Flower Boy - Klance | completed |

Ch. One

WELCOME, WEARY TRAVELER, TO THE WINGMAN-AU NOBODY ASKED FOR

aLIRGHT LETS GO

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Ch. One

Our story begins with a murderous scream of frustration.

And by frustration, I mean a twenty-seven-year-old man beating his tired, seventeen-year-old brother with an old red slipper, murmuring light profanities under his breath.

Said brother wasn't exactly helping his case, however, instead attempting to burrow into his old, ratty bed sheets that smelled of body odor as if he could magically transform into a gopher and disappear forever.

"Keith, if you don't get your pale ass out of this bed by the time I count to three, I will personally throw your PlayStation out the window."

Met with silence, he glared down at the unmoving mass that had curled up under his black and gray comforter, appearing to be completely asleep. The man waited a few seconds more with baited breath as the boy slowly blinked one eye open, glancing around the room before locking with his older brother's. He didn't give him any time to respond before he whispered, just loud enough to be audible, "Mario Kart sends its regards, bitch."

Takashi Shirogane-Kogane had aged far too much in the past seventeen years, and, although he was technically only six years old, the leap year baby sure was tired of Keith's shit.

"Keith," Shiro groaned, and, when the boy didn't respond, the man sighed, shaking his head and bunching the end of his sheets up so he could get a good hold on them. "I didn't want it to come to this, buddy."

Shiro's younger brother screeched when the warm, fluffy comforter was ripped off of him, leaving his bare skin - nothing but his bright red boxers adorning his body - exposed to the frigid air.

"Shiro!" The Korean cried out, violet eyes snapping open while he desperately tried to snatch the blanket his brother had balled up and was holding just out of Keith's reach. Keith's long, inky black hair had fallen into his eyes, and he brushed it away, goosebumps running up his arms as a desperate whine escaped his chapped lips.

Shiro only quirked an eyebrow when Keith groaned, drooped his shoulders, told him to go fuck himself, and finally sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes like a child. Shiro threw the blanket onto the mattress next to where Keith sat, grinning proudly and choosing to ignore the comment. He reached out and ruffled Keith's hair when his brother snapped his signature cold glare to where he stood.

"C'mon, Keith," Shiro jerked his chin to the doorway, crossing his arms. "You have school today. You're gonna be late if you don't get up."

"Do I have to?" Keith dragged a hand down his face, bleary eyes slowly focusing on the room around him. "I mean, really think about it, Takashi. Can I just stay home?"

"That's funny," Shiro deadpanned. "Get the hell up, Keith."

Keith sighed when his brother grabbed his arm, lightly pulling him to his feet and ushering him to his dresser. Shiro finally left with a yawn, and Keith grumbled to himself as he pulled out a loose red t-shirt, slipping it on and snatching some skinny jeans out of his bottom drawer.

And this is how he found himself after a few minutes had passed, cursing the world while he hopped across the matted eggshell carpet on one foot, his other leg attempting to push through what appeared to be the only hole left in those god-forsaken pants.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of struggle, he collapsed back onto his bed, panting as if he'd just ran a marathon while a point behind his right eyebrow started to throb from the strain. His legs were suffocating, screaming in protest, but he paid no mind as he slowly sat up, exhaling as hard as he could and patting his cheeks gently, as if that would help him wake up more.