Thread by @wallmakerrelict

The official campus newspaper has an advice column that’s known for its measured, reasonable, good-natured suggestions. Shiro writes it.

The local alternative newsletter runs an advice column, too. It’s known for its brutal honesty. Keith writes it.

#sheith

One week the same letter appears in both columns: “Help! I’m in love with a girl who’s way out of my league! She’s incredibly beautiful, she’s a political science major but she also does orchestra and is an officer in at least three clubs.

“We have a few friends in common, so I’ve talked to her before, but I don’t think I made a very good impression. I just don’t know if I have a chance with someone as smart and driven as her when I’m barely passing most of my classes and my only extracurricular is frat parties.

“I know I should move on, but I can’t stop thinking about her. How do I get her to notice me?”

It’s signed: Loverboy

Shiro’s answer: “Dear Loverboy,

You’re not doing yourself any favors by thinking of her as ‘out of your league.’ She’s a person like anyone else, and the only way to know if she’s interested in you is to put in some respectful effort.

“You know she’s involved in campus clubs - any of them spark your interest? Don’t join just to hound her, but if you have hobbies in common that could be a good opportunity to spend more time with her and find out if there’s a connection there.

“Finally, you sound like you don’t have a very high opinion of yourself. Think about which qualities and behaviors you want to nurture in yourself, and which you might need to leave behind. This isn’t for the girl; it’s for your own self-respect.

“When you’ve become the kind of person you can be proud of, you might find that the two of you are in a similar league after all. Good luck!”

Keith’s answer: “Grow a spine and ask her out.”

It’s Pidge who points out to Keith, “I think Loverboy is playing the field. The campus paper answered his letter, too.”

Keith laughs. “And here I thought I was special.”

“Maybe he just wanted some real advice,” says Pidge, and ducks as Keith swings his backpack at her.

“It was interesting though,” Pidge goes on, from a safe distance away, “seeing the two columns’ different takes on the same letter. You guys should do it again sometime. You could promote each other.”

Keith scoffs at the idea.

But the next day, there’s an email in his inbox from a “t.shirogane”

“I don’t know if you saw, but it looks like the same person wrote in to both of our columns. I can’t believe he was hedging his bets! But it gave me an idea, if you’re interested in collaborating.”

Shiro isn’t sure what he expected from Keith, but the leggy bombshell with big eyes isn’t it. Keith’s photo on the website had hidden him behind his bangs and in artful shadows. In person, even his slouch and his dubious expression can’t hide how gorgeous he is.

They meet in a coffee shop, Shiro in a chair by the window and Keith opposite, his legs drawn up to sit criss-cross on the bench.

“What do you think?” Shiro says, once introductions are out of the way. “Every week, we pick one letter from our stacks that we both answer.”

Keith scoffs. But the defensive scowl he wore when he arrived has been melting into something softer and shyer the longer they talk. “Did your editor put you up to this?” he asks. “Put your name on my column, get some cred with the punks?”

“No, no,” Shiro laughs nervously. “In fact, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to my editor. He doesn’t know I’m a fan of your column.”

That makes Keith perk up, his eyes radiant as they appear from under his forelock. “You read my column?”

“Yeah! I like the way you cut through the bullshit. At the newspaper, they expect me to sound a certain way. Sometimes I wish I could just be blunt, like you are.”

Keith is blushing. It looks good on him. “But your advice is great. Don’t you believe what you’re saying?”

“Of course, I always try to give good advice,” says Shiro. “But take Loverboy for example. He can be as careful as he wants, but sooner or later he’s going to have to make a move, like you said.”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could be more nuanced, like you.”

Keith goes on, “My column always got more engagement when I was snarky, so that kind of became my gimmick. But I think you’re right about Loverboy - even if he asks her out, even if she says yes, his insecurities are gonna catch up with him unless he works on himself.”

Shiro leans forward, his heart racing. “New idea,” he says. “We answer the same question... but I write for your column and you write for mine.”

Keith looks intrigued. “Is that allowed?”

“It’s just one question out of each column, and just for a month. No one will know.”

They shake on it, a secret pact. That night, they email each other their shortlist of questions for the next week’s column. It doesn’t usually take Shiro long to pick, but he ends up emailing Keith back and forth, arguing the relative merits of each letter.

Emailing leads to texting which, when the conversation starts going too fast and getting jumbled, becomes a phone call that lasts a surprising two hours before they stop going on tangents and finally pick a letter.

