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“I can’t believe we’ve done it,” Hunk says as he swings an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “We’re finally here.” The early morning light reflects off the windows of the little building. It is old and a bit rundown, sorely in need of a lick of paint. It is hard to tell what colour it had been painted originally, whatever it was has faded to a dull and murky brown.
“It’s ours,” Keith replies and leans into Hunks side.
And it is. The little two-story shop is a culmination of years’ worth of savings, loans, embarrassment, blood, sweat and tears. Keith holds up the key, with a little red tag that says, “Bakery Front Door”, and they admire it for a moment.
“Let’s go inside?” He slips out of Hunk’s hold. He grasps his hand and pulls him up the step.
“If you will do the honours?” Hunk asks with false bravado. Keith laughs, slips the key in the lock and opens the door.
Of course, they’ve seen the inside of the shop before, but it’s different now that they own it. Sunlight filters in through the windows. Specks of dust dance through the air like stars. The wooden floorboards creaks as they step inside.
Hunk pauses right at the threshold and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he can see how it will look.
The room will be full of mismatching furniture, chairs with red cushions and couches with blue lining. Everything will be sturdy and strong, yet comfortable. Homely. Keith will line the windows with his many plants, until green is the dominant colour. It’s a little bit chaotic, but charmingly so. The air will smell like fresh coffee and baked goods.
They’ll have a blackboard up on the wall behind the counter, with the menu of the day. Keith will spend an hour each morning fussing over it, making sure his every letter is perfect. Hunk will laugh as he fills the counters with fresh treats for his customers. Maybe he’ll leave one out for Keith to have when he’s finished with the menu.
Keith had been insistent that the café be called ‘Garret’s’ as most of the recipes were Hunk’s family’s favourites, passed down from generation to generation. “’Garret-Kogane’s’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Keith had laughed when Hunk suggested it.
They’ll have a sign, over the windows. ‘Garret’s’ in cursive. Maybe on a red background. Or yellow. Keith has an eye for interior design, so Hunk has no problem letting him handle that side of things.
Hunk imagines it will be full of family and friends, locals and repeat customers. Maybe it will never be as big and popular as Starbucks, but that isn’t what Hunk wants. He wants people to feel like they are coming home when they step into their bakery.
“You okay, babe?” A hand gently caresses his arm, running up and down. It pulls Hunk from his musings, back to the dusty store front. Back to Keith.
“Couldn’t be better,” he replies and draws Keith closer. Keith laughs through their kiss, but Hunk doesn’t mind. He’s laughing too.
They paint the walls lilac. From the moment Keith had suggested it, to when they picked up samples, to when they bought the paint, to the moment Keith dips his roller in and lays the first splash on the wall, Hunk is unsure.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks Keith. Multiple times a day.
“It’s just paint Hunk,” he says.
Or, “What’s the problem with it?”, or “It’ll really make my plants stand out!”, or “Don’t you want to be unique, babe?”
And maybe that’s why Hunk agrees to it. Maybe he’s bored of standing in the shadows. Maybe he wants to stand out, to be a little wacky, to be brave. If there is one thing Keith is good at, it’s drawing Hunk out of his comfort zone.
(Hunk laughs at the notion; as though it would be possible for Keith to only be good at one thing.)
So, the walls are purple. And really, it’s not as bad as Hunk thought. It’s invigorating, to make such a statement. When was the last time Hunk saw a café with purple walls?
Keith paints a little rainbow flag underneath where the blackboard will go, on the back wall. They want to start a collection of all the LGBTQ+ flags they can find. For now, though, it’s just the one lonely rainbow.
They go furniture shopping, or more like hunting. They search charity shops, online, anywhere they can get some cheap chairs and tables. Most of the stuff they find needs some work, a good sanding and a layer of varnish, but it’s good. They stick to wood, all dark and deep colours. It helps give the place a little uniform.
On one wall, they build a bookshelf. They buy books and little ornaments, and Keith organises the whole thing buy colour. He wants people to leave books or take books as they wish. “As long as they try to stick to the colour scheme,” he laughs.
It’s hard work, getting the café ready. Most nights, Keith and Hunk collapse in bed, with Kosmo lying on their feet. Sometimes, they don’t even make it under the covers.
Hunk feels like he’s perpetually covered in paint or dust, but it’s worth it. ‘Garret’s’ had been something they had joked about in college; when exams got too hard and they just wanted to drop out. Then it became a dream, unobtainable, but a dream, nonetheless. Now, it is nearly a reality.
They’re opening in a week. They have all the furniture and decorations. Keith has started moving his plant collection in, filling up windowsills and empty spaces on the bookshelves. There are even some hanging from the ceiling. The green is vibrant and vivid against the lilac, an unlikely combination. Hunk starts getting deliveries of flour, sugar, coffee and spices. The kitchen had been revamped, and the pantry is starting to fill up.
“Which one?” Keith asks, holding up two shirts. One is cherry red, a bright and flashy colour, the other is black. He is already wearing his black slacks and shoes.
“The red, definitely. Can’t let people think my husband is an emo.” Hunk replies, grinning. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt himself, with his orange headband. “At least not yet.”
“Ass,” Keith says, and slaps him with the shirt. There’s no heat behind his words. He pulls the red shirt on, buttoning it up. Hunk can’t help but admire his creamy skin and inky hair. Hunk doesn’t think he is much good with colours, but damn, does red suit Keith.
They meet the rest of their friends and family outside the café. It’s a monumental moment for them. Lance slaps Hunk on the shoulder and playfully glares at Keith, his eyes as blue as his suit. Pidge hugs them both, her little arms barely encompassing Hunk’s body mass. Shiro hugs Keith so hard, Hunk’s ribs wince in sympathy. Keith scowls, but Hunk knows how much he adores physical affection. Allura wears a stunning pink dress, her white hair up in a bun. She kisses both their cheeks and Hunk can’t help but blush. Allura is so regal, she makes him feel flustered.
They open the café with a pop of champagne, the snip of red ribbon, and cheers. Everyone piles inside.
Later, Keith rests against Hunks side, eating a pastry made by Hunk. He’s warm and safe, tired, but happy. The café buzzes with noises and colours, filling the small space with laughter.
It feels like home.
That’s all Hunk’s ever wanted.