Archive of Our Own

Jaws snap shut inches away from Keith's neck, the cloying smell of copper catching him like a punch to the gut.

It had been a Carpathian, once, he thought. The same fangs and eyes he’s seen a hundred times over the years but there was something off about it that made the Keiths hair stand on end.

Maybe it was the odd light in its eyes, too sharp and too absent all at once; something about the way the moon reflected off them gave the familiar deep red an almost purple hue. Or perhaps it was the uncanny way it moved; odd stuttering steps and strange gliding dashes that brought it shocking close to slicing him open time and time again. It was strong, stronger than he’d been expecting when he’d gone into this fight, even knowing the moon was full and at its peak.

The back of his neck prickled and the light from the town felt as distant as the moon, watching impassively from above. Cloud cover was moving in, and in the dips and crags of the mountainside, shadows depend further than even his eyes could see.

It had been hunched over, lapping at the ground when he’d found it, frantically trying to get at the blood before it soaked into the desert ground. It had been acting like it was starving and yet it was bloated with the overabundance of blood it had consumed over the last fortnight, cheeks ruddy with stolen warmth.

The vampire snarled, mouth smeared with dark rust.

The clothes it was wearing were torn and streaked with gore, some old some new. Behind it, the moonlight turned the slick blood nearly black, viscera painting the ground from the poor soul who’d found themselves caught.

A hiker, Keith guessed, observing the remains strewn across the ground.

He’d been looking through the town earlier that night, that was his only excuse. Hunt for the predator where the prey was but in the wake of the violent deaths plaguing the small town, humans had gone to ground. Keith had spent hours lurking in the alleyways and shadows of the buildings hoping to find some track or sign of the vampire haunting his town before it found itself another meal.

As soon as he’d caught the thick, cloying scent of blood coming from the outskirts of town he’d known he’d failed. He hadn't thought that anyone would have been up on the mountain side, not alone, not when people were dropping like flies. That was his mistake, and someone had paid dearly for it.

This time when the vampire snarled, Keith let himself snarl back.

Jaw bones creaked and unhinged—a rattlesnake smile, he’d been told once—and his eyes flared yellow to the others red. He felt his finger bones crack as they lengthened and grew into long talons that put the others claws to shame.

Carpathian vampires were strongest at night. It was not a strength Keith shared. The desert ran through his veins and the sun ran with it.

But in the end, what was moonlight other than the reflected light of the sun.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began.

The other vampire was erratic in its movements, flailing more than fighting. It was easy for Keith to catch it by the jaw. Easy for him to heft it up under the moonlight and drag it over to the nearest cactus.

Claws left score marks in the shallows of his skin but that didn't stop him from driving the struggling vampire onto the thick spines.

There was an aborted sound that might have been a scream. It was quickly drowned out by a soft hiss as dead flesh began to bubble and flake away.

Keith stepped back and watched dispassionately. A fortnight of terror for his town, over in a fight that had lasted less than five minutes. It was a joke, except the slick of blood cooling under the moonlight kept it from being funny.

Keith let his jaw click back into place, ran his tongue over receding fangs until he was left with teeth that were only just sharper than a normal humans. He clenched and unclenched his hands until the long talons were gone. There was a slight change in vision as the yellow in his eyes faded but not enough to hinder him as he picked his way over rocky terrain towards the town.

He slowed to a stop by the remains. It might have been a man but the ruined face and missing pieces made it hard to tell. The scent of blood sent a pang of hunger through his stomach but he forced the sensation down and away and kept walking. There was no need for him to scavenge from the dead in order to feed.

In the morning someone would discover the body. The sunlight would destroy what little might be left of the dead Carpathian and eventually the murder of the human would be classified as an animal attack.

As he walked away from the scene of the fight, there was the snap of something brittle off in the distance. There was a prickle at the back of his neck and he stopped, looking around him warily.

The night was still around him, almost unnaturally so. Shadows deepened under the strengthening light of the moon as the clouds unveiled her and no matter how hard he looked he couldn't find anything out of place.

Unease sending his heartbeat tripping into a false sign of life, Keith slowly turns and walks away.

The sensation of being watched doesn't leave him until he’s well into the town limits.

xXx

Keith was fairly certain the engine oil was slowly becoming a part of him. It was worked into his skin, under his nails and a quick glance to the side revealed a smear of it along his left eye. Carefully he stood, grip solid on the engine block as he carried it with a slight grunt. He set it into place and went about the task of finishing up the job.

The shop was quiet. The night air was cool where it wafted in through the back door, propped open with a brick. He could hear the faint scratching and rustling coming from something small and living scurrying across the open ground outside.

The sound of his tools filled the space and he worked in silence.

There was no one else there but then again there rarely was. The night shift was a graveyard more often than not and that was how Keith liked it.

Being able to move things without the machines was quicker and easier, and left him with a longer stretch of free time at the end of the night to fill with hunting if the need came. The lack of customers was also a bonus that Keith silently sent prayers for constantly. Keith knew his strengths and customer service did not reside on the list and that was why he paid good money to keep his two employees happy and gladly took the shifts they hated.

Rolo and Nyma were as good with people as they were with engines, a fact which he had grown to appreciate more and more over the years. Slick, with nine lives; they were some of the few people he’d ever met who seemed willing and eager to settle down in a town as dry and lonesome as Arrowhead.

Deep down, he knew they were running from something but Keith felt it impolite to pry.

Arrowhead was low traffic. It was quiet.

It was bigger than some towns Keith had seen in the past; small settlements springing up around mines, population 100 including the horses and cattle.

It had houses and apartments and a school and one of those malls that was fancy in the 80’s, still decked out with its neon lights, now dirty and flickering. There were two parks in the town; one towards it centre for the kids, with the kind of green that looks out of place and one clinging to the edges that wasn’t so much a maintained park as a place that had denser tree coverage than the surrounding desert and some paths worked in and around the natural landscape.

There was a movie cinema which hadn't played a new release in six months, a library across town that was still blackened up one side from a fire that had burnt down the next building over and an observatory on the very outskirts of town that was seemingly visited only by school children and Keith himself on the rare occasion.

A single motel existed on the outskirts not far from the shop and its clientele consisted mainly of backpackers and hikers. There was a diner that served good coffee and a dingy bar that was his main source of fresh food when the need came.

With a thud Keith closed the hood of the car. A quick glance at the clock showed him it was nearing midnight and Keith rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension that always seemed to settle there. He’d finished earlier than he’d expected and there was nothing else to do around the shop. Hunting the vampire down had taken up most of his free time in the last few weeks but now he found himself lost at to what to fill his time with.

It was an uncomfortable feeling.

It settled like an itch in his bones, the urge to move—to do something, anything. With a sigh he went to the washroom and began to scrub furiously at his hands. The rough soap scoured away the oil but he didn't feel it. When he rinsed his hands he could still see black edging his nails but didn't bother trying to get rid of it. He knew a lost cause when he saw one and honestly he’d had worse things caking his hands before.

When he stepped out back of the shop he had a lighter and cigarette case in one hand and the newspaper in the other. The old rusted chair creaked when he sunk down into it but held his weight despite the concerning sound. He tossed the paper onto the small table and pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a flick.

Sweet smelling smoke curled through the air.

Keith closed his eyes for a moment and let his head hang back. The smell clung to his breath and already he could tell it was sinking into his clothes. He didn't mind. After all this time the smell still managed to be a comfort which was impressive in its way.

So many years, so much time; it was natural that some things strayed. Things that once brought comfort sometimes turned into things that didn't. Things that were once alien suddenly became dearer to you than you could have imagined. It was the way of things and if Keith had learned anything in his existence it was that it was better to roll with the punches.

The desert was a good teacher for that.

Keith sighed. Reaching up he tugged the tie from his hair and let it spill down like an oil slick. He ran his hand through it a few times, working out the tangles that had formed while twisted in its bun and then he finally let his eyes open again.

The stars overhead were bright; diamonds tossed over a blanket of velvet. It was a sight that had kept him company for two lifetimes, through the good and the bad.

Unlike the smoke though, the sight left him cold.

He turned away and snatched up the newspaper. It was a thin thing, barely worth the paper it was on but occasionally there were small bits of gold mixed in with everything.

This time it was more or less the usual; small sections on international news and a thing or two on the closest towns. Advertisements for the local shops and a small piece done on the school. Keith skipped over them all though he speed read through the bits on the other towns as he’s done diligently for the last few weeks.

It was another day of nothing. No mentions of strange deaths in any of the nearest towns, no obituaries with unusual comments and no people reported missing.

A vampire didn't just come out of nowhere.

That had been bothering him since he’d woken up the day after the fight. Originally he’d thought the vampire had been trying to make a statement by killing and being obvious about it, but the vampire he’d found had been feral; an animal running on instinct. If it had come from somewhere else there should have been signs and it hadn't been turned in Arrowhead; Keith had been the only vampire in this territory for nigh 30 years and he took pains to keep it that way.

Keith huffed, throwing the newspaper back down.

When he tilted his head back, he didn't look up to the sky this time. Instead he looked at the mountain.

It loomed and sent strange shadows sprawling. The shifting moonlight and cloud cover made them dance and reach. He could make out the tall figure of a saguaro standing sentry in the distance and settled back into the chair.

When he closed his eyes he focused on the sound. Keith had travelled across most of America at one point or another. He had heard cicadas sing while Spanish moss swayed in the breeze, heard the rustle of cottonwood leaves and the whirring of wind in the pines.

Nothing quite compared to this though. The breeze was picking up and rolling over the desert and Keith could hear it, a lonely sound like a whistle as the wind ran through the pleats and spines of the cactus.

Keith stayed and listened to the sounds of the desert until his cigarette burnt down to nothing between his lips.

When he went back inside it was with reluctance.

The clock told him that maybe half an hour had passed since he had stepped outside. It felt like longer but time always felt a little off to him nowadays. Keith put aways his tools and closed up the shop with quick efficient moves and shut the garage door behind him with a clang that was too loud for such a quiet night.

The walk back home was pleasant.

He could have taken his bike but the night had promised to be a good one and he hadn't been able to pass up the chance to enjoy it for the first time in a while. The night air was cool and sweet smelling; a nice change from the tang of metals and oils that had been clinging to him for the last few hours. The streets around him were deserted, and Keith felt some of the tension in his shoulders bleed out slightly as he sighed.

One of the sparse street lamps were flickering in the distance, though that didn't seem to deter the moths from flocking to it in the slightest. They danced under the artificial light, their tiny bodies shots of bright white against the relative darkness of the street.

There was a distant sound, barely there, at the far edge of his hearing.

His head whipped in the direction of the sound, back down the long road leading out of town. There was a familiar prickle at the back of his neck but try as he might, Keith couldn’t see what was making his hair stand on end.

Reluctantly, Keith turned and keeps walking.

His enjoyment turned sour, he couldn’t stop himself from occasionally looking around him, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on him. It moved the further he walked, shifting like he was being watched by more than one set of eyes or something very very fast.

It's stupid. Keith is at the bottom of the list when it comes to people who are afraid of the dark—more often than not he’s been on the list of things that people should be afraid of—but that doesn't stop him from picking up the pace slightly. The tips of his claws prick at his palms where he’s got his hands fisted in the pockets of his hoodie. He can feel the faintest ache in his gums as his shift strains at the edge of showing, the funny way light bends sharply just before his eyes go yellow.

His ears are straining to hear anything beyond what his eyes can see but there’s nothing.

He’d halfway home when the smell hits him.

It takes a few seconds before it registers; something metallic and dusty mixing with something that's almost aggressively natural in a way that makes him want to sneeze.

Gunpowder and pine.

Keith’s steps don't falter as the scents click into place even if his mind trips over itself for a second. The feeling of being watched was gone but the unease lingers like a bad fog as things realign themselves in his head into possible scenarios.

Gunpowder and pine meant hunters.

It was possible he was wrong, that there was another explanation, but even as the thought crossed his mind he begins to pick out other, fainter scents, under the stronger two; brass, silver dust and something that might be rowan wood. Each and every one of those was fatal to at least one species of vampire.

The scent was drifting on the wind, coming from somewhere deeper in town.

It made sense, he supposes, for hunters to have arrived. The deaths had been in the news and anyone with the faintest knowledge of vampires would have been able to read between the lines and pick out the weirdness of them. They were late to the party though, the Carpathian dead and dust on the wind and the only vampire left in town was—

—him.

Keith grimaced.

Keith could take a hunter. He could take multiple hunters given the chance and the inclination. But the problem with hunters was that they had a tendency to just keep coming once they’ve noticed you and Keith wasn't in any rush to get himself driven out of his town. He could leave maybe, before they noticed him and just come back when they left but the thought sent something cold squirming through his gut.

It would be difficult to leave his shop on short notice. Rolo and Nyma would have to be informed and they had a tendency to pry.

Plus he didn't know where he’d go. Acxa was in the wind as was usual, and the thought of accidentally leading hunters to Thace and Ulaz’s home made his stomach lurch.

No, he though, stepping into the foyer of his apartment building, and making a beeline for the elevator. No better to just—wait it out. The chances they’d be able to find him where almost at a zero anyway.

Of course, he amended grimly, the doors shutting behind him, cutting him off from view even as his neck prickled, that was assuming they didn't know who he was already.

xXx

The park was empty which was how Keith liked it. Dawn had barely begun to peak over the horizon and it was far too early for most people to be out and about. Keith was a distinction by virtue of never having gone to sleep. He’d finished work an hour ago and while sleep tugged at his eyes, he wanted to see the sun.

Everything always looked better with the dawn.

A flutter of movement catches his eyes and Keith spies a Cactus Wren perched atop a thorny bush. It flits about, and breaks the silence of the early morning with its harsh staccato call and Keith smiles slightly.

So he isn't completely by himself.

It flies closer and closer before coming to a stop on the ocotillo beside him. It calls to him, watching him curious and Keith whistles back at it. Its feathers ruffle in response and it springs back to a higher branch and Keith laughs quietly to himself.

Somehow the bird manages to look offended. Maybe it's the white feathers above its face.

Keith keeps watching, oddly taken by the speckled bird, and almost misses the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps.

Tensing, Keith turns to the path winding off amongst the sparse trees and desert bushes. It takes a minute for the figure to finally emerge and when it does Keith freezes.

It's a man, tall and muscled and dressed in a long sleeved hoodie and shorts, jogging along the path at a constant pace. They have earphones in and haven't seemed to notice Keith under his tree so Keith lets himself stare because…

Well he’s honestly not sure why he stares.

Perhaps it the fact that Keith doesn’t recognise his face. Perhaps it's the hair, white as snow, falling into his face or maybe it's the way he moves.

Predatory.

He moves with a certain awareness of his own self that Keith is unused to humans having. Rolo and Nyma have it after a fashion; aware of arms and hands as they danced around each other and around him, but that’s a thief's grace. This is similar but not quite that, something harder and more solid.

He moves like a soldier, Keith thinks after a moment. He’s seen it before but even then it had seemed half as less graceful than this; half as less beautiful.

The thought sneaks up on him and bludgeons him over the head and his fingers fumble with his cigarette. At this distance Keith cant make out more than a vague impression of features, something that, when put together might equal something attractive. There was nothing beautiful about a blur. Captivating might be a better word, he allows himself reluctantly, but not by much and solely based on movement.

It only stands to reason that something like that would catch his attention, he rationalises. He’s a predator after all; most humans tend to fall under the category of prey so when they don't, well.

He notices.

That's all this is, he tells himself as he watches the man come up the gentle incline towards him with sharper intent than he had the wren.

The man's eyes seem fixed on the path and for a moment Keith lets himself think that the man will just pass him by without noticing him. That would be for the best probably. His luck isn't that good though and, almost as if he’d heard Keith thinking about him, the man turns his head and grey eyes meet his own.

Something electric spills down his spine.

The man slows as he passes and Keith watches, dumbstruck, as he raises his hand hesitantly to wave.

Keith is too stunned to move but the man is gone before he has a chance to do anything, running off down the path and then disappearing back into the tree line.

Music continues to play softly around Keith's neck. The song had changed some time during his encounter and Shawn James croons to him, oddly prophetic.

Trouble comes and trouble passes
With the changing winds
Thought my luck had turned around
Instead, my luck had met its end

xXx

Keith stays away from the park for three days before he finds himself sitting under the tree again. He makes excuses to himself, that he’s busy, that he doesn’t have time to go to the park.

It’s a lie. He has nothing but time.

But he couldn’t deny that something about the encounter has unsettled him mildly. People didn’t wave at Keith, didn’t smile at him as they passed him by. Nyma said it was because he put out an aura. Rolo said that was a polite way of saying he had resting bitch face to extreme degrees.

Curiosity gets the better of him fairly quickly though and he finds himself walking up the path to his spot just before the sun rises. He doesn’t really know what he’s trying to accomplish; the odds of running into that man again were fairly low, especially after Keith’s failed reaction.

This time there’s no bird to keep him occupied, just his own thoughts and the smoke curling through his lungs.

It’s peaceful, sitting there. If he was careful it almost felt like he was the only person alive, the sound of life in the town far enough away that if he isn’t trying to hear it then he doesn’t. It’s just him and the birds are just beginning to sing and the small animals scurrying about in the underbrush.

The sun rises over the horizon and just as Keith begins to think he was correct, the sound of running feet comes from the path.

White hair glimmers in the sun as the man rounds the corner and Keith watches him from the corner of his eye. His first impression still stands; the man is tall, and strong and if Keith were human then maybe he’d even be dangerous.

When the man slows down and waves, Keith doesn't wave back.

xXx

It continues like that for a full month.

Keith makes excuses to avoid the park one day and then gives excuses why he should go the next. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove but somehow, in the midst of the back and forth he falls into a pattern.

He goes to the park every second day and even adjusts his work schedule to accommodate it. If Rolo and Nyma notice—and he’s absolutely certain they do—they don’t say anything to him.

He’s not sure what that means exactly but it makes him deeply suspicious.

Other things change as well. Whereas once he had staunchly ignored the man, now he nods back at him as he passes; sometimes, if he’s in a good mood, he’ll even shoot him a lazy salute. On the days when he nods the man smiles at him just a little wider. On the days when he salutes the man laughs and something in Keith’s chest tightens in response.

It’s just after a full month of this strange back and forth when things change again.

Keith had arrived later than usual and it showed. His hair was unbraided, spilling everywhere in a rats nest of a tangles and his clothing was rumpled at best. He had a shift later on, Nyma having called in sick, and was wearing his coveralls tied off around his waist and a top that still had grease stains on it from the last time he wore it.

He’d also forgotten to pack his lighter.

Cigarette tucked between his lips and checking his pockets for the nth time he missed the sound of the man coming up around the bend. He’s digging through one of the pockets in the leg of his coveralls when a shadow falls over him.

Keith looks up into warm grey eyes and is immediately lost.

“Hi,” the man says breathlessly. “Are you alright?”

Keith sits there frozen for a second before his brain finally comes back on line. “Can’t find my lighter,” he mumbles around the cigarette.

“Oh,” the man says. “I thought so, hold on a second.” And then Keith watches as the man opens the pack at his hip, rummages around a bit and then pulls out a lighter.

It’s not like Keith’s old metal zippo, dinged and scratched and almost as old as he is—it’s one of the plastic ones you can get at a corner store, with little cartoon cacti plastered around the edges. In the man's hand it looks almost comically small.

Hesitantly Keith reaches out and takes it from him. It only takes a second to light his cigarette but it feels longer with the man’s eyes on him. He takes a deep breath, exhales away from the man and then hands the lighter back and pointedly doesn’t feel anything with their fingers brush.

“I hadn’t thought you’d smoke,” Keith admits after a second. Most running types didn’t, the effects on their lungs too bad to sustain their hobby.