Shiro hangs up, dazed from the energetic conversation and exhausted (how did it get to be past midnight?), but buzzing with excitement and a giddy warmth he hasn’t felt for a long time. Keith isn’t what he’d expected at all.

The letter they settle on is from someone named Hunk (he didn’t choose an alias; Shiro’s editor would assign him one). It reads: “Help settle a disagreement between me and a friend. He was the DD for our group last week, and I warned him that I get carsick.

“Even though I told him I was getting nauseous, he kept accelerating and braking too fast, and taking hard corners. I threw up in his car, and now he’s saying I should pay to have it cleaned.

“I’m annoyed because he’s over at my apartment all the time, eating my food and drinking my booze, and he’s thrown up on my carpet before. I never expected him to pay for it. Who’s right?”

Shiro chuckles at the predicament and jots down an answer.

Keith is sitting on a bench in the quad, putting the final touches on his own response to the same question, when Pidge sneaks behind him and peeks at the screen. “So you took my advice?” she says.

Keith whirls and glares at her. “You set me up. You didn’t tell me he was hot!”

“Is he?” says Pidge innocently. “I don’t know how you’d expect me to be able to tell.”

“Being a lesbian doesn’t keep you from noticing when someone is physically perfect and exactly my type,” Keith replies.

Pidge shrugs, still looking smug.

They read Keith’s answer together: “It sounds like the puke isn’t really the problem here. You’ve been letting resentment build up, and your friend is either oblivious or holding onto some unspoken grudges of his own.

“If you’re annoyed by his behavior when he’s over at your place, you need to talk to him about it some other time. Just because you’ve cleaned up his messes in the past without complaining doesn’t entitle you to a free vomit in his car.

“That said, if you’re not willing to pay for the car to be cleaned, I think that’s a reasonable line to hold. Maybe meet him in the middle by helping him clean in yourselves. But don’t let this friendship blow up because you two couldn’t air your grievances.”

Pidge’s eyes widen. “Wow,” she says. “That’s good stuff. Not really your usual tone, huh?”

“It’s not for my column,” says Keith, copying and pasting the text into an email. “It’s for Shiro’s.”

“You guys are sneaky,” Pidge laughs.

Just then, a new email arrives in Keith’s inbox: Shiro’s reply. Keith opens it to find the alternate version of his advice.

“You warned him. Let him clean his own damn car. If you’re feeling generous, buy him an air freshener as a peace offering.”

They insert their guest answers into their respective columns, and no one is the wiser. Even after, they can’t seem to stop texting - first about the columns, but then branching onto more and varied topics until Keith is surprised to find himself chatting with Shiro all day.

It doesn’t feel like either of them is instigating conversations; more like their first conversation has never ended, only grown and twisted and turned until talking about work become talking about life becomes talking about anything. It’s easy to talk to Shiro.

The next week, instead of the coffee shop, Shiro comes over to Keith’s apartment.

“What is that?” Keith says, pointing to the folder full of papers in Shiro’s hand.

“The letters we’re going to choose from.”

“People send you actual letters in the mail?!” Keith boggles.

“No, not usually,” says Shiro. “We have an askbox on the website, and an email address. But I like to print them out so I can sort them visually and make notes in the margins.”

Keith teases, “You’re such a grandpa!”

“Okay, how do you do it?”

Keith opens his laptop and shows Shiro his web browser with dozens of tabs open, each one a separate email to his column.

“I didn’t know you could fit that many tabs on a screen,” Shiro says, holding back a laugh.

“Shut up!”

Keith sits on the couch, his computer in his lap and a mug of coffee (black) on the table in front of him. Shiro’s papers don’t fit on the table, so he sits by Keith’s feet and spreads them out on the floor with his coffee (and an ungodly amount of cream and sugar) nearby.

When Keith finds a likely letter, he lowers his laptop down to show Shiro. When Shiro finds one, he hands the paper up to show Keith. They’re sitting near enough that Shiro’s elbow keeps grazing Keith’s shin, and Keith can’t help but lean his leg closer to invite the contact.

They spend less time discussing the relative merits of each letter and more time letting each one carry them off on tangents and stories. What should have been a quick meeting turns into hours laughing, and soon it’s dinner time. Keith orders pizza.

They finally settle on a letter: “Help me! I have three best friends from high school and we’re all really close. We actually met because we were all friends with this one dude, but that’s another story.

“Since we started college, I came out and so did one of my friends - the one I always had a crush on! Now we’re dating! Yaaay! One of our other friends is really quiet but pretty perceptive, she caught on pretty quick and makes herself scarce when we want to make out.

