces her fingers in his and finally pulls his arm from around her waist. Without waiting for Dr. Holt to respond, Pidge tugs Shiro away. Dr. Holt’s laugh follows them through the crowd.

Dumbstruck, Shiro lets Pidge lead him to the edge of the room. She doesn’t stop until they reach a small service hallway that leads back to the kitchen. She lets go and buries her face in her hands.

“What has my dad been saying about me?” she groans. “I can’t even imagine, he’s such a blabber mouth…”

The words leave his mouth before he can deliberate on them. “Dr. Holt has been trying to set me up with you for months.”

Pidge drags her hands down her face, stretching her cheeks comically. “I knoooow, he’s been doing the same to me and this whole time I didn’t know it was yooouuuu…”

He’s been closer to her before, even seen her in more vulnerable states. But it still feels like a whole new sort of intimate when Shiro gently slides her hands from her face, threads their fingers together and asks, “Would it have changed anything? If you had known?”

She hesitates, then nods. “I would have gone on a date with you, if I hadn’t been so busy trying to figure out how to go on a date with you.”

Pidge’s whole face fills with red again, but her expression goes fierce, as if challenging him to brush her off or tease. But he would never.

Instead, Shiro succumbs to the mounting waves of warm feeling that build in his gut and crest high in his chest. He raises her hand to his lips and brushes a light kiss across her knuckles.

“If I hadn’t been so intent on figuring out how to set us up,” he echoes, “I would have let him set us up.”

The relief on Pidge’s face is as sweet as her laugh. She shakes her head and goes, “I think he just did.”

…

For the first time ever, Shiro unlocks Pidge’s door while she’s on the same side of it. It’s past midnight, and the champagne started hitting them around 9, and he and Pidge had spent the entire Uber ride back to her apartment giggling over Dr. Holt’s ridiculous attempts to not-so-surreptitiously watch them all evening.

Rosy-faced even in the orange light outside her apartment door, with high heels in hand and hair back up in a sloppy bun, Pidge is quite possibly the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. He wonders now how he hadn’t seen it all those months before when they’d met in this very doorway.

Pidge leans against the doorframe and stares up at him. Her smile is small but fond. “Wanna come in? I’ve still got some pizza left over.”

“Is it from this week?” he teases.

“Less than 48 hours old, in fact.”

“Wow, you haven’t even defended your doctoral project and you’re already on the up and up.”

She rolls her eyes and swats away his hand as he tries to ruffle her hair. So instead, he lets it cup her cheek. Delight zips up his spine when she rests her head against his palm.

“I should go,” he continues. “It’s late, and I have work tomorrow.”

Pidge protests with a shake of her head and a well-executed pout. “You’ll be fine. The last delivery at the end of your route will understand if her packages come a bit late. Besides, the delivery she’s been most excited about is already here.”

Without warning, she raises up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. The subsequent short-circuit of his systems is all she needs to coax him through the door.

Giddy and a little breathless, Shiro plants his hands on her hips. She stops, expression questioning.

“I’m afraid this package requires two signatures, ma’am,” he says.

Pidge catches on a moment later. He leans down and draws her close, making it easier for her to reach up and press their lips together. Everything about her is warm, and she tastes like the dizzying combination of champagne and all of the things he’s wanted to say to her for months.

A minute or a million years later, they part. She pulls back an inch or two, but doesn’t untangle herself from him.

“Do you need any more verification?” she asks.

Shiro doesn’t resist. He ducks in and peppers her face with small kisses, pulling her tight even as she squirms and laughs in his arms.

“Just a few more confirmations,” he says between pecks. “To make sure I have the right address.”

Pidge nods, face a picture of mock seriousness. “Your deliveries have been pretty consistent so far,” she says. “But I think you should keep confirming.”

Pidge kisses him again.

Shiro has learned many things in his first seven months working as a part-time delivery person.

Some of them, he’s learned through coaching, through Hunk’s patient advice and Lance’s enthusiastic demonstrations. Some of them, he’s picked up off the job, from his dedicated advisor. But perhaps the most important thing he’s learned has happened right here, when he learned just how in love he is with the unusual, challenging, brilliant girl at the end of his delivery route.