The man shrugs, scratching the back of his head and Keith stares at the way his shirt clings to his chest and bicep at the movement. “I don't,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “But I have friends who do, so I keep one on me just in case they forget theirs.”

“Or in case a stranger does?” Keith asks and it almost sounds like a gentle tease.

“Or in case a stranger does,” the man laughs. “But you’re not really a proper stranger.”

“Im not?” Keith blinks up at him.

“Nope,” the man says popping the ‘p’. He smiles down at him softly, backlit by the rising sun behind him. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule somewhere that if you wave at someone every day, then you’re at least acquaintances.”

Keith shrugs lightly at that, tapping his cigarette absently. “If you say so man.”

The man opens his mouth like he’s going to say something when he looks down at the watch on his wrist and swears lightly. “I gotta go,” he says apologetically, “but I’ll see you around?

He waits just long enough for Keith to nod at him, dazed, and then he’s backing away onto the path and he’s off down the track again, feet beating a steady rhythm against the ground.

Keith watches him go feeling bewildered and oddly like he’s been set on fire.

xXx

Like clockwork Shiro jolts awake as it ticks over to 4:30 am.

He laid there, heart pounding but muscles tensed and stiff as if waiting for a blow that would never come. He’s cold. At some point he must have kicked the blankets off.

Shiro eyed the door to his room, the shadows deep and foreboding. There was nothing to be afraid of, there wasn't, but he couldn't stop himself from listening for the sound of movement—whispers of cloth, the creaking of the floor—or from straining to catch the scent of old blood and grave dirt.

There was no point in trying to hear the sound of breathing.

Minutes pass as dread ran its fingers up and down his spine.

There was nothing there—there wasn’t.

But what if there was?

The sounds of his rented house weren’t familiar yet, the lines of the walls as foreign as any hotel he’d ever stayed in. Nothing about it whispered safe to his tired mind.

Shiro forces his lungs to inhale; to hold it and then release it, slow and even. He does it again, and again.

His started with his hands first, flexing his flesh and blood one even as his joints scream at him in protest. It takes a few minutes for the tremors to ease off. He flexes the hand of his prosthetic and it moves smoother and easier but with the aftershocks of his nightmare still running through him he doesn't know if he likes that and so he stops.

His arms next. He bends his elbows, flexes his biceps. They’re unobstructed. Not bound in any way. His shoulders roll after that, muscles moving under his skin and with a wet gasp he pushes himself onto his side and then onto his back.

Shiro stares at his ceiling then decides that it's far too easy to see screaming faces in the stucco ceiling and it's also just ugly, so he closes his eyes and counts his breaths.

1, 2, 3…

He curls his toes and then slowly, carefully bends one knee and then the other. There’s no sound of chain links clinking together, no weight against an ankle or cold press of metal.

7, 8, 9…

He opens his eyes again and leavers himself up and back until he’s sitting pressed up against the headboard.

Shiro lets his head thunk back and raises a shaking hand to his face. He rubs at his eyes and then lowers his hand until its curled over his nose and mouth. No muzzle. He can speak.

“Fuck,” he mutters to the empty room.

His clock mocks him from the bedside table, searing the red of 4:53am into his eyes. He looks away with a huff.

He slides himself to the edge of the bed and stands on shaky legs. Years of the same thing have taught him that there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep after a dream like that so he starts digging through one of the newly filled sets of drawers for something to change into.

He slips out his front door like a ghost, keys and wallet stuffed haphazardly into his back pocket and phone clutched tight in one hand.

When he steps outside dawn is just beginning to creep over the horizon and he can hear the faint sounds of the town slowly coming to life. With a grimace he sets off, heading vaguely towards the edge of town, hoping for less people.

It's strange walking about the town during the day. Shiro and the others had walked the town last few nights, learning—hunting—but it was different seeing it bathed in the early morning light. Houses sat oddly squat against the landscape; even the apartment complexes and shopping centres seemed small to him after years of working in and out of cities dominated by towering skyscrapers.

Everything seemed dusty, sand and dirt having been blown in from the desert surrounding the town on all sides apart from the one that had the mountain looming against it.

As he walks the sun slowly begins to creep higher and higher. He can feel the strength of the sun whenever he steps out of the shade and can already tell that he’ll probably regret wearing long sleeves and a jacket but he finds that he doesn't care.

Going about with bare arms, and bare shoulders is far less unappealing at the moment.

Slowly, the buildings give way to plants and barely-there tracks and he looks around himself. No people at all but stooped trees by the dozen and scraggly looking bushes; a park maybe. Less green than what he was used to in larger cities but, he admits, there was a raw beauty to it.

In the distance, through a gap in the trees, he can see the desert sprawling out before him, vast and already beginning to shimmer with heat. He could hear animals in the distance, birdsong in the plants around him and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“Well, alright then.” He picks a path winding out away from the town and follows it.

A breeze picks up as he walks on, bringing with it small snatches of the land around him. There’s the sharp smell of something organic and earthy; flowers or maybe fresh sap. The faintest hint of something like water lingers on the air and it makes him want to sneeze. There are vibrant snatches of colour amongst the plant life around him; yellows and reds and the occasional soft pinks.

He stops under the shelter of a tree that he thinks might be a palo verde, and tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

It was good being out there. The sun was warm and bright and the breeze was fresh and it was everything that place wasn’t. It was easy to shake the last vestiges of the nightmare off when surrounded by scenery that was so far removed from the dream.

The breeze shifts slightly and Shiro freezes, eyes snapping open.

The scent was faint; something hot drifting on the air like wood smoke and spun sugar.

Smoke he decides after a second; tobacco most likely, the kind of stuff you buy seperate and have to roll yourself.

Shiro hesitates where he’s standing and looks in the direction the breeze is coming from. Smoke means people and people is what he’s desperately trying to avoid right now.

He breathes in lightly, carefully, and smells the smoke again. Shaking his head he heads off quickly down the other worn path and between the scraggly trees, taking care to avoid the underbrush with their wicked looking spines.

This was better, he tells himself.

xXx

Shiro wakes with a start, heart hammering in his chest.

The bridge of his nose aches as does his jaw, phantom sensations spilling over from the nightmare. He presses a shaking hand to his mouth, glad that at least he can move, and smothers a wet sounding whine trying to escape.

He wasn't there, he thinks to himself desperately. He wasn't there anymore, he wasn’t; he got out.

Minutes pass and he lays there, curled up to protect his stomach from blows that weren't coming and hyper aware of everything. In the dark of the night the room took on a sinister edge.

It still didn't smell like home.

It takes longer than he would like for the shakes to stop, for his breathing to even out. Carefully he shifts, stretching out his limbs one by one before struggling up into a sitting position.

4:55am flashes at him from the bedside table and he barely resists the urge to smash it.

Instead he takes a deep breath and then, carefully, lets it out through clenched teeth.

The air in his bedroom was chilled which was normally how he liked it, but the blankets pooling around his hips were too and sweat was drying uncomfortably against his skin.

He looks at the clock again.

None of the others would be awake at this hour, with perhaps the exception of Matt and Pidge, and in their case it was more likely that they just wouldn't have been to sleep yet. He briefly tosses about the idea of making his way to their apartment to check but dismisses it almost as quickly as it comes.

Being dragged into one of their manic whirlwinds was not his idea of a good time, not when his arm ached as it did and he couldn’t quite ignore the pervasive sounds of gears and electricity humming in his arm.

He needs something else. Anything else.

He gets dressed on autopilot, stepping into running shorts and tugging on a long sleeved hoodie. It would be warm later on, it always was, but he didn't want to deal with the way light reflected off the metal.

Like the other time he went walking after a nightmare, the streets were empty and the town was quiet. Shiro hovered outside his place for a moment before picking a direction at random to start walking.

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to recognise the path his feet were taking and when he does he feels a soft stab of betrayal.

The park stretched out in front of him, trees stooping low against the horizon and underbrush growing thick. He thinks about turning around but the thought of heading back into the slowly waking town was unappealing at best.

Hesitantly, he sets off down the nearest path, putting in his earbuds as he walked and cranking up his music.

He hit the first path at a slow meandering jog. It was easy to lose himself like this, soft music just loud enough to drown out the background noise and the ever present hum of his arm. The swing of his arms, the swing of his legs and the early morning breeze brushing against his skin were enough to remind him that he wasn't there.

He was out. He was free.

He settles into his rhythm, sinks into himself and the quiet simplicity of free movement when he smells it.

Heat and sugar hanging faintly in the air.

His head snaps up and he slows, tracking the scent before the chance to do anything else has even the faintest chance to cross his mind.

His eyes scan ahead and there, sitting in the semi-shade of a tree and a strange looking shrub with cane like branches and lurid red flowers, was a man.

Shiro feels his feet stumble slightly.

He was too far away for Shiro to see what colour his eyes were but he got the distinct impression that they were watching Shiro.

He gets closer and closer as he comes around the path and as he does the man becomes more than clear and Shiro feels his breath stop entirely. Just stalls somewhere in his chest.

Long legs in faded jeans tucked up against his chest, broad shoulders and the long pale curve of a neck. The mans hair spilled over his shoulder like ink, smoke from a cigarette curling about long and elegant fingers and he’s—

Not pretty. Not handsome either, but rather beautiful in a way that sends a thrill up Shiro’s back.

Shiro panics internally just before he passes the man and, on an impulse, he raises his hand and waves.

The man doesn't wave back and Shiro puts his head down and jogs quicker.

The only thing that stops Shiro from immediately trying to figure out a way to convince Matt to send Shiro into the sun is the way he feels eyes on his back as he turns the corner, heading off down the path.

xXx

Shiro heads back the next day, same time, despite not having woken from a nightmare for once.

He tells himself its because the paths were good to run, that it was quiet and open and free of people.

He tells himself that he isn't disappointed when the man isn't there.

xXx

It takes three days before the Shiro sees the man again and by that time he’s oscillating between berating himself for going back in the first place and congratulating himself about at least getting a work out.

Exercising is good and running is relaxing so at least he’s getting something positive out of the situation.

When he rounds the corner towards the stretch of path going past what he now considers the mans spot, he almost doesn't notice him there.

The wind isn't in his favour this time, it's not carrying the ever present smoke towards him so it isn't until he sees the flash of movement, a pale hand raising a cigarette, that he notices him.

Shiro’s heart lurches in his chest and the curve of his wrist as he takes a drag of his cigarette is enrapturing.

Shiro waves again as he passes, a conscious decision this time, and while the man doesn't wave back he stares at Shiro and follows him until he passed from view.

xXx

The first time the man nods in return to Shiro’s wave he’s genuinely startled at the rush of something that rolls through him.

It's electrifying and something pathetic perks up with a tiny voice that he’s been acknowledged and Shiro hastily shoves it down and into a box even as his cheeks flush with warmth.

It's fine. It's normal. He’s been running for a while and it's warm outside.

xXx

The first time the man sends him a small salute as he passes, the gesture small and hesitant, Shiro is able to identify the sensation as pleasure. Or maybe satisfaction? Either way it rolls through him like the clap of a thunderstorm and he has to tuck down the urge to step off the path and introduce himself.

Instead he runs on and contents himself with smiling brightly as he passes.

xXx

The first time they actually talk Shiro is a nervous wreck.

He arrives around the same time that he always does, cresting the hill roughly as the sun begins to rise. The air is already beginning to warm but it feels good, thawing out the lingering chill from the nightmare that had woken him up. His head is fuzzy though from the lack of sleep and it’s dulled his reaction time—that the only excuse he has for how long it takes him to notice.

He’s moving slower than usual too so he has plenty of time to stare as he comes up towards the man and—he has a good reason to stare, he swears he does.

Black hair spills in uncontrollable waves down the mans back and over his shoulder as he looks for something. He’s not wearing his leather jacket this time either, instead in its place is a pair of old worn coveralls, the kind a mechanic might wear, and they’re tied off around his waist exposing surprisingly broad shoulders to the morning sun.

Shiro feels his mouth go dry as pale but muscular arms flex as the man digs through his pockets.

Unlike every other time the man doesn’t notice him, seemingly engrossed in his struggle. He can hear soft words—cursing his mind corrects—as the man mutters to himself, seemingly frustrated.

An unlit cigarette hangs from his lips and Shiro fills in the blanks, hand dropping to the pouch at his waist and the lighter inside that he’d bought because—

No. No, he told himself firmly even as he stared, he bought it because it was cute and not for any other reason.

The man still hasn’t noticed him so Shiro has time to make his choice.

…Fuck it.

He walks off the path until he’s standing just in front of the man.

“Hi,” Shiro says breathlessly. “Are you alright?” The man looks up at him and Shiro can't help the way his stomach swoops at the sight of his eyes, deep blue and beautiful.

“Can’t find my lighter,” he mumbles around the cigarette and Shiro chest catches at the rusty sounding voice.

“Oh,” Shiro says, grateful he guessed correctly. “I thought so, hold on a second.” He digs out his lighter and holds it out and tries not to feel self conscious with the way the man stares at it and the cute little cacti that are dancing all around the sides of it.

Eventually the man reaches out and takes it from him. He lights his cigarette with practiced ease and Shiro tries not to focus too hard on the way his fingers move. The tip of the cigarette flares as he takes a deep breath but when he exhales he does so away from Shiro.

Something pleased curls in his stomach at the concession to his presence.

He hands the lighter back and they stare at each other for a long second, the sun beginning to bear down on the back of Shiro’s neck.

“I hadn’t thought you’d smoke,” the man admits after a second.

Shiro shrugs, scratching the back of his head and the man follows the movement. It takes a few seconds for Shiro to remind himself that he’s wearing sleeves and a glove—there was no way he was looking at his prosthetic. “I don't,” he admits after a second. “But I have friends who do, so I keep one on me just in case they forget theirs.”

It’s a lie. None of the other’s smoke but the man doesn’t need to know that Shiro stood in front of the lighters at the 7/11 for ten minutes debating buying one with the express purpose of maybe offering to let the man use it as an ice breaker.

“Or in case a stranger does?” the man asks and it’s teasing.

“Or in case a stranger does,” Shiro says on a laugh. “But you’re not really a proper stranger.”

“I'm not?” he asks.

“Nope,” Shiro says popping the ‘p’. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule somewhere that if you wave at someone every day, then you’re at least acquaintances.”

He’s making this up but honestly why not at this point.

The man shrugs lightly at that, tapping his cigarette absently. Shiro can see faint scarring over his knuckles. “If you say so man.”

Shiro goes to ask his name but a thought occurs to him and he looks down at his watch, swearing lightly as he notices the time. “I gotta go,” he says apologetically, “but I’ll see you around,” he promises.

The man gives him a nod and Shiro takes that as a win.

He walks backwards towards the path, just so he can smile at him for a few seconds longer and then he almost stumbles as he hits the edge of it. Cheeks flushing lightly, he puts his head down and continues on his run, hoping to make it before Matt wakes from his caffeine induced coma and starts hounding him about their work.

xXx

It's three days later when he catches the scent of smoke while out on the hunt with Matt.

Its genuinely appalling how the faintest whiff of that sweet smelling smoke immediately manages to bring him to a complete stop.

“Okay whats with you?”

Shiro forcefully drags his gaze from the darkened street that held a hint of smoke and turns to face his partner. Matt was looking at him, somehow unimpressed and curious at the same time and Shiro has to fight back a wince.

“Nothings with me,” he says and the unimpressed portion of Matt’s look overwhelms the curious part and the glare he sends Shiro is almost vicious.

“Yeah,” Matt drawls driving a shoulder into Shiro with enough force to make him sway. “Thats why you’ve been spacing out for the last few days.”

“I have not been spacing out.” Shiro sounds defensive to his own ears and he hates that just a little. He sighs. “Its been a tiring few days Matt, and some of us don’t mainline caffeine to keep going.” he mutters.

Matt snorts. “Just because you like that funky herbal tea, doesn't mean the rest of us don't have tastebuds buddy.” Shiro chuckles lightly at that, swiping at Matt ineffectually. He’s marginally startled when Matt sobers suddenly and pins him with a too sharp look. “Seriously Shiro,” he says, sounding concerned. “I know you don't sleep well in a new place, is it that?”

Shiro sighs quietly. Matt has always been of singular focus and, perhaps more damningly, he knows Shiro too well.

Shiro settles on a shrug. “I haven't been sleeping well,” he admits. Then he shakes his head before continuing, “Thats not why I’ve been so…” He trails off and looks down the street again. The scent has faded with the wind.

“Out of it?” Matt finishes for him.

“Out of it.” Shiro confirms, ruefully.

“So what is the reason?” Matt is carefully looking away from him, seemingly not caring about whatever answer Shiro might give but he knows its a ruse; Matt very much cares about hearing the answer but he cares more about Shiro’s comfort.

Shiro feels a rush of gratefulness for the man; Matt is a good hunting partner and an even better friend.

They stay like that for a moment, side by side against the wall, just watching the dark and empty street around them and then Shiro lets the breath in his lungs out in a long sigh.

“There’s this…guy,” he says after a second. “I see him sometimes on my run and he’s always got these cigarettes with him. They smell sweet so I don’t think its the normal tobacco, more like the fancy pipe stuff you know?”

Matt hums and nods at him to go on.

“I just smelt the smoke, that’s all.” Shiro looks around them, at the darkened streets. “It was pretty strong so for a second I though he was maybe around here but,” Shiro rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “I guess not.”

“So,” Matt says slowly and the alarms bells start ringing. “A guy, huh?”

“...yeah...” Shiro says cautiously. “I started going for runs in the morning and he’s just always there, sitting under a tree and smoking. I don’t know if he works night shift or if he’s just an early riser but I seem him a couple of times a week.” Shiro takes a breath and eyes Matt nervously when he doesn’t say anything.

“A guy you see on your morning jogs?”

“Yes?”

“And have you spoken to this man?”

“Once,” Shiro admits, “But mostly I just jog past him and—” Shiro cuts himself off with a cough.

“You jog past him and…?” A hand comes and pokes him when he doesn't answer. “Come on now, don’t hold out on me. We’re having a nice conversation, you can't hold back details.”

“When I…” Shiro sighs again. “When I wave at him,” he finishes.

“You wave at him.” Matt repeats and Shiro doesn't bother confirming because it wasn’t a question, rather an exclamation of teasing amusement. “Huh.”

“What?” Shiro asks reluctantly.

“Nothing, just.” Shiro feels the shrug more than he sees it. “Seems to me like you want to know him.”

Shiro feels his eyebrow raise and he looks at his friend. “What are you on about, Matt?”

Matt rocks on the balls of his feel slightly. “Exactly what I said. You want to get to know him.” When Shiro just stares at him, Matt rolls his eyes. “You know. As a person. Friendly like. Possibly biblically.”

Matt wiggles his eyebrows and Shiro gapes at him.

“W-what? No, no thats not—“ Shiro’s jaw clicks shut and he swallows. “I don't know him,” he ends weakly.

“Yeah, but nobody knows anybody until they do.” This time the teasing comes gentle. “This is just like a signal saying: we could be so good together, yeah, so good together—“

Shiro shoves his hand over Matt’s mouth smothering the terrible rendition. Muffled words come from behind his hand and Shiro doesn't remove it until he feels the disgusting sensation of Matt dragging his tongue along his palm.

“Oh fuck off, Matt.” Shiro stares down at his palm and then reaches out to wipe it off on Matts shoulder. Matt lets him do it with a shit eating grin.

“You know,” Matt continues softly after a moment. “If you find them and you do like them? It can’t hurt to give it a go. I know its been a long time since you—well it been a long time. But it can’t hurt to have a little fun while we’re here.”

Shiro swallows hard.

“If only I had your optimism.” Shiro says, throat dry as dust.

Matt looks at him out of the corner of his eye and grins at him. “That's what I’m here for: to remind you that you’re not actually 60 and that its okay for you to live a little.”

Both of them turn to look at the darkened streets around them. It's late and they’ve lingered in one place too long but it feels like a weight has lifted from Shiro’s chest that he didn't know he was carrying.