“The problem is the fourth friend. She’s totally supportive, but I think she wants it to be like when we were in high school and we all hung out constantly. I still want to see her, but I also want her to go away sometimes so I can climb my big, sexy new girlfriend like a tree!

“We all live together! HELP!”

Keith forwards the email to Shiro. “Think you can handle this one?” he says, nudging Shiro’s shoulder with his knee.

“No problem!”

Later that week, Keith reads his own answer in Shiro’s column: “Congratulations on successfully turning a friendship into a relationship! I definitely understand the need for intimacy. If you want to send a stronger hint to your clueless friend, try declaring a ‘date night.’

“Hopefully she won’t want to tag along if the outing is explicitly about the two of you. Maybe you can get your quiet friend to run interference for you.

Even though she’s supportive, your friend might be having trouble with the change in your group’s dynamic.

It sounds like there’s been some drama in your collective history, and she might be worried about you pulling away. Just as you make time for yourself and your girlfriend, don’t forget to make time for the special relationship you have with each of your friends.”

And he slots Shiro’s answer into his own column: “I’m going to give you a script to memorize and use. Ready?

‘I value your friendship but we’re all just trying to survive becoming new adults while also stewing alive in our own hormones.

“‘So I’m going down on my girlfriend now, and if you’re not out of here by the count of ten this is going to turn into a three-way really fast.’”

Keith can’t stop chuckling as he submits his finished column. Shiro might be better at being Keith than Keith is.

By now they’re texting every day, and Keith is getting used to seeing Shiro’s name ping up on his phone. There’s something comfortable about their... what is it? Collaboration? Friendship? Relationship?

Chatting with Shiro feels completely different from dealing with the obnoxious jerks who have pursued him in the past. Is that because Shiro isn’t pursuing him? Is Keith just imagining the connection they have?

The end of the month is fast approaching, with only one column left to complete. A text alert makes Keith’s phone buzz.

Shiro: I have a paper due, so I won’t have time for another meet-up if it ends up running as long as last time. Can you swing by the MU to trade letters?

Keith feels something squeeze his heart. Of course, he’s been taking up too much of Shiro’s time. Shiro is so open and magnetic; people gravitate toward him. Keith doesn’t want to be one of those people taking advantage of his kindness and assuming their relationship is special.

Keith: Sure, I’ll be there in 20min, won’t take long

There’s a pause before the next message.

Shiro: I know this is the last column of the month, but this has been a lot of fun. Maybe we could keep doing it every now and then.

Keith types a message, deletes it. And again. Is Shiro being serious? Or just polite?

Keith: Nah, if we keep this up we’re gonna get caught eventually. Can’t have your readers figuring out that you’re secretly an edgelord.

Shiro: haha fair enough, see you soon

Well, damn. It was worth a shot. Shiro flips his phone over to hide the conversation as he tries to get back to studying, but his mind keeps wandering toward Keith. After they write this last column together, what will happen to their friendship?

As Shiro counts down the minutes to Keith’s arrival, he minimizes his schoolwork and opens a new document, frantically typing a letter.

He grabs the finished letter off the printer down the hall just in time for Keith to poke his head into the study area.

“Don’t worry,” says Keith, “we won’t need to debate this time. I already chose a letter for us to answer.” He hands Shiro a folded sheet of paper.

“Oh,” Shiro says, holding out his own paper. “I did too.”

Keith looks uncomfortable as he presses his letter into Shiro’s hand.

“It really has to be this one,” he says.

Shiro takes it, but hands Keith his own. “Okay, I’ll answer this one if you answer mine.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” says Keith with a weak smile.

“We made the rules,” says Shiro. “We can bend them.”

“Okay,” says Keith with a weak smile. “Good luck with that paper.”

“With what?” says Shiro, forgetting what he’d been doing before he started thinking about Keith. “Oh! Yeah, I should be able to get it finished tonight, then I’ll send over my part for the column tomorrow.”

Shiro stands by the door and watches Keith walk away, wishing he could invite him in to sit and talk like they’d done before. He can finish the paper later, he’s pulled all-nighters before...

Too late now. Keith rounds the corner and Shiro gets back to work.

When Keith gets home, he throws his backpack on the couch and paces. His mind has been racing since he left the MU, analyzing every text message and every word of their brief exchange. Has Shiro just been humoring him all this time? Is Keith a fool for getting attached?