“Thanks Matt.” He says quietly.

“No worries Shiro.”

xXx
xXx

“You really should get out more—you know that right.” Nyma dumped the box she was carrying onto the table with a thump that sent it rattling.

Keith looks up from his paperwork to squint at her.

“The fuck you on about?” he asks.

Nyma just sighs at him and hitches herself up to sit beside the box and Keith lets his pen drop to the table. Clearly he’s not getting his work done.

“Just sayin’ Bossman.” She ignores the glare Keith sends her with the kind of ease that would annoy him if it was anyone else. “You’re young and you’re cute and you’ve been single the three years we’ve known you.” She tilts her head at him, birdlike. Not a wren though. More like a hawk. “Want to come out with us on Saturday?”

Come out with translates to: go to the dive bar with her and Rolo.

“I’m working,” he says immediately even though he’s not.

Its not like he has anything against the dive bar, in fact its where he met the two of them in the first place but he cant find any enthusiasm in himself at the idea of drinking alcohol which wont get him drunk and watching the two of them try to fleece people at pool.

“No you’re not,” she says knowingly.

“Well I am now.” Keith pokes at her with his pen but she doesn't move, just settles more comfortably in place. “Benefits of being my own boss, I can schedule my own shifts how I want.”

“Is the idea of coming out with us that bad?” She pouts at him as she says it and Keith snorts. That look hadn't worked on him once in the whole time he’d known her and it wasn't about to start now.

“Yes.” He says dryly and shoves his pen back into the cup.

She sighs again like he’s disappointed her and finally hops off the table. “You’re so cruel to us,” she grumbles but it's kind in its way.

Every once in a while she or Rolo would try to drag him out with them and almost every time he’s declined. It was a well worn dance by this point, comfortable in its familiarity.

“You just want me to help you make money in pool.” Its how its gone very other time he’d been there with them and if it wasn't pool, it was poker.

“The people there are so easy,” she groans.

“I wasn’t,” he points out.

“No you weren’t.” She looks at him then, oddly soft and then she grins. “Thats why we decided we like you. Besides,” she waves him off dismissively, “with you there we could clean them all out.”

Con artists, he thinks fondly and screws up a ball of paper to throw at her. “Tell Rolo, thanks but no thanks.”

She throws her hands up, “Fine, fine. I know when I’m beat.” She turns to wander off into the employee lounge, probably to grab the donuts he’d brought with him that morning. It was a thanks for helping him with the stocktake and he’d filled it with as many of her favourites as he could remember.

Rolo on the other hand, was banned from stocktake and would never be getting donuts.

He goes back to his paperwork, writing with a new pen in the vain hope that this one would make him write faster. The small wobbly creature that Rolo had stuck to the end of it mocks him and he only just barely resists the urge to toss it across the room.

Theres a sound behind him and Keith feels Nyma walk back out into the room. She has a donut in one hand, the newspaper in the other and she’s reading with a frown.

He makes an inquiring sound at her and she startles slightly. He nods towards the newspaper meaningfully.

Anything to keep him from having to finish his paperwork.

“Building burnt down last night near the old cinema.” she explained. “A young kid and his father were home.” She frowns at the newspaper and doesn't notice the way Keith stiffens ever so slightly. She skims down further and turns the page, frown deepening.

“Did they survive?” Keith asks, tentative.

“No,” she replies quietly after a moment. “Says they died from smoke inhalation.”

“Ah,” Keith says. His throat feels tight.

“Yeah.” Nyma flips the page over.

Keith fiddles with his pen for a second. “Anything else?”

“The school is having a bake sale.” she says blandly. She looks up and squints at him. “That paperwork isn't going to finish itself Bossman.”

Keith grunts and rolls his eyes and turns back to his work, but the tension that had worked its way in his shoulders refuses to leave no matter how many times he rolls them.

xXx

He puts the conversation out of his mind and sleeps for a few solid hours after that. His bedroom is cold and his blankets are heavy and warm and for a while its good.

When he wakes it's still light outside, the last few hours of sunlight left before it sank below the crest of the mountain and doused the town in shade. He yawns as he sits up, large enough to crack his jaw uncomfortably and he scratches idly at his chest as he contemplates the possibility of just going straight back to bed.

The restlessness in his limbs wins out though, and with a sigh he drags himself to the edge of the bed and stands, toes curling against the cold floor.

There’s nothing for him to do really. He showers, drinks some bitter coffee while standing naked in his kitchen and skims through the newspaper.

He doesn't have work tonight, it’s one of the few days that they close early but he’s still caught by the need to go out and do something. There’s a reluctance to the thought though—the knowledge that there are hunters in his town hanging over his head like a precariously positioned sword—but it’s not quite enough to stop him.

He skims through the movies showing at the cinema but they’re all ones that he’s seen before. He doesn’t feel quite in the mood to deal with people so that cuts out the mall, and the bar and...most other places if he’s being honest.

In the end the choice is easy.

He gets dressed in worn jeans, a black top and his leather jacket and heads off in the direction of the library.

He foregoes his bike in favour of walking there which gives him ample opportunity to scout out the town as he goes. Every once in a while he catches the scent of pine and gunpowder on street corners and against buildings where the hunters had lingered. Some are more recent than others and he steers clear of those spots just in case.

The scents fade to nothing as the buildings start to thin out and he rounds a street to find the library in all its blackened glory, sitting next to an empty lot.

It looks old and it is, being one of the oldest structures in the town. The outside is worn and weatherbeaten where it isn’t charred but it has a charm to it that Keith likes. The skies above them are slowly darkening, pin pricks of light only just coming out to join the moon where she’s slowly starting to rise in the sky.

His boots crunch across the gravel path that lead to the main door and the inside is almost aggressively cool. He buries his hands in his jacket in a vain attempt to protect them from the chill.

He’s standing there for maybe a minute, idly browsing the pinned wall of events coming up. Most are for school trips but there are a couple that catch his eye; a book club for science fiction that he thinks Nyma would appreciate, and something about the origins of stars in various mythologies being held at the observatory. There’s a twinge somewhere in his chest. Regris probably would have enjoyed that one.

“What are yo—oh, it's you.” The sour voice startles him and he winces, looking down.

Slav is staring up at him, beady eyes squinting at him with all the judgement they possessed.

“Hi,” Keith says. It’s as polite as he’s going to get.

Slav huffs. “Of course you would show up now. Don't you have better things to be doing than loitering around here?”

“I really don’t.” Keith says flatly.

Keith will never understand exactly what he’d done to deserve the ire of the head librarian and honestly he’s not sure he wants to know. He’s beginning to suspect that the perceived slight might not even have anything to do with him.

Slav eyeballs him and then jabs him in the side with a boney finger. “Don’t break anything, don’t spill anything and if you’re not wearing red don’t touch anything in the history section.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Keith feeling irritated and generally frustrated as he always does.

The irritation wears off quickly though. The other employees say quick greetings when they see him but otherwise leave him to his own devices. There are a few other people milling about, some kids with their parents and few couples but otherwise it’s blissfully quiet.

He spends an hour or two once the stars come out just milling about, pulling down books and flicking through them. He’s read a lot of them over the years but his memory of some of them have faded and he winds up sitting down with a book he only vaguely remembers.

He thinks there might be vampires in it but not the real kind. A part of him is glad of that.

He cracks open the green cover and the spine creaks with age, the smell of vanilla hinting at the air. As he reads, bits and pieces come back to him; Harvey meeting Rictus, their journey through the fog. The House. When he closes the book again on Harvey’s flight as a vampire the library is quiet and mostly empty.

He puts the book down and walks away. Then he comes back and takes it with him to check it out.

He keeps it tucked under an arm as he heads home but mostly tries not to think about it. Now that he’s reading it again he can't quite remember if he enjoyed it the first time. Books with vampires and monsters in them had never been his favourites. Dracula was an irritation at best and dangerous at worst. The real thing was something to be terrified of and he sometimes wondered if Bram Stoker had been one of the Thralled to spread stories that were so close and yet so far from the truth.

He’s deep in thought, not paying attention to where he’s walking when the thick scent of smoke and fresh charr reaches him.

He looks up startled.

The house had once been cream coloured and two stories but now it sits collapsed in on itself and an ugly grey where it isn't all black. The remaining windows are cracked, scraps of curtain billowing eerily in the night breeze, phantom-like. The wood is still creaking like the houses remains haven’t finished settling and a small string of unease tugs at him.

He’s never liked fire.

His feet carried him forward almost against his will. Nyma had told him that the fire had claimed two lives and he could tell. Under the smell of smoke and burnt plastic there was something horrifically sweeter—something he had smelled before. His breath hisses out from between his teeth and he has to fight the urge to recoil.

But under it all, under the smoke, and the smell of burning there’s something else.

Curiosity calls him closer even as his common sense urges him to leave. It’s hard to parse out and Keith shifts just enough to get a better idea of what he’s smelling.

Wet earth, like a bog, and the smell of rot.

Keith freezes and then looks around him. The street is deserted, empty apart from him and the insects attracted to the sparse street lights. Putting his book down on a clean piece of front lawn he steps forward, looking for a way in. In the end, he goes through the front door, prying the warped wood open with a careful use of claws. It creaks loudly in protest but no lights turn on in response to the sound and reluctantly, he steps in.

Inside the smell is worse.

He has to duck and squeeze his was through the remains of the house. Most of the second story had collapsed into the first and there was glass and other debris that turned the floor into a minefield.

The further inside he got, the closer he got to the source of the sweet smell and he had to force himself to continue.

He stops somewhere near the back of the house. The smell is strongest there, coming from somewhere vaguely above him but he ignores it the best he can. That's not what he’s here for.

He closes his eyes and shifts fully. Bones creak as they elongate and suddenly the world around him is a lot clearer. He can hear the distant sounds of people in the houses around him, sleeping mostly or puttering about their homes. The occasional bat flying over head and small animals running around out in the dark. The creaking wood becomes a cacophony just as the smell becomes almost overwhelming but a few minutes of deep breathing let him get a handle on it.

He can smell the remains of the fire and the remains of the family. There’s the faintest scent of fear that clings to the wood around him, potent even after death. And beyond that is the very distinct smell of vampire.

It smells like old wet grave dirt, far out of place in this part of the desert and the smell of rotting things, like plant matter turned to peat.

Slowly, he opens his eyes.

It’s easy to see what the human investigators missed—the faint claw marks in the wood and signs of a struggle that were almost completely obscured by the fire. The fire that, Keith was now certain, was deliberately set to cover up what had really happened.

He squeezes his way to the back door and finds the lock broken from the outside. With a gentle push it swings open and the house around him moans.

He steps out into the cool night air and immediately feels eyes on him.

The hair on the back of his neck bristles and his lips pull back in a snarl. He steps out further, eyes scanning the darkness around the house. The backyard was up against an empty lot and the shadows loomed, long and deep around him. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, was the strange thing, the sensation almost like eyes were watching him from everywhere even though his gut told him that wasn’t true.

“Where are you,” Keith muttered to himself.

There was no answer but then again he hadn’t been expecting any. The sensation lingered until, abruptly, it was gone—vanishing almost like it had never been there in the first place.

There’s a CRASH from the front of the house, glass splintering and Keith flinches wildly. There are shouts from the houses on either side, the sound of lights flickering on and Keith thinks he might even hear the sound of quiet footfalls disappearing away from the house but he can’t focus on that.

He vaults over the back fence, heading away from the broken remains of the house before someone sees him there and it's only when he’s back in his own apartment that he remembers he’d left his book sitting on the front lawn.

xXx

That night he dreams.

He was alone.

The moon was dark outside his window, sending the shadows deeper, scattering them across the floor of his room. The wind was rattling at his window which was unusual but the sound prickling against the glass was like a far off memory.

Dust storms in the desert.

He was alone.

There was…

a

s o u n d?

Keith freezes in his bed, ears working overtime. The wind had died down again, and in the space of that sudden absence it feels like his brain is tripping over itself to hear what had been there. It was the quiet at the edge of the world, a vast and bottomless thing and it was the most terrible thing Keith had ever heard until its not.

Because there was something there.

His heartbeat is absent in his chest. He’s as still as the dead.

He hears it like a slow drag; the faintest scrape of something sharp. There’s something approaching, out in the inky blackness beyond the doors to his bedroom. His hand twitches and curls against the bedsheets. Did it come from outside or inside the house? The floor or the ceiling?

He hears it again…

…and then again…

…and again…

Boots on the floor, shifting weight like the person is trying to not be heard.

He can’t hear their heartbeat.

His fingers shake where they’re clenched.

There’s a creak of a floorboard somewhere behind him. The scrape of metallic coming distant from the house; the living room, the roof.

If he strains himself he can hear the scuff of their boots too.

He tries not to move. Stills his breathing completely, lets his hand fall limp. Plays dead to the best of his abilities, and his status as an undead creature means that he can manage a perfect performance.

All at once Keith knows that it will do no good.

He can defiantly hear them now; the breathing and the scraping coming from the rest of the house.

They’ve surrounded it.

He feels something brush against his leg, where it's been left bare by the tangle of blankets and he’s too terrified to open his eyes and look down because then he will die.

He will die, die again and it hurt the first time when the bullet tore through him, how much more will it hurt to be flayed open by the burning gold he can feel.

He hears a distant noise, a faint crackling from a memory.

The feel of uneven touches trails up from his leg and he hears the floorboards creak, closer and closer .

When it comes he doesn't get a chance to scream. His eyes fly open as pain bursts in his shoulder, a crescendo of sensation that freezes the sound in his chest. A weight over his back and the stake through his shoulder keep him pinned in place, a butterfly on a cork board and he cant twist of pull away, no strength in his limbs to struggle.

His eyes fly to the window. Its dark outside, black as pitch and the cold of it all seeps into his chest as his own blood seeps out.

The burning in his shoulder sets against the chill of him and Keith wants to scream, needs to scream but he cant.

The distant noise grows louder, a dull roar and Keith can smell smoke, coming in thick and acrid from somewhere and he thinks he might be crying, he still wants to scream but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a weak helpless plea. “Please,” he says because the gold dagger buried in his shoulder is being pulled out, is moving to his neck and he can feel heat settle over his back and he cant tell if thats the figure or the flames slowly engulfing his home.

“Somebody please help us,” he breathes and figure laughs.

The roar of the fire rises and above it all he can hear the shrill scream of a train barreling towards its end and then the bed below him is gone, the house is gone and the river yawns open, the water black and gold and ready to swallow them whole.

xXx

He wakes up.

There’s weak and dying sunlight creeping in through blinds on his window. His throat feels raw, like he’d been screaming in his sleep but he knows he wasn't. The scent of blood makes him freeze and agony radiates down from his shoulder and up from his palm.

He unclenches his hand with a gasp, unburying his own claws from his hand and curls up, torn between clutching at his shoulder or his wrist.

The nightmare sticks to him. He can feel the wet warmth of breath against his neck, could feel the knife digging its way through the muscle of his shoulder. There was no smoke in the air but Keith could still feel the distant heat of flames licking at his heels.

All at once he cant stay in his bed.

Keith flings the sheets off of him, stumbles from the chilled bed and staggers out into the bathroom.

The tiled floor is cold against his feet, the air stifled in the enclosed space. He doesn’t bother throwing on the lights, just leaves his sweatpants in a pile on the floor and throws himself into the shower stall.

He turns the water on cold. Anything, anything to get rid of the burning sensation that still chased itself across his skin.

Harsh breaths tore through his lungs, leaving his ribs aching. The water pounded down over his shoulders in a relentless spray and he thrust his head directly under it. For a second it felt like he was drowning which was better than burning.

Water had kept him trapped once, down down down in the dark and cold but it hadn't taken anything from him, not really.

Not like fire.

Real sensations. The cold water was real, the hurt in his lungs was real. The weight of the water in his hair was real, and he wondered how it was that the dreams managed to deceive him every time.

Things from different times mixed and matched. There was no house with its wood walls and wood floor. There was no dust storm and hadn't been one since the previous summer. Keith held his breath, strained his hearing beyond the rush of water and couldn’t hear a single laugh.

Of course he didn’t.

“It’s a dream,” he whispered to himself. The water drowned it out so he said it louder. “Just a dream.” His inhale caught on a sob. “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.”

In hindsight they never seemed real; fake stimuli, so shallow and dim when compared to the waking world.

The real world was so complex, too complex to be fabricated but it got him every time.

When Keith finally turned the water off he was freezing to the touch. He clenched and unclenched his hands, felt the skin over his palm flex and pull where it was new. He towelled himself off quickly, rung out his hair and stepped out of the bathroom with it wrapped around his waist. He avoided walking too far into his bedroom; walked along the wall like the dark of his sheets was waiting to pull him back in.

His living room was only marginally better and he half ran into the kitchen.

He stood there for long moment under the warm light. His hair was dripping, leaving trails down his back and over his chest. It would have been cold except all of him was cold and in a daze he threw on the coffee maker.

He closed his eyes and slumped against his counter. He drifted as he waited, mind staunchly refusing to settle on any one thing. He blinked and the coffee was ready.

He sat it on the table in front of him as he leaned back in a chair. It was hard against his back but it wasn’t sharp so he didn't care.

The coffee was weak. It always was. He kept meaning to switch to a different brand but every time he went to the store he gravitated towards the jar. A habit he supposed, and one his body was desperate for him to break.

In an ideal world he’d try to bribe Sal to give up his coffee recipe but the the man would probably cling to that secret even in death.

After a while he didn't even bother to try and drink it and let the coffee go cold. His hands were warm at least, the heat having leached into his skin.

With a sigh he stood and went to pour the liquid out and dump the mug in the sink.

He stood there, hands leaning on the counter and hair drying tangled.

He needed to be outside.

xXx

The sky was cloudy and grey, not unlike his mood. A part of him wants to be annoyed by that but most of him is too tired to muster up the energy. It's edging into evening but it feels later with how dark it is and Keith finds himself desperate for something that might help him shake the cobwebs off.

Sal's Diner sits almost smack dab between his apartment and his work. It's a vintage looking place with an honest to god jukebox that still worked even if the song selections left a lot to be desired. Whats New Pussycat and Its Not Unusual might have actually become his most hated songs purely through repetition.

But the food always smelled nice even if he didn’t eat and the coffee could potentially pass for rocket fuel in a pinch, so when his feet started to carry him in that direction, he went with it.

A small part of Keith was wondering what the hell he was doing, wandering about. It would probably be easier to just lay low in his apartment, possibly safer as well knowing what he does but the walls didn't look right out of the corner of his eyes in the dimming light.

He kept expecting to hear the scraping of claws or the stomping of boots and it was beginning to drive him insane.

So there he was, wandering through the town at twilight while a team of hunters and an unknown vampire roamed about. Every now and then he got a whiff of them but it was always stale. A corner where two had lurked, a wall one had leant against.

It was just enough for Keith to start picking out individual scents. There were four of them, that much he could tell, all entwined with the spice of gunpowder and pine. Possibly three male and one female but that was harder to tell from scent alone.

It was like nails on a chalkboard. Despite deliberately going out of his way to avoid them their scent persisted. In fact it was growing stronger as they seemingly settled into a routine, making a home for themselves in Keiths town.

Every part of Keith rebelled at the idea; it scrapped against his insides and left him feeling raw; this was the closest thing he’d had to a home in years. It wasn't much, but it was his and he would loose it all if they stayed especially because his gut was telling him that he wasn’t dealing with an independent team of hunters. Independent teams almost never had the discipline to stay under the radar for long.

That left Garrison Hunters.

It was always better to run from Garrison hunters, rather than fight them. Keith had lived by this thought for years, had put it into practice for most of his death. Kill one team and they’d merely send another. And another. And then another and another until they killed you.

If you wanted peace you could only run and Keith, god help him, just wanted to be left alone.

But the thought of fleeing, of leaving Arrowhead like he’d left so many places, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Because he didn't want to have to leave. He didn't want to be run out of this town. It wasn't really a home but it was the closest he’d had in long long years and he was loathe to give it up, especially for a crime he hadn't committed.

And now, beyond the hunters Keith now knew he wasn’t alone in this town. The burned house stood as a testament to that. Somewhere out amongst the houses and the people was another vampire who's already killed at least two people and covered it up and unlike the hunters Keith had detected absolutely no sign of them since the house.

That, in and of itself, was far more anxiety inducing in some ways.

Keith took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself. The scent of sweet smoke filled his nose, his clothes saturated in the smell after he had anxiety smoked his way through most of his pre-rolled supply.

His fingers itched to hold a cigarette or maybe a pencil or a screwdriver; anything that he could fiddle with to dispel the nervous energy he felt.

Keith stepped into Sals in a daze and ordered his usual in the same way. He didn't know if anyone tried to talk to him but it wouldn't surprise him if no one did; he just waited there in silence until the waitress pressed the drink into his hand with a smile.

Walking back home was an exercise in patience. One of his fingers tapped against the coffee lid, nails threatening to turn into claws with the slightest miss-breath.

Keith sipped at his coffee, barely tasting it before returning to his tapping.

He turned the corner without looking, walking on memory alone and wasn't the slightest bit prepared when a wall of muscle careens into him at a jog. The next few seconds were a slow cascade of sensations.

On instinct he let himself stagger and fall. By sheer chance the coffee missed him and splattered to the pavement in the most mournful display of missed chances that Keith had seen in his lifetime.

There was a soft curse and then strong, wide hands were gripping at his waist, steadying him and Keith looks up into wide grey eyes set in a handsome face.

It was the man from the park.

“Fuck,” he says, sounding genuinely concerned, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Keith blinked up at him, frozen. He’d already been big but he somehow felt bigger when he was touching Keith.

A hint of distress tinged the air. “No, really are you okay?” The man hesitantly drew back, hands hovering slightly as if readying himself to grab at Keith again if he stumbled. “I walked into you pretty hard just then.”

Keith blinked at him again and shifted his weight slightly. “Yeah,” Keith croaked out faintly. “I’m fine.”

And he really was, the only thing bruised was his sense of dignity. It had been a long time since he’d been so lost in his head that something like this had happened and it was one thing to have Rolo or Nyma dance in and out of his space without noticing, they were friends mostly—they were safe.

When Keith looks back up the man is still looking at Keith with that faint, almost puzzled look of concern on his face.

“Oh, well good.” The man smiles at him then and Keith just stares as his heart jumps in his chest. He has no idea what’s happening.

They end up just staring at each other for longer than is probably socially acceptable for two people who had only spoken once before, but for some reason that feels better than the alternative of them going their separate ways.

The man is big. Keith feels like it bears repeating. That morning when he’d lent Keith his lighter, Keith had been running on less sleep than usual on top of being mildly caught off guard. He’d noticed the play of muscles and the span of his hand but somehow the details of the encounter hadn’t sunk in the way they’re doing now. He’s taller than Keith, six and a half feet of muscle and broad in the shoulders.

In fact, Keith acknowledges in a daze, he’s broad everywhere.

When the man pulls his bottom lip into his mouth the flash of teeth distracts Keith far more thoroughly than it should.

When he finally speaks its almost a surprise. “Hey uhh, listen can I...” he trails off, sounding weirdly hesitant.

“Yeah,” Keith prompts cautiously.

He’s confused, confused beyond all belief and growing more anxious the longer the strange interaction goes on.

“My names Shiro,” the guy gets out eventually. He’s smiling again, awkwardly genuine.

There are lines around his eyes. They make him look kind. Its a boyish grin too, with fine cheekbones and the scar across his face merely adds to it all and Keith very very carefully boxes up the feeling in his chest and puts it away where it’ll never see the light of day.

The smile on the man— on Shiro’s face grows more awkward as the silence stretches but still manages to remain genuine. It's with a start that Keith realises that he hadn't replied.

“Keith,” he offers softly.

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, his voice light and breathy. He says it like it's something more than Keith's name and Keith doesn't know how to feel about that so he shoves it into the box with the rest.

“You know, I was going to ask you your name that day we talked in the park.”

“Oh.” Keith says. That though honestly hadn’t occurred to him for some reason.

“Yeah, I kinda dropped the ball on that one.” Shiro’s teeth tug on his bottom lip and Keith watches grey eyes flicker between him and the rapidly cooling puddle of coffee on the ground beside them. Shiro’s expression crumples slightly. “Fuck,” he hisses, “That was full wasn't it.”

If doesn't really come off as a question so Keith stays silent and confused as Shiro seems to come to a conclusion. “Let me buy you a coffee? O-or another coffee I guess.”

There’s a stupidly hopeful look on the ma— on Shiro’s face and Keith has officially lost any control over the situation and quite possible also over his life.

Or his existence, at least.

“I know you said you’re fine but honestly I feel bad for knocking you over and killing your coffee, really I should be better about looking where I'm going and...” Shiro trails off again, scratches the back of his head before ducking his face away.

He’s nervous, Keith realises with a start. He can hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest, too fast for a healthy human and theres a light flush dusting across his cheeks made all the more apparent by the paleness of the scar and—

“Im sorry,” Shiro blurts out when the silence stretches too long. Again Keith had been silent when conversation dictated a response.

In his defence Keith still isn't sure this isn't part of his dream.

“I’m really sorry,” Shiro deflates in front of his eyes. If he were a dog his tail would be drooping. “I just thought...If you don't want— I'm just gonna...go?”

Shiro makes to turn, to step around Keith, and Keith can only blame temporary insanity for the way his hand snaps out to grasp at a solid arm. Too solid, a part of him notes but the rest of him is busy wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

Absently he hopes he wasn't too quick with the grab, too strong in his grip. Just in case he loosens hold.

“Coffee?” He questions softly. Fuck. Keith doesn't know what he’s doing. Maybe he’s hoping for a distraction, something to get his mind off the hunters invading his home. He lets go of Shiro entirely, buries his lightly shaking hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

Shiro perks up like a dog too. His eyes go bright, he straightens slightly and Keith can practically see the tentative wag of a tail.

“I— I mean yeah?” he says like he wasn't the one to ask in the first place.

“Yeah,” Keith echoes and he is so confused and a little terrified but something in his gut is urging him on.

Keith clears his throat. He can’t believe he’s going to do it, is genuinely astounded by his own stupidity. “Yeah, a new coffee would be...nice?”

“Good,” Shiro says with a softer smile. “Good thats— thats great! I just—”

He freezes and then looks around them and then back at Keith.

Keith stiffens slightly.

“I just realised,” Shiro said slowly, “that I don't actually know where to get coffee from.” The blush across his face deepens and spreads and Keith watches fascinated. “Im new around here,” he rushed to explain, “spent the last month getting my place ready and helping some friends with their apartments as well and apart from finding the park I haven't had time to look around yet.”

He looks so sheepish and so sincerely apologetic that Keith was helpless against the image of a begging dog that superposed itself over the six foot mountain of muscle in front of him.

Keith feels the hysterical giggle rising in his chest and swallows it down with an effort.

“I know a place,” his mouth says for him.

Shiro brightens even more if that was possible. Keith doesn’t think anyone should look so much like the sun. “Great,” he says with a smile. “You’ll have to lead though, still not too sure of my way around these streets.”

He says it like he’s apologising for not knowing his way around a new town and the sound Keith makes in the back of his throat is small and indistinguishable.

When Keith gestures, Shiro falls into step beside him. He does it like its easy, like its natural and Keith doesn't know what to make of that. Does he do this often? Run people down and then invite them out to coffee?

He listened to Shiro with half an ear, tossed out small sounds when the conversation required it but otherwise he focused on putting one foot in front of the other in a calm, even fashion to stop himself from bolting.

A hand catches against his sleeve. It's a light brush, more fingers than anything but it still sends Keith flinching away slightly, the ache in his shoulder flaring in memory.

They both came to a stop. Shiro had his hands raised slightly and one of his hands catches the light of the flickering streetlight.

Shiro licks his lips. “You know we don't have to get coffee, right?”

Keith freezes, stock still. The smile that quirks at the edges of the hunters lips is small and rueful.

He gestures vaguely at Keith. “Yeah, that. I’m not trying to force you into anything, if you’re not comfortable with this you can just say so,” Shiro prompts gently. “I’m not gonna get mad. We can just go back to whatever it was we were doing before I ran into you, no harm no foul.”

Shiro settled back on his heels, waiting for an answer. Keith gaped at him slightly.

“What do you mean,” Keith asked hesitantly.

“You just don’t seem to be having a great time,” Shiro says carefully. “You tense up when I get too close and,” he adds with a slight laugh, “I don't think you find the pros and cons of pineapple on pizza that interesting.”

“Its an abomination,” Keith says automatically and then glares at Shiro in chagrin when he laughs.

Keith takes a moment to think. A large part of him, the part of him that hated the crush of bodies in a crowd and the incessant noise of people being people just wanted to run back to the relative safety of his apartment.

His gut stopped him. Beyond the vague feelings of anxiety and nerves that rattled around in him in the aftermath of his nightmare, there was tug. Instinct was a powerful thing and it had saved Keith more than once in the years since his turning. Hell, even before it, it had been another weapon in his arsenal.

He made up his mind.

“No its— I’m,” he corrected, “all good.” He shrugged slightly. “Just been a long while since someone asked me out for coffee.

And that was a truth if ever there was one. It had been a long time since someone had pursued him, longer still since he had pursued anyone outside of a hunt. Romantic entanglements were almost non-existent to Keith. He’d met very few people over the years who managed to catch his eye and hold it and fewer still who he’d felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable around.

When he looked up, Shiro’s mouth was hanging in an oh. His mouth shut with a click and he seemed to think over what Keith had just told him. Whatever conclusion he came to, seemed to be a pleased on as a soft smile spilled across his lips.

“Okay then,” Shiro said warmly. “As long as you’re okay with it then thats all that matters. This is a no-strings-attatched free coffee.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Uhuh,” he said dryly. And then he kept walking.

xXx

The bell above the door to Sal’s rings obnoxiously when Shiro holds the door for him like some 18th century gentleman.

Keith sidles past him, careful to keep from brushing up against him in the process.

This time around the diner and the people in it actually register. The crowd inside is familiar in a vague kind of way. He wouldn't be able to name any of them if asked but he can pick out the repeat customers with ease. The door swings shut behind him and Shiro wanders up to his side.

“So,” he says cheerfully. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” Keith says simply.

Shiro nods like he was expecting that answer. “You want to grab us a table and I’ll grab the coffees?”

Keith nods and watches as Shiro walks up to the counter. He’s not the only one watching, a few of the other patrons follow the man with their eyes and Keith has to fight back the urge to bristle especially since he doesn't know what the urge is for. Shiro isn't his and the others are free to look if they want. It's not as if Keith cant objectively understand the appeal.

Even just waiting in line Shiro cuts an impressive figure, grey henley stretched across his shoulder and faded jeans hugging a set of impressive thighs.

Keith forces himself to look away and makes after a moments hesitation, makes a beeline for his booth.

It's his by law of constant use, facing the door and the windows and located near the back exit. A part of him squirms uncomfortably at the thought of being stuck in such a confined space with a stranger but the rest of him is desperate for something thats normal.

For lack of anything to do he fidgets with the dusty tin holding a mismatched set of colour pencils. Keith has no idea why Sal bothered but there’s a set with every booth even if Keith had never seen them actually get used. There’s a few sheets of plain paper stacked next to the tin, slightly off white from age.

He’s contemplating if he’s bothered enough to doodle on the paper when a shadow falls over the table.

Shiro carefully sets the two mugs of coffee he’s carrying onto the table, placing the strongest smelling one delicately in front of Keith. He slides into the other side gracefully and Keith exchanges the tin for his mug.

“Sorry about the wait, the person at the register wouldn't let me leave.”

Keith looks at the counter. The woman standing behind it isn't the woman who served him earlier. She looks new which doesn't really surprise Keith that much. Sal, while not a bad guy, isn’t exactly the most people friendly and aside from two or three who’ve always seemed to be there, rarely seems to keep staff on beyond a month or two.

Like she can feel Keith thinking about her her head snaps up and, unwaveringly, turns to face him. She glares at him and Keith look away, bewildered and a little unnerved.

“Sal’s gonna eat her alive,” Keith mutters to himself and he almost starts when he hears a soft chuckle come from across from him.

Shiro. Right.

“Sal is the owner I'm guessing?”

Keith nods. “Big guy, kinda an asshole, rarely comes out of his kitchen.” Keith flicks a finger in the vague direction of the kitchen doors. “Makes decent food though, or so I'm told.”

“So you’re told?” Shiro parrots, eyebrow raising.

Keith shrugs. “I mainly come here for the coffee.”

He takes a long sip then and practically sighs back into his seat. This time around he could actually taste it. It was just shy of blisteringly hot and with a hint of gratefulness he could already feel the heat suffusing through his body.

The was a choked spluttering sound and Keith looks up in time to see Shiro very carefully set his coffee down.

“Thats-“ he says sounding strangled “-very strong.”

“Yeah?” Keith takes another sip. Of course it's strong. Keith doesn't think Sal actually knows how to make weak coffee. Keith frowns down at his cup. “Is it too strong?”

Shiro makes another sound, half strangled but this one sounds more like a laugh. “The coffee’s fine.”

When Keith looks up, Shiro is smiling and it makes the lines around his eyes crinkle.

Keith looks away quickly.

“So.” Keith says awkwardly. “You said you were new here?”

Shiro nods, still smiling. “Yeah, came out here with a few friends. We all work together. Consulting.” Shiro clarifies when he sees Keiths raised eyebrow.

“Consulting.” Keith repeats flatly. Something about that pings as the biggest lie he’s ever heard and also the most vague. “Out here?”

Shiro shrugs. “We go where the bosses tell us to go.”

“Harsh.” Keith settles on instead. When Shiro makes an enquiring sound Keith flicks a finger vaguely towards the door of the diner and the town beyond. “Being sent here I mean.”

“Its not so bad.” He eyes Keith for a second before looking away and Keith feels his heart trip in his chest. He doesn't know what that look meant. “The housing is affordable, my friends and I can all live close together which we cant always manage in larger cities. Its quiet here too, or at least a lot quieter than what I’m used to. And,” he adds with a small grin, “the park is a really good place to run.”

Keith opens his mouth to say something and stalls. It's been…a long time since he’s had to make small talk over coffee and he’s honestly finding himself out of his depth. For a lack of anything better to do, Keith takes another sip of his coffee and eyes Shiro over the rim of his mug.

He doesn't seem expectant. Shiro’s idly pushing his mug back and forth between his hands but he doesn't seem bothered by the way Keith isn't talking or even really making an effort. Instead he seems to be focused on Keiths hands and he flexes his fingers around the mug in reflex.

Shiro flushes across from him and looks away, towards the windows.

“So you came here with friends?” Keith asks a little desperately.

“Oh,” Shiro seems a little surprised by the question before all at once his face softens. “Yeah, practically family by this point.”

“And you all work together as well? That sounds pretty lucky.”

Shiro rolls his shoulders in a small shrug. “Two of them I knew from before work and the other two I met during. They’re good people.” Shiro’s eyes go a little distant. “I’ve been very lucky in that, I guess.” His eyes sharpen again when they fix on Keith. “What about you?”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Friends or work?”

“Both?”

Keith hums and takes a long sip of his coffee. “I work with two people,” he settles on. “I consider them friends.” Rolo and Nyma were a lot of things mixed together.

“No one else?” Shiro asks tentatively.

Keith just shrugs. “I don’t like most people.” he says honestly. “What about family? Other than your friends, I mean.”

“Not in the country.” At Keith's enquiring look Shiro clarified. “My grandfather lives in Japan.”

Just a grandfather. Thats…Keith’s not sure what that is exactly.

“What about you?” Shiro asks. “Any family around here?”

Keith chest tightens as it always does when he thinks about his dad. He breathes through it with ease born of practice. “Not really.”

There were Thace and Ulaz who were almost uncles to him but they often went years between actually seeing each other, sometimes decades. There was Acxa and he saw her even less.

“Oh.” Shiro’s eyes crinkle with something that might be concern. “I’m sorry.”

Keith frowns, cocking his head to the side. “What for?”

Shiro stares at him for a moment and the hard artificial lighting of the diner makes the gold flecks in his eyes all the more apparent. “I suppose,” he says slowly. “I just can’t imagine what it would be like. Being alone like that.”

“Its not so bad,” Keith mutters looking down. He downs the last of his coffee with one large swallow.

“Still,” Shiro hedges. “I would imagine that gets lonely after a while.”

It does. It really does, especially after the first decade or two. Keith shrugs. “It is what it is.”

They lapse back into silence. Keith can feel Shiro looking at him but he cant bring himself to look up. He’s still somewhat surprised that Shiro is still here, after all he’d accomplished his goal of getting Keith his coffee. Hell, he’s still somewhat surprised that he’s still here, sitting in the booth across from him. As loud as his gut is, telling him to linger, his head is still muttering at him to run.

“Do you want another coffee?”

Keith forces himself to look up. The look Shiro’s giving him is inscrutable but Keith thinks he sees something soft in there. He looks away, down at his mug and then nods. Free coffee is free coffee and it would also get him some breathing room.

Shiro nods and slides out of the booth with deadly grace. Some one so big shouldn't be allowed to move like that, Keith thinks quietly to himself.

“Be back in a second.”

As soon as he gets far enough away Keith slumps back against his seat and breathes out a messy sigh. His shoulders feel tense and his hands feel cold now that he isn't holding onto something. He feels tired too from the interrupted sleep. There’s a slight headache building behind his eyes and he honestly cant tell if its from stress or the lighting.

He must drift slightly because the next thing he knows there’s the thick smell of coffee and the clink of another mug being set down on the table.

Keith’s eyes startle open.

“Round two.” Shiro slides into the other side and then nudges the mug slightly closer to Keith.

Keith blinks at it and then at him and then takes the coffee in hand. His fingertips begin to warm slightly.

“Is there a library in town?” Shiro asks him suddenly.

“Uh.” Keith freezes slightly while his brain tries to catch up. “Yes?”

“I don't suppose you would be willing to show me around would you?”

Keith looks up surprised

Shiro looks embarrassed, smells it too. “Its just that I honestly don't know where anything is in this town,” he explains “and the only people I know here are just as lost as me.”

Keith watches him for a short moment, assessing. Shiro for his part seems content to let him even if he suddenly seems to find his coffee, which he had been mostly ignoring this entire time, incredibly interesting.

He’s being honest, is the thing. There’s no trace of guile in the strong lines of his face, no hints of trickery in the almost shy glances he takes at Keith.

Somewhere deep in his chest the feeling of anxiety swells and his mouth opens to say—something, probably no, when Shiro looks up at him from under his eyelashes and Keith stomach flips.

He’s fiddling with his untouched coffee, threading his fingers around it and he handles the ceramic like he’s afraid that he’ll break it; hands large enough to basically obscure the entire thing from sight.

Somewhere in his gut something stirs; the same something that told him when to duck, when to run and when to fight.

The no freezes on his tongue.

“You don't have to.” Shiro’s eyes flick away and a flush stains his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Its oddly charming, Keith thinks, a tad morosely. “It would just be nice to have someone who actually knows where they’re going. Or—“ his eyes widen in panic, “—not have, but have around, you know because its nice not being lost and you’re nice...”

Keith stares at Shiro and Shiro stares back.

“I’m,” Keith repeats dubious, “nice.”

No one had ever accused Keith of being nice before and Keith doesn't know how to take that from someone he barely knows and somehow that becomes the thing that tips the ball in his chest and sets it rolling.