Finally, to take his mind off it, he fishes Shiro’s crumpled letter from his backpack and scrunches up on the couch to read it:

“Please help! I’ve spent the last few weeks working on a project with another student.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and we’ve really hit it off. I feel like we could be good friends, or there could even be something romantic between us, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I like him a lot.

“I asked if he wanted to keep working together, but he turned me down. Should I try again, or was that a sign we’re not meant to be together?”

Keith’s hands shake, the paper rippling between his fingers. The letter, so similar to his own situation, seems to lay bare all his own insecurities and reflect how pathetic his own hopes have been. Only when seeing it happen to someone else does he know what advice to give.

So he transcribes the letter into an email and, below it, reverts back to his habitual tone: the harsh truth that Shiro has surely been thinking all along, but is too kind to say aloud:

“You’re fooling yourself. He’s not into you.”

Keith sends it, and goes to sleep.

Across campus, Shiro’s email pings. He reads it with a rueful laugh and a terrible weight in his stomach. “Ouch. Well, that answers that, I guess.”

Keith feels better when he wakes up, the acute self-loathing and embarrassment from last night having faded. He’ll survive this unrequited crush, as painful as it is.

He checks his email as he pours himself some cereal.

There’s a message from Shiro, sent last night.

In it, Keith sees his own mortifying words transcribed: “Help. I met a guy a few weeks ago, and there’s something really special about him. I feel pulled toward him, like I’ve been in his orbit since I first saw him.

“I’m usually not much of a talker, but he draws me out so easily. I don’t usually get stupid about cute boys, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t feel the same about me.

“I’m the person my friends always go to for advice, but now I don’t know what to do.”

And Shiro’s answer: “You say you don’t think he feels the same way about you, but there’s not much in your letter to suggest what he might be feeling.

“On the other hand, you seem very sure about how YOU feel. Focus on that. Would you be okay if you let this guy slip away without giving it your best shot? I think you know the obvious answer is to tell him how you feel. I can tell from your letter that you’re scared to do it.

“But if this connection is really as special and rare as you say, then maybe it’s worth taking a risk. What have you got to lose?”

Oh. Keith slams the laptop closed. He’s made a terrible mistake.

He stuffs his things into his backpack and runs toward campus.

Keith knows which hall Shiro's first class of the day is in. He approaches the doors along with a throng of other students, all shuffling inside. He doesn't know what room Shiro might be heading toward, or even what floor, so he shoulders through the crowd frantically, searching.

Faces flash by as the river of people parts around him, but he can’t pick Shiro out of the crowd. The crowd is thinning out as everyone finds their rooms. He must have missed him. He’s considering sitting by the entrance for an hour until Shiro re-emerges when...

“Keith?” Shiro is behind him, gray-sweatpants and hat-tousled hair unable to hide his perfection. His backpack hangs low off one shoulder, but as Keith turns he lets it slip to the ground. He doesn’t move toward any of the open doors, though he must almost be late to class.

“You wrote the letter,” Keith pants, realizing that he’s still out of breath. “The one you gave me yesterday.”

Shiro coughs into his hand, trying to hide the faint pink that rises to his cheeks. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle.”

Keith is an idiot.

He’s already read Shiro’s excellent advice. He could have given that advice himself. It’s obvious what the right thing to do is: tell him how you feel, have the conversation, figure it out like adults.

But his mind is screaming the advice he wanted to give himself before.

Because Keith specializes in brutally honest advice. But he forgets sometimes that honesty doesn’t have to be brutal.

Keith’s advice to himself: “Shut up and kiss him.”

So he does. Shiro is still stammering, “It’s okay, I understand if you don’t...” when Keith surges forward and puts his hands on either side of Shiro’s face and leans in and up until their lips meet.

It only takes Shiro a second to recover from the surprise, and kiss him back.

The hall is almost empty now, so no one is watching as Shiro spins Keith against the wall and kisses him hard enough to lift his heels off the floor. At their previous meetings, the touch of his hand and the brush of his elbow had been intoxicating. This is indescribable.

When Shiro finally pulls away long enough for Keith to steal a breath, his legs are wobbly under him. He pants against Shiro’s mouth, clutching at the back of his shirt to stay upright.

Shiro sounds like he also just ran two miles into campus. “I have to get to class.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith gasps, barely comprehending.

“Let me take you out tonight. Our first date?”

Keith is regaining his senses. Just enough to smirk as he says, “Don’t you mean our third?”

Shiro laughs. “Whatever you say, baby.”

Baby. Keith likes the sound of that.

~fin