“You wave at me.” Keith says flatly. “But I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”

Shiro just nods, eager and earnest. “Yeah. Not the most talkative of people but,” Shiro shrugs. “Thats not a bad thing. Quiet is good too.” He sends Keith a small grin that disappears when Keith doesn't smile back.

Shiro looks up at him through his eyelashes again, hesitant, and it should look out of place on a guy like Shiro, something too soft but it doesn't. Instead it makes something click.

Oh. Oh.

He likes you, a tiny part of Keith realises.

Keith isn't entirely sure why that comes as such a shock. Plenty of people look at him and like what they see; it's part of what makes hunting so easy. But thats picking up people in bars or the dark corners of streets; a little grimy and shadowed and while technically it's dark out now something about this feels different.

Maybe it's that, before this, the only time they’d ever seen each other had been with the dawn and from a distance. There’s groundwork there, as tentative and non existent as it is thats making Keith feel odd about this entire situation.

“Are you hitting on me?” Keith honestly didn't really mean to ask that but now that he has he things its a valid question. Honestly it would explain so many things.

Shiro stares at him, hands frozen on his mug and mouth open slightly. His jaw closes with a click and Keith watches a flash of something chase its way across his face but it's gone too quick for him to grasp. Instead he watches as Shiro settles back in the booth, oddly subdued.

“No?” he says hesitantly. “I—no.”

“Everybody wants something.” Keith says bluntly. And then he pauses and his fingers dance a nervous staccato across his mug. “What do you want.”

Shiro straightens slightly and fixes Keith with a look that feels as if its burring itself under his skin before breaking off to rub at the back of his neck.

“Listen,” he says, and the stare melts off into an expression of uncertainty. “Okay you’re right, I don’t know you. But nobody knows anyone until they do.”

He looks at Keith, eyes soft. “I guess I do want something? A friend maybe? The people I moved here with, I love them, they’re my family but I could always do with another friend and, I think, so could you.”

“A friend.” Keith repeats flatly.

Shiro just shrugs again and then smiles, self deprecating. “I know I don’t look like much but I promise I can be good company.”

Keith stares at Shiro, looking for any trace of a lie but doesn't find any. Carefully he scents the air but once again, there’s nothing that indicates he’s being anything less than truthful.

Keith leans back in his chair. “So you want me to show you around town.”

Shiro just nods which is wildly unhelpful.

The nagging sensation comes back though, more insistent, louder than usual.

He thinks of saying no and then leaving. The idea leaves him feeling...unsettled.

He thinks of saying yes.

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. Shiro’s eyes shoot up to meet his. “I’ll show you around. But not now. Later. I have to work tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” Shiro breathes out, sounding surprised. He grins. “Of course no problem at all, just let me -“ he scrabbles for a piece of paper, pulls out a brightly coloured pencil from the tin meant for kids and scribbles something down “- here.”

He slides it across the table to Keith. A phone number is scrawled across the paper in neat pink handwriting.

Keith tries to think of something to say, cant, and then just doesn't. Instead he picks the paper up like it might bite him and stuffs it into his wallet with a cautious nod.

He has Shiro’s number.

Keith clears his throat. “It's getting late.” He says and it's true. The sky is completely dark outside, the sun having long sunk below the horizon. The streetlight outside the diner is flickering slightly as it attracts moths by the dozens.

“Oh right.” A quick glance back lets him catch a faintest hint of disappointment flicker across Shiro’s face before it disappears, smoothing out. “I’m really sorry, I didn't mean to keep you so long.”

He sounds genuine in his apology and Keith still doesn't know how to deal with a hunter that isn't trying to kill him so he doesn’t. Instead he tosses back the last of his coffee, heedless to the burn of the hot liquid.

He puts the mug down and slides out of the booth, tugging his jacket closer around his shoulders. Shiro scrambles to follow, for once looking ungainly as he leaves his still full coffee behind.

Keith can feel his face heating and the cool night air is a relief once he finally steps outside. There’s still some head clinging to the concrete below his feet but the breeze coming in off the desert is sweet and cool.

He feels Shiro come up behind him but he stops before Keith can tense. When he turns for a moment he’s struck dumb. The lights from the diner turn Shiro’s white hair into a soft halo, emphasise the lines of his shoulders as they shadow his face.

He smiles awkwardly at Keith and shoves his own hands into his pockets. “This was nice.”

And it was. That's the thing that Keith gets stuck on.

xXx

Two weeks later find Keith wandering through the town with Shiro. It’s not the first time or even the third but he still feels slightly numb, not entirely sure how he manages to get himself into the position of town guide.

“Is it always this cold at night?” Shiro asks, turning up the collar of his jacket. It has the added effect of framing the column of his neck but Keith forces his mind elsewhere with practiced ease.

Keith shrugs lightly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “In winter, yeah.” He kicks at a pebble and sends it tumbling into the dark. “Now that it's turning into summer it’ll be warmer but.” He shrugs again. “Early days yet. You’ll miss it when heat really starts climbing.”

“Huh.” Shiro says consideringly.

Keith spares him a glance out of the corner of his eye. “What? Never spent time in the desert before?”

Shiro sidesteps a man heading in the opposite direction smoothly. “Not really. Always been a city kid I guess. And there’s been some hiking, but mostly through forested areas.”

Keith hums, ducking quickly around a woman with a pram. He tries to imagine himself living in a large city, the kind with skyscrapers and thousands of people walking through the streets and comes up blank. He’s been to a few over the years, even watched some be built, steel beam after steel beam but only ever in passing. It wasn't even that it was a bad life. Hunting was easier where people gathered in their thousands and new faces came and went like grains of sand carried by the wind.

But there were too many walls and birds didn't sing in the same way if they sang at all and the light— there was so much artificial light. Too much artificial light.

“Not your thing, huh.”

Keith blinks and turns to look at Shiro. He’s staring at Keith with a strange sort of smile, too soft by far for someone who’s still practically a stranger. “What do you mean?”

“You just—“ Shiro makes a vague gesture towards his face and Keith's frown grows. “You got this look on your face.”

“A look.” Keith repeats. His stomach twists slightly and, out of sight, hidden away in the pockets of his hoodie, he runs the edge of a claw against the soft pad of his fingers.

Shiro nods. “Not a bad one,” he says. “Just not really a happy one.”

Keith grunts and sidesteps an elderly man. “That's just my face I think,” he admits. Lord knows Nyma has made many comments in the past about Keith's resting bitch face.

Shiro laughs softly at that like he thinks Keith’s funny and like many things about Shiro, Keith doesn’t know what to do with that. So he pointedly doesn't do anything with it, just puts his head down and keeps walking.

Tonight there’s no real destination. Shiro had merely said something about not wanting to be stuck inside and Keith didn’t really have anything better to be doing. So far they’ve wandered all the way through the main strip and are now just slowly spiralling out towards the edges of town. The cinema was closed briefly for repairs, the mall too loud for the both of them today and Keith hadn’t gone back to the library yet— partially out of guild for losing the book he’d borrowed and partially out of fear he’d run into Slav and have to deal with a lecture.

Also he doesn’t think Shiro would like Slav very much, which is odd because the man seems to like most people he meets, even strangers. But something in his gut tells him that and so he listens.

They’re probably going to wind up at Sal’s again. Shiro didn’t seem like much of a bar fly and Keith could admit that something in him recoiled in mild terror at the thought of running into Rolo or Nyma while being with Shiro.

They’d have questions. They might not ask them but Keith would be able to tell and somehow that’s worse.

Keith wishes that the observatory was open but it had been closed for a month for equipment upgrades. Keith couldn’t imagine Shiro enjoying most of the entertainment that Arrowhead had to offer but he couldimagine him standing in one of the domed rooms, looking up at the stars and planets and galaxies.

It seems like something that would suit him.

There’s another gust of wind and this time it brings with it an unusual scent that takes Keith a few seconds to place. It’s strong and sharp, coming in with the wind and now that he’s noticed it, he can feel it in the air— a heaviness, like something is ready to give.

It’s odd and slightly out of season but the weather has been changing rapidly the last few years and there’s nothing Keith can really do but react to it.

Following the urging in his gut, Keith scans his surroundings and sees an empty shop front across the street with an awning just big enough for two.

Keith grabs Shiro by the wrist gently— always gently, he’s careful about that— and tugs him with him just as the first peal of lightning lights up the sky. It’s brilliant and terrifying as a lot of things were out in the desert.

They just hit the halfway mark on the street when the sky opens up completely. Fat drops of water pelt against them and the ground while thunder cracks open the sky. Keith tugs Shiro under their shelter but their clothes are already damp about the shoulders from the rain.

“Holy shit,” Shiro breathes. “That came on quick.”

Keith nods. “It tends to out here.” There’s another crack of lightning and for a second the street around them was lit up with light. “Sudden and violent but not here for long,” Keith murmurs, half to himself.

“It’s beautiful,” Shiro whispers, head tilted up to the sky, watching the display. There are droplets running down his throat, clinging to his eyelashes. With the water in it, his hair seems to shine in the sudden flashes of light.

“It is,” Keith agrees.

He doesn't say anything after that, just turns away to look out from underneath the buildings awning. The wind is cruel and sends the rain down sideways and it's a miracle that they found a relatively dry place to stand at all. Keith can see others out on the streets, running to seek shelter from the sudden storm. He feels a twinge of sympathy for some of them but for the most part he’s more interested in watching the rain fall.

Keith shifts back, adjusting his weight so he can wipe off the water trickling down his cheek, and come into contact with a broad, hard body behind him— Shiro who’d chosen the same moment to lean forward to peer around him at the downpour.

Keith freezes and it's impossible to hide his reaction from the man behind him.

Shiro jerks back, knocking his elbow against the wall beside him. “Fuck,” he swears softly, wincing as he tucks his arm in tight against his side as he pulls back from Keith. He’s staring at him, something like an apology written in his eyes.

Keith drags his eyes away and forces himself to ignore the man behind him. The rain makes it easy.

It’s harder once the rain has stopped and they emerge from their shelter. The storm hadn’t lasted long, maybe fifteen minutes at most but the damage was done. Even after he had pulled away, Keith was almost supernaturally aware of the bulk behind him but most especially the warmth. Whereas Keith grew colder as the damp and the wind leached the suns lingering heat from him, Shiro turned into a veritable furnace. Heat seemed to spill off him in waves and somehow that was infinitely more or a siren song to Keith than the steady, constant presence of Shiro heartbeat.

Keith had never been in a situation where he was more aware of a person's warmth than their blood and for some reason that frightened him. What was worse was how Shiro seemed to pick up on it. After that one brief moment of contact Shiro had made sure to keep his touch to a minimum which was what Keith wanted and yet...when he was gone, Keith wanted him back.

They’d parted ways at Sal’s like usual, Keith’s hands clasped around a large cup of coffee that Shiro had payed for, Shiro’s hands carefully tucked away in his pockets.

They’d said goodbye—Shiro’d been the same as ever while Keith hadn’t been able to look him in the eye—the one time he had the now familiar grey had been so soft that it had made Keith’s chest clench with something he didn’t know how to parse. Keith had watched him leave, lingering for a few moments under the flickering fluorescent light as he sipped and too hot coffee and imagined that the warmth seeping into his cold fingers was from something else.

xXx

Keith blows on his fingers, watches as his breath sets the air to steam. He finds that his mind returns, like an overeager dog, to the sensation of a body behind him, embracing and supporting his weight. It's such a foreign concept after such a long time alone that he finds it hard to shake. No matter his hard he tries, regardless of whatever mindless tasks he tries to lose himself in he keeps circling around to it like an inevitability.

He lets the hammer fall onto the table with a clang, rubbing at his eyes as frustration threatens to set the sting behind his eyes to a migraine.

Rolo and Nyma were working in the next room on a truck— for the life of him he couldn’t remember whose.

He’s sequestered himself away after arguing with a shitty customer, the urge to bare his fangs and snarl and the next person who talked to him almost overwhelming.

Something about the man had rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the polite smile that had never left his face even as Keith could feel himself losing the carefully cultivated calm he had. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at Rolo and Nyma as they worked behind him— it had been disinterested, dismissive, like they weren’t worth his time but below that there had been something else that had made the monster in Keith sit up and growl.

Keith picked up the hammer again and went back to reorganising the tools. He’d been going drawer by drawer, pulling things out and cleaning them and where they’d been resting meticulously. Next he’d try organising their supplies though that was sort of an end in itself— he’d never seen any sort of organisation last for more than a day before returning to the chaos that somehow the three of them managed to work in.

He was putting away the second to last drawer when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket just once.

A message then.

There were a grand total of six people who had his number. Two were in the room next to him and were far more likely to just yell for him if they needed him, one ignored his number unless it was an emergency and sent handwritten letters instead— he was sure this was mostly some kind of long running joke on her part but it had been so long that he’d forgotten how it’d started— and another two of them preferred to call.

That left one.

Keith slides the draw shut then opens it and closes it a few times like the urge to pull out his phone isn’t almost overwhelming. It slides smoothly, greased and cleaned, so he lets it roll shut and then digs out his phone.

It’s Shiro. Of course it’s Shiro.

The sensation of phantom warmth rolls down his back and his face flushes even as he scowls down at his phone.

5:31 PM: are u free tomrrw evng?

As he’s done reading two more come in.

5:39 PM: cinema is fxed
5:40 PM: THEYR SHOWING STAR TREK

Keith bites his lip and tells himself he’s not smiling.

5:41 PM: thats the one with the ship, right?

Keith knows what movie it is, but he can’t hold back the huff of laughter as the indignant replies show up.

5:41 PM: THE ONE WITH TH SHIP
5:42 PM: tTHE SHIP
5:42 PM: show sme respect thats the Silver Lady youre talking aboutt

Keith had been right to have Shiro pegged as a space nerd at least. He rocks back on his heels, chewing absently at his thumb as Shiro continues to extol the virtues of Star Trek, trying to coax Keith into coming with him to watch one of the movies. He keeps going off on tangents about the tv show but Keith assumes that he must be referring to the Wrath of Khan; it’s the only Star Trek movie they’ve shown at the cinemas in the entire time Keith’s been living in Arrowhead.

He’s seen it before, multiple times even. The first had been at one of the original showings in 1982 and the last three times had all been in the local cinema.

He mulls it over but in the end it isn't even really a question.

5:48 PM: I’ll come with you

He hits send before he overthinks it and drops his phone next to him. It buzzes again after a few minutes and it's a time and seat number. He doesn’t reply, just puts his phone away properly and goes back to putting the tools into the newly replaced drawer.

“Who was that?” Nyma asks from the doorway.

Keith doesn’t jump but that's only because he freezes instead. Nyma is watching him with an expression that would look better on a hawk. He doesn’t tell her that because he knows it’ll only please her and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“No one,” he tells her, going back to his work.

“Yeah, sure,” Nyma says. She steps further into the room and drops a water bottle down next to him. “Does no one have a name?”

Keith ignores her in favour of cracking the bottle open and taking a sip, just enough to soothe the dryness in his throat. “Yeah,” he says, screwing the cap back on. “It’s Nunya.”

“Oh, it jokes,” Nyma says from above him, sounding amused. “Here I thought you just brooded in dark corners.”

He tilts his head back enough to look up at her and she’s smirking at him, twin braids falling down her shoulders in a neat line. As he watches the smirk softens into a smile.

“You know,” she says slowly. “If that was someone, well— you know we’d be happy for you, right?”

Keith blinks up at her, momentarily stunned into silence and Nyma takes that as her cue to continue.

“Rolo and me, we’ve noticed you been…” she trails off, frowning lightly as she tries to think about what she wants to say and Keith doesn’t know if he wants to hear it. “You’ve been happier these last few days,” she says finally.

Keith swallows, throat suddenly dry again.

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” she says gently, “but we’ve got your back Bossman.”
And with that, she turns to leave the room.

She gets to the door when Keith clears his throat, looking studiously at the tool in his hand. “I’m gonna be heading out early tomorrow,” he says. “Going to the movies with a— a friend.”

“Got it Boss,” she says. He can tell she’s smiling. “Have fun.”

xXx
xXx

“You’ve been awfully cheerful these last few days.”

Shiro looks up from the sauce that was simmering on the stove top to see Matt staring at him intensely from the table, hands laced under his chin.

Shiro squints at him and then turns back to the food, gently pressing at one of the tomatoes with the spatula. “Is that a bad thing,” he asks carefully.

He sees something that might be a dismissive wave from the corner of his eye, that or possibly interpretive dance.

Sometimes it was hard to tell with Matt.

“No, of course not it's just...suspicious.”

“It’s suspicious that I'm in a good mood,” Shiro repeats flatly.

“I mean, it sounds awful when you say it like that,” Matt admits. “But you gotta admit, you’re usually not Mr. Cheerfully-Whistles-While-I-Cook. But you have been and for the last week at that.”

Shiro concedes that point even if only to himself. Cooking wasn't a source of relaxation to him, not like Hunk, and he certainly didn’t normally whistle while doing it. It was just...

He was in a good mood. Just the night before Keith had actually leaned back into Shiro, admittedly tentative like he wasn't sure of his own welcome. Which was ridiculous because Shiro had practically had to stop himself from sighing with joy at the time.

“There.” Matt jabs a finger at Shiro. “That face right there; what were you thinking about.”

Shiro’s own body betrays him and he turns swiftly to focus on the food, hoping that maybe Matt didn't see the flush Shiro can feel crawling across his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” Matt asks, incredulous.

“No.” Shiro says it too quick to be anything but a lie.

“Yeah, that's a lie.” Matt sounds gleeful and Shiro barely resists the urge to toss the spatula at him. “Come on Shiro, spill. Tell ol’ Matty whats up.”

Shiro can see the way things will unfold; the teasing he’s sure to receive at his best friends hand but at the same time he knows he will never get another moment's peace if he chooses to remain silent about the matter.

Shiro weighs his options and decides to do it like a bandaid; rip it off all at once.

He focuses on prodding at the simmering sauce. It doesn't need it but it's something to do that doesn't require looking at Matt's face. “You know that thing from a few weeks ago.” He starts carefully. Matt makes a sound of confusion and Shiro clarifies. “The guy in the park.”

He doesn't need to see Matts face to know what it's doing. He can practically feel the unholy glee radiating off him like its a physical thing.

“You met them.” It's a statement not a question but Shiro nods anyway.

“Are they nice?”

Shiro turns to look at Matt, surprised by the question. Not ‘who are they,’ not ‘what do they do,’ or even ‘what do they look like.’

Shiro can't quite get a read on Matts face. He’s just staring at Shiro, all of that singular focus directed at him.

“Yeah,” Shiro says quietly after a moment. He turns back to the sauce, pokes it once and then puts the lid on. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

Closed off and skittish like a wild animal but Shiro can tell with a certainty that shocks him that Keith is someone worth the effort. Regardless of where they end up, as friends or something more, Shiro delighted at the thought of having him close.

In between the sarcastic and dry wit and the almost confused air that Keith carried around with him sometimes, as if unsure as to why Shiro was bothering, there were glimpses of someone as sweet as his coffee was bitter.

Shiro desperately wanted to get to know that person.

Matt hums and Shiro raises an eyebrow at him.

“It's just...” Matt trails off and then shrugs. “It’s interesting to see you smitten is all.”

“I'm not smitten,” Shiro mutters, a tad petulant.

“Yeah you are,” Matt says with a soft smile. “Don't worry, it's a good look for you.”

Shiro wonders if that's true or if it's just Matts attempt at flattery. He decides that Matt wouldn't bother and if he did he would be decidedly more flamboyant in his delivery.

Besides it was a nice thought. It had been a long time since Shiro had been interested in anyone, he had begun to wonder if that was something else that had been taken from him. To find that is can, that he is, is a relief.

But more than that he finds that the soft feeling in his chest when he thinks about the fall of Keiths hair or the arch of his neck and the slope of his shoulders is something comforting.

He’s never felt it before, not like this but it feels a bit like coming home.

“Hey Shiro,” Matt says.

“Yeah?”

“I think your sauce is burning.”

xXx

Things get easier between him and Keith after the movies. They’d sat side by side and about ten minutes in Keith had very deliberately settled against him, arms and thighs pressing together as much as they possibly could in the seats. After that it was like a barrier had been broken through, Keith welcoming his touch instead of shying away. Shiro still let him take the lead and watched his reactions carefully just in case but it becomes increasingly apparent that Keith truly does enjoy it—in fact, Shiro thinks sometimes with a bit of sadness, he almost seems to crave it.

Shiro remembers that feeling. The fact that Keith was apparently feeling it too made Shiro’s chest clench and his hands tremble with the need to soothe away the apparent skin hunger that Keith seems to be suffering from.

He gladly takes what Keith gives him—soft touches of his hand brushing against Shiro’s, the light press of him against his side as they walk—and after some observation he starts offering his own.

The first time Shiro drapes his arm over Keith’s shoulders, Keith freezes. Unlike the other times Shiro carefully waits him out and he’s rewarded when the smaller man practically melts into his side.

It’s a small triumph in the grand scheme of things but to Shiro it feels like an accomplishment.

The small steps he makes with Keith are, unfortunately, the only triumph.

Shiro’s standing in the small office space they’re renting, frowning at the board in front of him. Autopsy reports of the victims that had begun showing up over town the month before they’d arrived; grisly details of bodies being torn apart—if it wasn’t for the missing blood he’d almost believe that it had, in fact, been an animal that had killed them.

Shiro frowns over the timeline and the way the attacks had suddenly just…

...Stopped.

Whatever had done this to these people wouldn’t have stopped without being stopped, he knew that deep in his gut.

The door behind him swings open and Matt walks in.

“Captain, my captain,” he sings grimly. He comes up beside Shiro and squints at the board. “Have you divined anything from the entrails yet?”

Despite himself Shiro snorts. “Unfortunately no.” He nods down at the folder in Matt’s hand. “You have something for me?”

Matt hands it over with a flourish. “Your freaky sixth sense was right; the bodies were burned pretty badly but there was some unexplained damage to their throats that looks mighty familiar.”

Shiro grunts and then adds two pictures to the board— a man in his late forties and a smiling kid.

“So,” Matt says after a minute. “What are you thinking here? It stopped for a bit and then came back saner?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Shiro says. “Two vampires. One kills the other.”

“And then what?” Matt asks. “Decides to stick around even after we arrive in town and has a little snack?”

Shiro nods and Matt whistles to himself.

“Ballsy fucker,” he mutters, almost sounding impressed. “I know we’re not Garrison but still, it’s not like we’re harmless.”

“No,” Shiro says quietly. “No, we’re not.”

“You don’t think it’s left, do you?” Matt asks. “I mean, why would it stick around with the threat of hunters?”

Shiro shrugs lightly. “Don’t know, don’t care but—” Shiro shakes his head. “No. No, it’s still here, I just know it.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Matt raise his hands in surrender. “No need to convince me, Shiro. You know I trust your spidey senses.”

Shiro snorts and then he turns to look at Matt properly. “Have Pidge dig deeper into coroners reports, see if there’s anything else suspicious. Check missing persons as well just in case. And have Hunk and Lance ask around, see if anyone noticed anything strange.”

“Will do,” Matt says. “And you?”

Shiro sighs. “I’ll call Allura and update her on the situation just in case.”

Matt clucks his tongue. “Don’t stay on the phone too late or you’ll miss your coffee date.”

“My what now,” Shiro says, looking at him blankly.

“Your coffee date with Park Boy,” Matt says pointedly. “You told me about it this morning?”

“Oh,” Shiro says. “Oh, fuck thats rig— wait a second it's not a date.”

Matt just shrugs at him, already walking out the door. “You keep telling yourself that man.”

xXx

There was an obnoxious slurp across from him.

Keith looked up with narrowed eyes and Shiro sent him a sunny smile.

He’d finally given up on buying himself a coffee. Apparently rocket fuel isn't something that most people actually enjoy and Keith is equally relieved that he doesn't have to watch another cup go cold. Instead the man’s sucking up an iced tea though an obnoxiously colourful straw and Keith wonders for a moment if it would be worth it just to murder him on the spot.

He refrains and sends him a glare that attempts at scathing but probably falls short, most likely somewhere around tired.

“You’re in a good mood.” Shiro cocks his head to the side and its so painfully doglike that Keith has to close his eyes for a moment. “Bad day?” He asks.

Keith has to take a deep breath to avoid the rant that is perched at the tip of his tongue. This is a new thing too, having someone to complain to.

One of his hands falls limply to fiddle with his coffee mug while the other stayed where it was, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

A hand caught his fidgeting fingers; pulled lightly at his hand till it was away from the ceramic handle and tangled itself with his and squeezed gently.

Shiro was so tactile. He seemed to love holding hands and Keith had to deal with the revelation that was an arm across the shoulder more and more often lately.

“Seriously, you okay?” Shiro asks, bangs falling forward into his eyes as he leans forward over their booth and their entangled hands.

Keith lets his breath hiss out from between his teeth. “Yeah,” he nods focusing on their fingers. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you— are you sure? I can get you another coffee if you like? Or maybe a plate of waffles? We can share?”

Shiro seems excited at the prospect of food and Keith huffs.

“Be honest, you just want food.”

“No, of course not,” Shiro exclaims, his spare hand flying up to press against his chest. “Im merely concerned for your health since you seem to subsist purely on what I'm pretty certain is battery acid.”

Keith let go of his own face and tugs his mug closer to him, protective.

“Blasphemy,” he drawls. “Just because you can't appreciate the finer things in life.” He takes a defiant sip.

Shiro squints at him, dubious. “Sals coffee counts as ‘finer things in life’ does it?”

“Does for me,” Keith says with an easy shrug.

“But it tastes like—“ Shiro cuts himself off, thinking hard for an equivalent before giving up. “Okay I don't know what it tastes like exactly, but definitely not coffee. Coffee shouldn't be that bitter or metallic.”

“It doesn't taste metallic,” Keith mutters, considering his coffee. It does, in fact, taste metallic but that was mostly overpowered by the bitterness. Or maybe the bitterness caused the metallic tang? Either way he was never going to admit it out loud. “But if you want the waffles be my guest. I've heard they’re good.” Keith considers for a moment before hesitantly adding, “I can get them for you if you like?”

Shiro stares at him for a moments before his entire face softens. He smiles slightly and Keith burns.

“Nah, I'm all good here,” he says eventually but he seems lighter for a moment; oddly pleased.

Shiro slurps at his tea again, squeezes at Keith's hand and very pointedly raises an eyebrow.

Keith sighs. “There was an accident a few nights ago. Nothing major, no one was hurt but the customer whose jeep we took in, is a grade A asshole.” Keith frowned darkly. Oh the man hadn’t said anything, not really but he set Keith’s hackles raising just by looking at him and he made Nyma and Rolo jumpy too.

“Well shit,” Shiro said with a dark frown. “What happened?”

“Nothing really.” It was almost a pity because at least that way Keith would have had a justified reason to not serve the man—something more than a feeling.

“He was making the others jumpy—I got him to leave,” Keith continued with a frown, “but we’re still going to have to fix the jeep. It’ll take a week or two to get the part in but we’re the only shop in this town and he doesn't want to pay for someone else to come in and take it away.” Which was another pity. Keith had almost been tempted to pay the charge himself and from the looks on their faces, he thought Rolo and Nyma were in a similar boat.

“Thats…” Shiro trailed off, that frown still on his face. In fact it seems to have grown over the course of Keith's story and Keith has to resist the urge to reach up and rub away the furrow between his eyes. “Is there anything else you can do? You shouldn't have to deal with that.”

“Honestly it's not worth it,” Keith sighs, taking another sip of his coffee. “I’m dealing with the jeep now so Rolo and Nyma don't have to deal with him.”

“But what if he comes and bothers you?” Shiro asks, concerned.

“Then he’ll have to show up in the middle of the night to do it,” Keith drawls. Shiro raises an eyebrow and Keith hastily adds, “Push comes to shove I’ll pay for someone else to come take the damn thing off my hands. And if he tries anything else,” Keith shrugs, “I can take care of myself. I usually have knife on me anyway.”

“A knife?” Shiro repeats blankly. He blinks. “Why does that not surprise me,” he wondered out loud.

Keith jostles their hands with a smirk and then squeezes lightly; a warning.

Shiro laughs and bares the column of his throat and Keith can’t stop his eyes from tracing the long stretch of skin like the predator he is. Keith considers it a convenient time to force another sip of lukewarm coffee into his body.

xXx

The door behind him swings open and Lance spills into the room.

He’s dresses as casual as he ever is and if Shiro didn’t know better he’d peg him as a collage student which was generally what Lance hoping for. He strolls up to where he’s standing, shoving what looks like the last bite of a donut into his mouth, backpack hanging loosely from his other hand.

“Okay so, Hunk and me went and took a closer look at the house that burnt down yesterday,” he says around the mouthful.

Shiro turns to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Took you a while to get around to that.”

The younger man shrugs. “Can’t rush these things if you don’t want to look suspicious. Took me a while to get to know the neighbours and make us an excuse to be there, if people saw us poking around.”

Lance shoves the last mouthful of donut into his mouth, wiping the powder on his fingers off. “Anyway, we noticed a few things once we were there.” He fishes a book out of his backpack and hands it over. “Hunk found this sitting on what was left of the front porch.”

“A book?” Shiro questions, looking over the cover. It’s dark green and old looking, the spine bent and cracked in places. One side has the faintest look of water damage to it.

“Yeah. It’s not from the house or anything and it wasn’t in the fire—no scorch marks and it’s got a library tag in it that says it was checked out a few days afterwards.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Do you think there’s a connection?”

Lance shrugs. “No idea, you just told us to look for something weird and that, my dude, is weird.”

“Well you’re not wrong,” Shiro says wryly. “Good work, Lance.”

“Thanks captain.” Lance salutes him sloppily. “Also when I talked with one of the neighbours—Mrs Stewart, lovely lady, gave me mints—she mentioned something.”

“Something?”

“A few nights after the fire, Mrs Stewart heard something around the house—breaking glass if she had to guess. She ran to the window and caught sight of something jumping the back fence.”

Shiro turned to look at him and, carefully, raised an eyebrow.

Lance’s grin wavered and then he huffed. “I know what you’re thinking—probably just some rando creep looking around the place who got spooked. Except when we checked the fence she was talking about? It’s about ten feet high.”

“What?” Shiro asked, blinking.

“There’s an old construction sight behind their block of land. Been there for ages, work apparently stalled years ago and it's just been left as is. The other side of the fence is a pretty steep drop too. So maybe the old lady’s just seeing shadows except we know that there’s a chance that she isn’t, and unless there’s an olympic jumper living quietly in this town…”Lance let himself trail off.

Shiro nods. “Then it's possible she saw exactly what she actually saw,” he mutters grimly. “And the vampire went back to the scene.”

Lance sent finger guns at him and he almost smiled. Then Lance frowned. “Only thing is, I don’t know why it would have gone back.”

“From what I’ve seen these things don’t always do what logic dictates they should to. Instinct plays a large role and honestly?” Shiro shrugged. “They’re not human. We shouldn’t expect them to really act like it.”

Lance nods slowly. “Okay, yeah I can see that.” He scratches at his jaw and then shakes his head. “You need me for anything else?”

Shiro thought about and then shook his head. Lance gave him a thumbs up and slings the pack back over his shoulder and then disappears out the way he came. If Shiro had to place bets then he’d guess he was going off to find Hunk.

Shiro fights back a yawn and sits down at the desk, placing the book down in front of him. Lance was right when he said that its presence at the house was odd at best. He wouldn’t disregard the possibility of teens or gawkers stopping by to look at the remains of the burnt building—tragedy attracts all kinds of people to it after all.

He flips the cover of the book open and the spine creaks loudly in protest. Inside the cover is a slip with the name of the library and a list of names—old school compared to what he usually sees with borrowed books. He skims down the names until he reaches the last and most recent one and his finger traces the black lettering.

“K. Kogane,” he reads softly. “I wonder what you were looking for.”

xXx

Keith is in trouble.

It's a very singular kind of trouble and unique in the way that it was new to Keith.

The sun had sunk below the horizon an hour ago but the heat of the air still managed to be stifling. He was sitting in the park on the outskirts of town. It sprawled out into the night, trees thinning until it melded back into the dry browns and dull greens of the desert proper.

The park wasn’t the problem.

The problem was sitting next to him in short sleeves.

The problem wasn't that Shiro had the kind of looks that poets wrote about. Keith had come to terms with that around the third coffee date. Good looks were a dime a dozen, especially when you lived a long time. Keith had met a lot of people who possessed the kind beauty capable of driving others to distraction or worse.

Shiro was entirely something else and there lay the problem.

They were sitting side by side, Keith's hand resting against the solidness of Shiro’s prosthetic. It was the first time he’d left the arm bare for more than brief snatches of time and also the first time he’d let Keith touch it.

Shiro was big and he was strong and Keith felt almost small sitting next to him and it was a feeling that he was mostly unfamiliar with. Rarely has he felt okay with the sensation—on the few occasions in the past when he’d felt that small there was sense of terror accompanying it.

It was noticeably absent as he sat there and watched Shiro watch the stars.

And look he did. As a rule Shiro seemed to prefer tops with sleeves, or jumpers or hoodies. But now Keith was afforded a view that was much more enthralling and upsetting than even the stars managed to be.

Now though, with Shiro is so completely engrossed tracing the lines of constellations with his eyes, Keith let himself look.

They were everywhere, trailing over his shoulders and dripping down his arm. They curved over his collarbones, a macabre parody of the bruises Keith had dreamed himself leaving. Some were jagged and tearing but others were sickeningly clean.

The scars scattered over Shiro told a story and while it wasn’t one he knew, it was one he dislikes nonetheless.

He usually didn’t get too close with people. There wasn’t any one particular reason behind it, it wasn’t a rule that he enforced for himself but he couldn’t deny that it was certainly easier that way. People came and people went and in the end he stayed the same. Getting attached to people seemed like an all round bad idea when he knew from experience how much it hurt to loose them.

Thace and Ulaz and even Acxa were safe to love and care for—barring outside forces they’d live along side him. Rolo and Nyma had been a mistake. The two con artists had snuck under his guard and forced themselves into his life and he had made himself a promise that they would be the last.

But now Shiro has made a liar out of him and it was with a sinking feeling that Keith realised that this was the point of no return.

Keith should have stepped back when he’d had the chance.

Instead he had accepted every invitation to coffee, night after night, and now he can feel Shiro where he’d managed to wedge himself under his skin.

Instead he’s sitting there beside him and wondering what it would be like to slide in closer, until they were pressed together fully from thigh to shoulder and bury his face in Shiro’s neck—not to drink from him but to have that vulnerable place exposed to him and to press bloody kisses into soft skin there and to be trusted with that.

Keith has gone on dates before and hookups and all manner of things but this is none of them. He knows it with a bone deep certainty that leaves him feeling shaky because if its not one of those; if its not something transient then…

Shiro doesn't know what he is.

Shiro looks at him and sees a human. A human who smokes too much and eats too little, who drives a motorcycle too fast over the speed limits because riding through the desert feels a bit like flying. A human who works strange hours and constantly has motor oil imbedded under his nails and a dozen other little things that make up Keith.

But when he smiles at Keith, he’s smiling at a human.

And Keith isn’t human.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice was soft and small and the space around them suddenly felt too big.

Shiro was staring at him. Maybe had been for a while but Keith couldn't pinpoint when the sound of Shiro’s voice had stopped. There was a puzzled told to his head as he regarded Keith. In the moonlight Shiro looked fae, something great and terrible and beautiful beyond compare.

When Keith made a questioning sound Shiro swayed closer and took his time answering.

“Are you okay,” He asked. He asked that a lot.

Keith licked his lips and saw Shiro’s eyes track the movement in the dark. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while and…”Shiro trails off and looks away slightly. Shiro’s hand flexes against Keith’s like he planning to pull away and on instinct Keith tightens his grasp. “You were staring,” he finishes quietly.

Keith freezes.

When he looks over, Shiro is looking up at him wide eyed and all at once he’s not fae or a masterpiece but terribly terribly young. Keith gives in to the urge and bridges the gap between them, pressing there bodies together as close as he can manage. He looks out over the park and rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro is tense and barely breathing under him so Keith keeps going.

“They’re just scars, Shiro.” he says. “They’re not ugly or beautiful, they just are.” He presses his cheek harder into the shoulder below him and breathes deep. “I like you,” Keith adds, absently. “If you come with scars, then you come with scars.”

“Do they bother you?” The question is relaxed and calm but Keith can smell the bitterness of distress sour the air.

“Yes,” Keith answers honestly. Shiro flinches and Keith hurries to finish his thought. “But only because you had to hurt to get them.”

Shiro leans into Keith ever so slightly. He’s breathing deep and regular but Keith can smell a hint of salt and water on the air. Resolutely he keeps his eyes forwards and waits.

“If—“ Shiro falters slightly. “If I came with more than scars, what would you say.”

Keith links the pinkies of their hand together, flesh and bone with metal. “Then we’ll match.”

They sit in silence. Shiro relaxes in increments so when he pulls his hand from Keith's grasp its a surprise. He gets out the first sound of a protest when the arm reaches back to hesitantly drape itself around his waist.

Shiro waits for Keith's reaction and Keith does too. But he doesn't stiffen at all against the arm even as the grip tightens and Keith feels his heart open so quietly he almost misses it.

He wants the kindness Shiro showers on him. Wants the softness that he offers so freely.

He wants to continue as they have been with Shiro to treating him oh so tenderly. He holds Keith, not like he’s fragile, but like he’s precious. It's a distinction that Keith had never had occasion to notice before and it leaves him feeling greedy and aching to return the favour with a desire so ardent that it shocks him. Keith wants to know that the solid bulk pressed against his side, the arm like iron around his waist, could hurt him but wont—wants to know that while Shiro could, he doesn't want to.

It's not possible though, not really. If Shiro doesn’t know what he is then it’s a lie, and if he does then, well.

He’s pushing his luck. The universe has never given him a gift and this feels enough like one that Keith is suspicious because Shiro is like gold; enticing, beautiful, and utterly deadly to Keith. 

Sitting there with Shiro feels like drowning, feels like burning from the inside.

He wonders, distantly, what kissing him would feel like.

xXx

“You like the stars, don't you.”

It's not a question really but it could be.

Time and time again Keith had seen the way Shiro’s face turned to the sky and the scattered stars above while they walk; it's a wistful look that Keith had seen before on two other beloved faces long lost to him.

Shiro looked surprised. He let out a small, almost nervous laugh and scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah actually.” He wandered over to where Keith was sitting away from the interior lights of Shiro’s car. He perched himself on the rock beside him and, after only a moments hesitation, wrapped his arm snuggly around Keith.

Keith didn't sigh into it. He didn't.

“Actually wanted to be an astronaut for a long while,” he admitted. “But—“ Shiro faltered and Keith felt the small shiver run through him. “Things just didn't turn out the way I wanted them too, I guess.” he finished softly.

There was a wealth of things going unsaid there and Keith didn't know where to start or even if he should.

“What about you?” Shiro turned to him, an open sort of curiosity to his face.

Keith swallowed. Looked away. “I liked them.”

“Past tense?” Shiro sounded hesitant.

Keith sat there picking at his own nails.

The arm around him squeezed lightly but didn't trap him. “You don't have to tell me.”

“You told me,” Keith pointed out but Shiro shook his head.

“I told you the bare minimum,” he corrected softly, “and you let me.” Shiro shrugged a shoulder. “I’m happy with whatever you want to give me.”

Keith's eyes burned lightly and he blinked the sensation away.

Shiro really was, wasn't he? When they’d started everything, Shiro had never tried to push for anything. Keith had no idea what Shiro thought of the way he acted, knew it wouldn't come close to the truth but the fact of the matter was that Shiro had always been happy with whatever bits and pieces of himself Keith was willing to give.

One sided conversation and coffee at first and then the smallest of touches. Even now when he knew he was allowed to touch, Shiro would always check his welcome.

Maybe Keith could give him this?

“My dad loved the stars.”

Keith felt a brief sting of pain in his chest at the quiet admission. It had been so long since he’d talked about his dad.

“He taught me how to navigate by them when I was a kid,” he continued softly, like if he spoke too loud the fragile thread he was following would shatter. “We lived on our own, you know, out in the desert. Had a ranch, some cattle and horses. We were so far away from the nearest town we could only barely see the lights on a clear night.”

Keith swallowed dryly. He could feel Shiro listening intently and the weight of it was like a soft downey blanket.

“We’d go camping sometimes, and he’d spend hours pointing out constellation and telling me the stories. Some of the best memories I have were about those nights.”

He could practically feel Shiro’s need to ask questions and plowed on before he could.

“I had a friend, later.” And that was such a gross oversimplification but it was the best he could do. “His name was Regris. He loved the stars too, loved the stories that his people told about them and we’d spend hours passing them back and forth and even making up our own sometimes.”

“What happened?” Shiro asked hesitantly, when Keith faltered into silence.

Keith just shrugged. “They’re gone now.” He said simply. “Have been gone for a long time.”

They sat together in silence. The night air was warm and there was a cool breeze blowing in from the open desert in front of them. The mountain and the town loomed behind them but Keith was content to ignore them.

Somewhere out there in the black before them, was a town reclaimed by the desert.

Somewhere out there was a house, blackened and gutted and on its own with only an old tree as sentry.

And somewhere, even further than that town and that house, was a canyon and a river and the remains of train tracks splintered off and falling into the dark below.

“Hey Keith,” Shiro breathed into the quiet. Keith hummed, questioning.

“Thanks.” Shiro said softly and then turned his head and pressed a kiss into Keith's hair.

It lingered, sweet and warm and the stinging sensation in Keith's eyes came back. They sat there together and Keith let his eyes fall shut while Shiro pressed his face to the crown of Keith's head.

Like this, tucked against the mass of Shiro’s body, Keith felt safe. It wasn't a new feeling exactly but it was still enough to send surprise singing through his veins.

Keith felt Shiro shudder against him, a short sharp burst of sniggering laughter.

“What?” Keith asked, lips quirking up in a bemused smile.

“Nothing just,” Shiro chuckled to his hair. “You smell like tobacco.” He explained. “You been stress smoking again?”

Keith's eyes blinked open, a flush burning its way across his cheeks. “Oh,” he said dumbly. “Not really. Does it bother you?”

Shiro breathed in deep. “No,” he said honest. “Its not a bad smell. Sweet,” he adds, thoughtful.

Keith huffs a laugh. “Its the same type of tobacco that my dad used to smoke,” he admits.

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, surprised.

Keith nods slightly, jostling Shiro about a bit. “He used to sit on the front porch and smoke his pipe while I played at his feet.”

“He used to smoke a pipe?” Shiro asks, amused.

“Yup. Said he was allowed one eccentricity and that was it.”

Shiro laughed again and this time Keith joined in.

“So,” Shiro says, sounding faintly amused, “You were born in the desert.”

“Yup. Midday, October 23rd.” Admittedly in 1850 but Shiro didn't need to know that.

“Sounds sunny,” Shiro drawled and Keith refrained from rolling his eyes for the sake of dignity and also the fact that he wasn't facing Shiro.

Keith nudged him as best he could. “What about you?” He prodded.

Shiro fidgeted in place. “Okay so, don't laugh or anything but.” He took a deep breath as if bracing and the curiosity was eating Keith alive. “I was born in Japan, Osaka. On the 29th of February.”

Keith twists away to stare at Shiro properly. “You’re a leap year baby.” Keith states blankly.

Shiro nods reluctantly and this is the best thing to ever happen to Keith. Forget about running into Shiro or that time Regris spent two hours chasing a cow or when Rolo got stuck in a car with three scorpions and a dog. This was it.

Shiro’s eyes narrow as the shit eating grin curls its way across Keith's face.

“Keith,” he says warningly.

“Sorry, sorry.” God his cheeks ache. “How old does that make you again?”

“I,” Shiro says turning his face away, “am not going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Aw come on Shiro,” Keith says laughingly. “Tell me.”

Shiro sighs, world weary. “Six,” he says grudgingly. “And a half.”

“Thats,” Keith breathes out delighted, “amazing.”

Shiro just sighs again. “Take a pretty boy out to watch the sunset and this is the thanks I get,” he mutters to himself.

“Is someone getting cranky,” Keith asks innocently.

There’s a pinch at his side that makes Keith yelp and flail but soon the arm tugs him back in, hand rubbing soothingly other the skin.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Shiro mutters good-naturedly. The hand graduates to long sweeping strokes up and down his flank and the heat radiating from the body beside him lulls him slightly.

Keith drifts as they sit there. The sunset is long gone and the stars are out and Shiro looks sweet and happy sitting there under night sky with Keith for company.

Keith lets his eyes slide shut and settles more into the body beside him.

He’s eventually roused by Shiro calling to him softly.

“Keith? Baby, can you open your eyes?”

Keith's eyes snap open.

Shiro it looking at him and he smiles when he sees Keith awake.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Its getting kind of late and I didn't know if you’d be okay with me carrying you to the car.”

Keith takes a deep breath and lets Shiro pull him gently to his feet. He’s warm and comfortable and suddenly he decides that he wants to chase that feeling for as long as possible.

He lets himself fall into Shiro who catches him with a laugh. “For the record,” Keith mumbles into Shiro’s chest, “I’m okay with you carrying me.”

“Noted.” Shiro’s voice is as warm as his body and a hand comes up to tilt Keith's head back.

Keith lets himself be moved.

For a moment, Shiro’s hand rests gently against his throat. The touch is lighter than a feather, ghosting over his pulse and trailing up to his jaw.

Keith shivers.

Shiro is watching him, a strange gleam in his grey eyes. By the light of the moon Keith can see the flecks of gold in them.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. His hand curves over his cheek, thumb brushing against Keith's lower lip. It swipes twice and Keith wants to bring it between his teeth. Its gone too quickly and leaves him aching and the hand buries itself in Keith's hair and pulls him forward.

Shiro presses his forehead against Keith's, bows down into him and breathes out his name again.

“Keith.”

Keith surges forward.

Shiro rocks back with the force of the kiss, a sound startling out of him; a rumble or a purr or both. It’s dizzying and warm and Keith chases the taste of something thats maybe magic or starlight.

It had been so long since he’d kissed someone who mattered. Keith sighs into the press of lips and curls in closer even though there was nowhere left to go. Keith doesn't think, doesn't process anything beyond the feel of the arm clenched tight around his waist and the hand fisting his hair.

He lets out a sound and it might be a whimper and Shiro surges forward again and grips him tighter, harder, better and Keith clings and clings and clings and he thinks that if he were human his lungs would be screaming.

Shiro licks into his mouth and his hand unclenches to cradle the back of Keith's head. He pulls away and Keith chases— pathetically maybe, but earnest. Shiro peppers his face with light fleeting kisses and when Keith’s hands rise from his waist to scratch through his hair, he hums, pleased.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, bites at his lip in thought. He stays there and stares at Keith with such longing and intensity that the final scraps of resistance still imbedded in Keith's heart melt away, like so much ice in the sun.

There’s a long, agonising pause, and then—

“Come home with me?”

Keith can’t stop the shiver that trickles down his spine, slow and warm like molasses. Instead he takes a moment to marvel at the way the words form themselves in Shiro’s mouth, imagines kissing the taste of them off his lips.

Then he remembers that he’s allowed to and so he does.

He pulls back and leaves Shiro panting and this time its Keiths turn to press kisses to his face; cheeks, the crook of his jaw and the place where lines from around Shiro’s eyes when he smiles. So many parts of him and all worthy of worship.

“Yes,” he sighs out, breath ghosting over the rapid pulse in Shiro’s neck. He chases the shudder with his tongue and presses a smile into the thin skin. “Yes, you can take me home.”

The world spins and he find himself looking up at the carpet of stars spilled about the moon. Shiro’s arms are like bands of iron under him and Keith lets him takes his weight, leans into it content in the knowledge that Shiro wouldn't let him fall. It’s easy to reach up and press another kiss against Shiro’s lips as Shiro’s grip on him tightens.

Pulling away, Keith laughs, and Shiro laughs with him as he carries him to the car and above them, stars move in a coruscating dance.

xXx

The first time Keith wakes, it's still night. It takes a few seconds to get his bearings but the press of a warm body against him keeps him from panicking. He knows that scent, knows the cadence of breathe passing from slightly parted lips.

Keith stretches and feels the ache in his hips. He sits up, freezing in place at the small displeased sound that Shiro makes in his sleep. He almost goes back to him but the insistent call of his bladder was difficult to ignore.

When he finally manages to extract himself from the nest of blankets and Shiro’s clutching hands he quickly tucks the blanket back in around him, trapping in the heat.

With a last brush of his hands through snow white hair he slides out of the bedroom and down the hallway to where he’d seen the bathroom.

All along the way there were signs of moving. Boxes empty and careful collapsed were stacked in one corner while half full ones were still left strategically around the place.

Keith had been amused to notice that the bedroom had been the only room to have been fully unpacked. When he’d pointed it out Shiro had been bashful and Keith had chased the flush of red down his chest with laughing lips.

Washing his hands on the sink, he wonders exactly where the line between looking and snooping fell.

The urge to look around was there but the more Keith thought about it, the less appealing it was. Instead he ignores the house’s living room and the open door to the study and hurries back to the bed on silent feet.

Shiro was curled up in the centre around the spot where Keith had been laying and Keith crawls eagerly back into place.

Arms wrap around him and pull him in close even in Shiro's sleep, and Keith sighs happy as he’s enveloped in warmth.

He turns his head to face the sleeping man and reaches out to trace his features with a finger. the touch so light he doesn't even stir.

The bridge of his nose with the stark scar across it, the slope of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, soft and sweet to the touch. Fine crows feet lining the corners of his eyes, there as a testament to his joy of laughter as opposed to his age.

Beautiful and good and he wanted to stay where he was forever.

He let himself drift off, lulled to sleep by soft sounds from the man beside him.

xXx

When he woke the second time it was to the sensation of a thumb sweeping back and forth over his bottom lip.

The movement was slow, inexorable.

He was warm. He wasn't usually warm after sleep. He decided he liked the sensation. There was light beyond his eyelids, weak and watery and he knew without looking it was going to be one of those new out of season rainy days.

The movement stopped. For a second it hovered there, pressed lightly into his bottom lip and Keith wondered if Shiro was thinking about last night. He didn't think so though, not really.

There was a strange charge in the air.

The thumb pressed slightly, began to pull down his lip but before the mere vestiges of worry could stir in Keith the thumb was gone.

There was a sigh from somewhere over his head, almost angry, but before he could begin to parse out what was happening he was being gathered and pulled.

It was a careful, calculated movement and if Keith was still properly asleep he probably wouldn't have felt a thing.

He found himself being tucked in against a solid chest, Shiro's head hooking itself over the top of his own. Like this he felt small and if it wasn't for the faintest stirrings of unease in his gut Keith could have happily let himself fall back into sleep.

Keith let himself stir.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice raspy as sleep clung to it.

The chest he was against rumbled. “Morning, Keith.”

Keith shivered lightly. Shiro’s voice was settled into a register previously unknown to him, deep and gravelled but unfairly awake.

Keith let himself be rolled onto his back and parted his thighs easily to let Shiro settle between them. When he blinked open his eyes it was to find Shiro looking up at him from where he was resting his chin against his stomach, grey eyes lit with a curious light.

He reached out and ran his hand through Shiro's hair cautiously. When he didn't do anything other than sight and lean into it he let his nails scratch across his scalp and felt the responding purr.

Keith couldn't help but smile at the sight.

“Do you have to work today?” Shiro said to his stomach.

Keith turned his head to look at the bedside clock and grunted. “Not until six. Got plenty of time.”

“You work the weirdest shifts I swear to god.” It came out muffled as Shiro pressed his face harder against the hard planes of Keith's stomach.

Keith snorted. “At least I work,” he teased.

Shiro looked up, affronted. “Hey, I work. Im just on vacation at the moment.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Shiro nuzzled him. “Couldn't be bothered to worry about working and unpacking at the same time so I decided to take some time off.”

Keith wanted to ask what the job was but hesitated. Somehow it hadn't come up and this was a good chance to do so but the moment of unease from earlier made him hold his tongue.

Instead he asked about the others.

“Your friends do the same?”

“Hmm?”

“The ones you moved here with,” Keith clarified. “Did they do the same?”

“Oh,” Shiro exclaimed, “Not really. Kinda?” Keith made a face and Shiro chuckled. ”Lance and Hunk are working part time but Pidge and Matt abhor being idle. They threw themselves into work the moment they got here. Their place still looks like a bomb hit it.”

“Your’s isn't exactly a picture of cleanliness you know,” Keith pointed out wryly. “At least they have an excuse.”

Shiro head-butted Keith lightly. “Not my fault,” he pouted. Or at least Keith assumes he did. It sounded like he did.

“Then whose fault is it?”

“Yours.” Shiro said simply.

Keith blinked. “Wait, how’s it my fault you haven’t unpacked your shit?”

Shiro glanced up at him, eyes shadowed by his falling bangs and that was definitely a flush making its way across his cheeks. He pressed his face against Keith again and Keith had to strain to hear his reply.

“You keep distracting me.”

“I keep distracting you from…putting away your things.” Keith asks dubiously. He thinks back to the boxes he’d seen stacked around the apartment. There weren't that many.

“Yes.” Shiro says simply.

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat, a non verbal but incredibly skeptical really?

They lapse back into silence, Keith tracing shapes in nape of Shiro’s neck. He thinks for a moment that Shiro had fallen back to sleep, his breathing evening out and deepening, his whole frame relaxing into Keith and the bed.

Keiths eyes began to droop and he started to contemplate the pros and cons of a midday nap when Shiro surprised him by speaking.

“You wanna help me unpack.” He sounds small, uncertain and Keith hates it even as he’s shocked into awareness.

Oh.

Keith swallows, nerves or something else setting his stomach aflutter. Shiro wants him to help him unpack. Shiro wants him to help move his things.

“You don't have to,” Shiro rushes to reassure. “Just it would be helpful and—“ Shiro slumps slightly. “And it would be nice to have you around for longer,” he adds softly.

“Oh,” Keith says, the pieces snapping into place suddenly.

“Yes,” Keith says honestly. “I would love to help.”

“Good,” Shiro sounds soft and pleased and Keith's head spins with the need to keep him sounding like that for as long as possible. “We can still sleep a little first though.”

xXx

A few hours later find Keith about to commit murder.

“That doesn't make any fucking sense.” he says, bewildered and frustrated.

“Its what the instructions say Keith.” says Shiro, exasperated. “Look, it even has a diagram.”

Keith doesn't care that it has a diagram. Keith doesn't care that they’ve been following the instructions step by step for the last twenty minutes. All Keith cares about is that he’s five seconds and three screws away from murdering Shiro with the disembodied leg of a chest of draws with a name he cant even pronounce.

Ikea, he thinks viciously, has a lot to answer for.

Honestly if Keith had known it was going to be like this he would have just offered to make Shiro a cabinet from scratch. He was a deft hand at woodwork, it would have been fine and probably quicker.

“I thought the whole point of Ikea furniture was to avoid having to use a hammer?”

“Not all the time.” Shiro is obnoxiously cheerful and the look Keith sends him is dour and scathing. Shiro ignores it. “Sometimes they have bits and pieces that need to be hammered into place, but not too many.”

“You don't have a hammer,” Keith tries desperately.

“We’ll figure something out,” Shiro says, snapping a dowel into place primly. “Im sure there’s something we can use.”

Yeah, Keith thinks in despair. He could use his damn hands, but no he was being human. Keith snatched up the instructions and scowled. He had plenty of hammers at his work, and he told Shiro that.

“No need.” Shiro stands up and cracks his back. “I think I have a wrench in the bedroom, we can just use that to hammer them into place.”

“Great,” he replies, sounding as acerbic as he feels. He blinks. “Wait, why do you have a wrench but not a hammer and why is it in your bedroom?”

“Because.” Shiro says and disappears down the hallway.

Keith flicks the instructions away with a huff and resists the urge to knock himself out with the wall he’s leaning against. Unconsciousness might be preferable but he would feel bad about leaving Shiro alone to deal with the…Keith squints at the long name written on the front of the instructions and then tilts his head to the side to see if that helps. It doesn’t and the long string of vowels and consonants refuse to look like anything other than a sneeze.

“Found it,” Shiro calls from the bedroom.

“Excellent.” Keith sighs, feeling resignation settle over him like a smothering blanket.

Shiro sinks down across from him, the skeletonised cabinet between them. He picks up one of the nails and Keith watches. Horrified fascination stirs within him as Shiro lines up the nail with the back of the wrench, tongue caught between his teeth in an expression that would have been endearing if Keith wasn’t stuck in a horror story of his own making.

Shiro holds the nail up with one hand and reels back his other and brings down his arm.

Keiths phone rings.

Shiro startles and lets go of the nail and they both watch it as it rolls away.

“Thank fuck,” Keith mutters and ignores Shiro’s sputtering to swipe at his phone.

It's Nyma. He answers, a frown already forming.

“Hey bossman.” She sounds tired and annoyed and Keith can hear Rolo muttering in the background, clearer than usual even with his hearing. Speakerphone then.

“Whats up Nyma?” He can see Shiro watching curiously out of the corner of his eye and mouths a quick sorry at him. Shiro motions him on and then gestures to the kitchen.

“Forgot to tell you earlier but that asshole came when I was on shift yesterday evening.” There’s a dull thud in the background and he hears Nyma cluck at whatever Rolo was doing. “Said he wants to ‘speak to the pretty manager’ about his jeep.” Her voice suddenly turns apologetic when she adds, “He’ll be coming ‘round sometime after seven apparently.”

This time Keith does let his head thunk back against the wall and he groans, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Well fuck,” he moans.

“Sorry bossman,” she says, sympathetic.

“No, no.” Keith cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. “I told you to let me deal with him, you’re just doing what I asked.”

“Still,” she says. “Feel bad about that you gotta deal with whatever bullshit he’s on about now. Especially,” and here her voice turns gently teasing, “after spending the day having fun with your new guy.”

“What?” Keith says, taken-aback. “What do you mean new guy.” There’s a thump from the kitchen but Keith pays it no mind, too focused on the smug sounding voice on the other end of the phone.

“Well,” Nyma drawls. “Its not like it was hard to work out.”

“How the fuck— you hardly ever even see me.” He sounds defensive. “How do you know?”

“Woman's intuition,” Nyma says sweetly just as Rolo hollers, “She saw you through the windows at Sals!” from presumably the storeroom.

There’s a yelp and a clang and Keith can picture with perfect clarity Nyma pegging a nut or bolt at her parter from across the room.

“Point is,” Nyma stresses after a moment, “that a) I’m sorry you’re gonna have to end the day on a bad note and b) we’re happy for you.”

Keiths’ throat closes up.

“You’ve been happier lately,” She continues. “Not that you were unhappy before exactly
but—“

“—but you’ve smiled more than once in a month and I heard you laugh when we saw you last week though Nyma doesn't believe me—“ Rolo cuts off with a grunt and Keith mentally thanks Nyma.

“He’s not exactly wrong. It's just nice to see you happy, is what we’re trying to say,” Nyma finishes firmly.

He can tell that Nyma is being honest with him. She usually is and it's a point of quiet pride for him; that she keeps to the truth around him or as close to it as she can stand. But the bit that Keith gets stuck on is the ‘we’ and that she cared enough to say it all.

Keith had never regretted taking Rolo and Nyma on but this was the first time he’d felt he’d be lesser for them not being there.

Keith thinks, with a sort of dawning wonder, that they might be actual genuine friends.

“Bossman?” She sounds concerned.

“Yeah,” Keith croaks. “Yeah, I’m good, we’re—.“ He clears his throat. “Thanks.” he finishes lamely.

“No worries, Bossman.” There’s an echoing statement from Rolo and Keith lets himself smile.

He can hear them bickering as the call disconnects and he drops his phone into the pile of his jacket.

He stands stiffly and stretches before joining Shiro in the kitchen. The man is very intently reading the instructions on a can of soup and Keith cocks his head, perplexed. Shiro notices him and clears his throat and awkwardly put the can away.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Keith says easily. “Just something I have to deal with later, no big deal.”

“Oh, good, thats— thats good to hear.” Shiro shuffles slightly and Keith watches him fidget in place like a child. The tips of Shiro’s ears are stained red and he wont quite meet Keiths eyes but there’s a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Anyway,” Shiro blurts out, “we should probably get back to work. That cabinet wont put itself together.”

Keith groans. “Can’t put it together at all if I break it either,” he mutters darkly.

Shiro laughs. “It wont be that bad.” Keith shoots him a baleful look and Shiro shakes his head, still grinning brightly. “Now come on and help me find that nail.”

They get as far as Shiro snatching the nail up from the floor when there’s a cheerful knock at the door.

Keith sends a small heartfelt prayer to whatever gods were listening while Shiro grumbled and stood to get answer the door.

“Oh hey Matt,” Keith hears and he can feel himself perk up slightly. So this is one of the friends. “What are you doing here?”

The other man— Matt, says something in reply thats lost to Keith but all he really cares about is Shiro’s reply of,

“No, thats fine. Come on.”

Keith hears the door open wider and then footsteps and then there’s two forms in the entrance to the living room.

The man that walks in beside Shiro is a bit taller than Keith, with sandy coloured hair tied back in a low ponytail. He has a small scar on his cheek, though smaller than any of Shiro’s and he’s handsome in a rakish kind of way. He’s smiling, easy as could be but there's a sharp intelligence in his eyes that belays the friendliness.

Instantly, Keith is on edge.

“Well,” he drawls, turning to look at Shiro. “Who’s this Shiro?” There’s a teasing sense to the words, like he already knows the answer and abruptly Keith wonders if he does know; wonders if Shiro talks about him when he’s not there.

Shiro stills abruptly, like he just realised what was going on.

“Oh.” He turns to look at Matt first and then looks at Keith. He smells a waft of embarrassment and then Shiro is rubbing the back of his head. “This is—“

Matt waves him off before he finishes and steps forward, waving. “You’re Keith, right?”

Keith nods at him from where he’s sitting but his shoulders are tense. “Yeah,” he rasps. “And you’re Matt?” It's not really a question. Keith knows who he is, or at least has heard enough stories about him before he had a face to put to the name.

Matt looks delighted. “Oh, he talks about me, does he?” he coos. They both turn to look at Shiro who’s watching, stiff and wide-eyed. “I promise, everything he’s told you is true.”

Shiro makes a faintly distressed sound and steps forwards. “Okay, enough from you.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand and Matt steps back and away from Keith, hands raised in surrender.

The movement puts him back by the door and just then, a faint breeze rolls in from somewhere outside and the stiffness of his shoulders turns into a full body clench. His teeth ache and the tips of his fingers threaten to curl into claws.

“Anyway,” Matt sings, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension, “I’m here because you said you were going to help me and Katie with that Thing,” he emphasises thing like its deserving of a capital letter, “an hour ago. She sent me here to get you when it became apparent that you’d uhh,” he eyes Keith and Keith has to resist the urge to bristle, “lost track of time.”

Shiro curses. “Sorry, Matt,” he says, rubbing his face. “I completely forgot.”

Matt, still staring at Keith, says, “Yeah obviously.”

“Look,” Shiro steps forward slightly. “How about I come by tomorrow and we do it then.” When Matts eyebrows just rise pointedly Shiro goes on. “Keith and I are busy so it might—“

“No worries,” Keith interjects softly. He’s already grabbed his jacket and his phone off the floor and he walks over to the two of them, carefully keeping Matt in his line of sight. “I should probably be heading off to work now anyway.”

It was about an hour too early to do that.

“You don't start for a while though,” Shiro says frowning slightly.

Keith shrugs and nervously tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I’m walking so it's probably better to get a head start.” When Shiro looks like he’s going to protest Keith steps closer and lays a hand against Shiro's arm and squeezes gently. “Think of it this way,” he offers lightly, “we can leave this till tomorrow and I can bring a hammer from work.”

Shiro stares at him, then at the cabinet and then to Matt before circling back around to Keith. “If…” he starts. “Are you sure Keith?” He sounds worried. “It's no trouble, honest, and I don't want you to feel like you have to leave,” he finishes softly.

“Its fine,” Keith says with a small smile.

Shiro sighs and reaches up to grip at Keith's hand. “Okay if you’re sure.”

Keith smiles and then turns to offer a polite nod to Matt. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Matt says with a puzzling light in his eyes. “Yeah, it was nice to meet you too.” Before he can talk himself out of it, Keith rises on his toes and presses a chaste kiss to Shiro's mouth. He makes a surprised sound but sways forward into him quick enough.

Shiro pulls him into a small second kiss, and then Keith is walking out the door and away, as quickly as he can go without running.

xXx

Keith had been watching the clock tick ever closer to seven with increasing dread. Or maybe it was joy? Keith couldn't tell if he was looking forward to the visit or not; weighing his desire to work off some of his anger at a deserving party as opposed to his desire to just go home and panic.

Maybe panic was too soft of a word.

The smell was still in his nose, as sharp and potent as the moment he had brushed by Matt on his hurried way out the door.

Pine and gunpowder

Pine and gunpowder,

Pine and g u n p o w d e r.

A Hunter. He was a hunter.

Matt was a Hunter and that meant—

Keith drew in a sharp breath. He knew what it meant, he just didn't want to think about it.

The clock ticked over to seven and Keith went outside to look down the road.

Shiro liked Keith The Human. Keith was not a human. Therefore in the end, Shiro would not like Keith.

It was an inescapable truth but he’d managed to ignore it. Nyma had been right; Keith was happy. It was a disconcerting realisation to have and it made his stomach squirm. Matts visit felt like it had broken a bubble that had been surrounding the two of them. Keith had been living a dream for the last few weeks, happily ignoring the storm looming on the horizon.

That was a dangerous thing to do in the desert.

Still he knew he wasn’t going to stop. He’s gotten a small taste of something and he’s found that he likes it. All his life Keith had lost and lost and while he should have learned by now to be cautious, he’d never been able to fully divorce himself from that desperate bone deep need to take what he could while he could.

Nights spent alone with his father were hoarded like gold. Watching the summer monsoons with Regris; lighting ripping up the sky and thunder shaking the ground and swimming in canyons afterwards, were treated as precious. Acxa’s rare smiles and rarer laughter and the coziness of the home Thace and Ulaz shared.

And now there were afternoons and nights spent with Shiro.

With a huff, Keith took a sip of the thermos Sal had shoved into his hands earlier. He must have looked particularly pathetic when he’d come in earlier for the gruff man to take pity on him like that.

The clock hit a quarter past and there was no sign of anyone in sight. The long stretches of road were empty in every direction and Keith turned away in annoyance. He set his thermos on the front desk and wandered through the shop and out the back.

He lit a cigarette and tilted his head back to stare at the stars.

It was hard to look at them. Probably always would be. But with Shiro it had been a little easier out in the desert.

This was just another thing he didn't want to loose.

In the distance he could hear a Javelina snuffling about. Somewhere he hears the call of a Nightjar as it hunted. The wind is whistling through the Saguaro and it all comes together to make a melody that Keith knows better than his own heart.

Sun rise and sun set; the wildlife does what it does and Keith could admire that. Things were simple and clean for them.

Keith stubbed out his cigarette, suddenly not in the mood.

While watching the ash sit in the tray Keith notices that the wind has died down.

No, he realises, not died down, but rather stopped completely.

In fact everything had.

No small animals scurrying under bushes, no night bird calls. The Saguaros were mournfully quiet and the desert suddenly seemed like it was holding its breath.

He was alone.

There was…

a

s o u n d?

The stillness of his heart betrays his fear. With a creeping sense of déjà vu, Keith freezes in place, ears working overtime.

He hears it like a slow drag; the faintest scuff of shoes and a brief sound, something like the scrape of glass, singing high and sweet. It was coming from inside the shop.

Carefully he heads back inside.

Not a dream, he tells himself. It feels worse knowing that.

Keith looks into the main room and the unease goes cold and dead in his chest to make way for something else.

“Mr Faust,” Keith greets cooly.

The man straightens from where he was milling about the front desk. Things are moved, Keith can already see that and it stirs the anger that was gnawing at his chest. When he turns around to finally look at Keith, he has that grin on his face that he’d worn in-between the insincere politeness he’d seen last time.

Keith doesn't trust that grin with any fibre of his being. There’s something cruel about it.

“Sendak, please.” The man rumbles. “Mr Faust was my father.”

Keiths eyes narrow. “Mr Faust,” he repeats and watches the grin drop. “What did you need to see me about.” Suddenly the idea of fighting with this man holds no appeal. His gut is telling him to get rid of him, to get him out.

Sendak regards him for a moment, assessing. For all that the gaze is cool, almost clinical, something about it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Keith wants him gone, needs him gone.

All at once Sendak smiles that smile and steps closer. Keith has to fight the urge to bare his teeth. “Just wanted to let you know,” Sendak says smoothly, “that I had business come up here in town. There’s no longer a rush on the jeep.”

He stands there and Keith stares at him feeling wrong footed.

“You’re sure,” Keith says slowly.

“Quite.” Sendak takes another step forwards and this time Keith lets himself stiffen, lets himself shift into a posture that was ever so slightly threatening.

Sendak stops and laughs to himself and then steps even closer. Keith blinks and theres a hand ghosting over his cheek, a strand of his hair and Keith catches his wrist in a crushing grip.

Keith wants to tear it off and from the grin on his face, he thinks Sendak knows it.

Sendak flexes against his grip and only after he’s on his third try does Keith let go. Sendak doesn't stumble, just smoothly steps back and away and he’s still smiling.

“Have a pleasant evening, Keith.”

And then he turns and simply walks away.

Keith stays standing there for a long while. His fists are clenched and vaguely he can feel his nails cutting into his palms but he doesn't care. There’s a pervasive feeling of wrongness in the air and, like a man possessed he sweeps forward to straighten up the desk.

Papers were slightly out of place, the kitschy mug Rolo had bought to hold pens was moved and so was his thermos. One of the drawers was pulled out slightly but it was the stationary one so he merely slammed it shut with snarl.

Kneeling he checked the locks on the other drawers. Clean, every one, with no sign of tampering. Agitated, Keith swept the shop. He would have done it anyway but now it was a need, vicious and angry. He closed and locked the windows, checked them twice. Shut the back door and turned the deadbolt and threw on the chain lock.

The security system was the last to go on and he flipped it before shutting the garage door behind him, thermos hanging limply from one hand.

There was no sign of anyone in the streets, or car lights in the distance.

The feeling of unease grew.

Keith looked back at the shop behind him. The wind was still silent, the animals still gone and all at once Keith wonders how he didn't hear Sendak coming. He hadn't even smelt him.

In fact he hadn’t caught his scent at all.

Keith lets a partial shift take over; sees the landscape sharpen and scents grow clearer.

Nothing. No sign of the huge man with no car on the long straight road back into town.

Above him the moon hangs, half full.

Keith walks. He walks quickly and silently and keeps to the shadows. Its the most blatant he’s been since the hunters arrived but Keith cant help himself, the urge to get home devouring common sense.

To calm himself, Keith tosses back the last of his coffee only to grimace.

Cold as a corpse.

xXx
xXx

Chilled water seeps through his clothes and drips from his hair.

One of his arms hangs limply from its socket, yanked out of place in the initial struggle. It's the worst injury he has, which is a miracle in and of itself.

He’d been taken off guard and he’d paid the price but, he though with grim satisfaction, he’d still managed to come out on top.

A gurgling laugh, forced its way out of the soon-to-be corpse at his feet.

“You can kill me but it wont matter,” the vampire spits. Its voice is almost snatched away by the whistling wind around them, the train barreling down the track.

Keith watches dispassionately as it chokes on its own torn throat, its natural healing factor doing nothing more than drawing it out. It was almost funny.

“You’re still the one thats goin’ to ash,” he bites out and the vampires face contorts. Keith steps out of the way as it lunges, a desperate dying thing.

It lies there, wheezing and half shifted. Its eyes roll in its face until they settle on him and the hate in them sets them glowing a deadly red. “Nature,” it snarls, lips flecked red, “made a mistake when it made you. We’ll correct it; wipe away you and the rest of them.”

It laughs again and it drags itself closer. Mad, Keith thinks. The vampire is insane.

“When you die you’ll see.” Keith can hear the way its breaths whistle, can hears its lungs collapsing under the strain. It grins at him, teeth bared and face distorted.

“You’re gonna burn, Keith, just like your daddy.”

The train barrels on towards its end.

“Just like your friend.”

xXx

Keith wakes up the next morning, not with a scream but with a whimper.

He notices the cold first. It spreads from his gut out to his fingertips and he curls up beneath his sheets in a vain attempt to chase any lingering warmth. When compared to the last time he woke up in a bed, this was miserable.

His spine cracks as he uncurls himself carefully.

There was an ache chasing its way through his body and Keith groaned in pain. He felt almost sick, like the long faded memory he had of catching the flu as a child. It was impossible, he though fuzzily. He couldn't get sick anymore.

When he stood it was slow and reluctant.

Forcing himself to move he stumbles his way to the shower. Keith caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused, transfixed.

His eyes were yellow with the shift, features vaguely distorted into something sharper than human. His skin was pale, almost grey, and his eyes were bruised and he noted all of this with a distant sort of alarm.

He looked sick. He shouldn't look sick.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself and even his voice sounded raw, and thick.

Keith threw himself into the shower.

As he stood there under the spray Keith became aware of the gnawing hunger in his gut. It ripped its way through him and Keith had to force himself to breathe through the pangs. Keith bit his lip and fangs tore right through the skin.

Stepping out of the shower and getting into clothes was an endeavour and he was panting as he finally got into his kitchen.

Inside the fridge, a few bags of blood hung in neat rows, swaying gently in rhythm,

It wasn't human blood. Bagged human blood was a pain to get and Keith reserved that for the rare occasions when Thace and Ulaz would visit. Animal blood from the butchers was far cheaper and easier to obtain for the times when he couldn't or wouldn't go hunting.

Keith didn't bother with a cup. He tore the bag open with his fangs and drained it dry, and then a second bag and then a third.

When he came back to himself there were drops of blood painting his floor and even more down his neck and on his lips.

It was on his hands, he noticed. It was under his nails.

Keith stumbled over to the sink and scrubbed until his hands were raw. He splashed water onto his face and rubbed at his neck and mouth until the water ran pink and then clear.

Keith hunched over the sink and dried himself off with the towel and then looked down at the floor. He’d stepped in some of the blood drops on his way to the sink, smearing them into the grout.

Keith grimaced. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Keith cleaned up in silence, mind whirling. Keith didn't know why he’d done that. Keith didn't know why he was so hungry.

Because he still was, he realised with a start. It was subtle but the hunger was still there, lurking, and he could already feel it growing again despite the way he’d fed. The alarm was back but again it was a distant thing, like it was coming to him through fog or his head was filled with cotton.

His leaned against the counter top, hands shaking ever so slightly.

He needed…he needed…

He knew what he needed.

xXx

The man he takes is tall, broad shouldered. If it weren’t for the dark hair and the accent, in the dim light he might have had a passing resemblance to Shiro.

It's a coincidence, he says to himself, a mantra. It's a coincidence it's a coincidence it's a coincidence.

It was almost insultingly easy to lure the man in and then to convince him to take him back to his room. The man had been eager; grasping hands that still managed to be gentle. The way he had left Keiths skin crawling was not his fault, not really. It was merely the fact that the hands on him weren't Shiro and that it felt distressingly like a betrayal.

He stops before he’s finished, when he’s still hungry. It enough, it's better and the black hole is finally receding like a monster slinking back to where it came from.

Keith licks the wounds closed and leaves him passed out on the bed. He wont remember anything about Keith, not really and Keith prays to a god he doesn't believe in that the man will just assume he’d passed out after fucking Keith or better yet, that it was all a dream.

The blood sits oddly in his stomach and he makes a beeline for the shower as soon as he gets home. He scrubs and he scrubs in a desperate attempt to not think about the pervasive feeling of wrongwrongwrong that has settled into his bones.

For once, he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, and stayed there until it went cold. His lungs felt tight and his eyes stung but he refused to cry. There was no reason for it, he told himself firmly.

Eventually his nerves settled but by that time he was half frozen, the cold water having sapped what little heat his body managed to hold onto and leaving him corpse cold.

He didn't shiver when he stepped out of the shower, just sat on the edge of his bed, naked and hair dripping and lost himself for a bit. It felt like a moonless night though it wasn't; felt like the sky was empty and so was he, no sunlight to warm him, not even its silver reflection.

He could see the moon through his window, could see it almost hanging full and knew that the cold settling in his chest came from something else.

Over the years he had felt guilt and sadness in all its flavours but this ball of misery felt new. Coming from nowhere, it had swamped everything else in its wake and Keith was left floundering in waters which should have been shallow.

His head feels full and his skin too tight all at once.The room around him swims but the hunger is still gone. Something else has replaced it and it feels like he’s crashing.

Keith thinks of Shiro. He thinks of loosing this thing he’s barely had a chance to experience.

He thinks of soft eyes and sweet touches. He thinks of dark coffee and warm laughter.

He thinks of the bone deep longing that sets its teeth to him every time he sees Shiro and a man with a too similar face he’d left in a bed halfway across town and knew, in a way that was still hard to grasp, that unless he was careful, his bad choices would very likely lead to a bad end.

xXx

Keith doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep but he woke the next evening, stiff with aching joints and a pounding in his head. He sits up, feeling hazy, everything a dull inverse of the previous night where he’d felt lit up and burning.

He heats up a bag of blood; his last he notes blearily, and then stumbles his way back to his bed, shivering and cold.

He sleeps. He dreams.

xXx

Keith doesn’t remember drifting off to sleep but he wakes the next evening, stiff with aching joints and a pounding in his head.

There’s a string of messages on his phone, each sounding progressively more and more concerned.

It was Shiro. Of course it was Shiro.

7:25 AM: hey keith, havent heard from u. decided u dont trust me with ur hammer? ;)

9:46 Am: let me know if you want to reschedule. no rush or anything, everything thats gonna go into the cabinet is still in boxes

11:05 AM: Keith can you text me back when you get the chance?

2:15 PM: Please let me know if you’re okay.

and the last one was just,

5:30 PM: Keith?

Biting his lip, Keith thinks. The smart thing to do would be to beg off seeing him until Keith really thinks about things. Shiro was a hunter. Shiro killed vampires. Keith was a vampier.

Keith sent off a text.

5:55 PM: Hey Shiro, sorry for worrying you. Had to deal with some things at work. Sorry about the hammer, I’ll make it up to you, promise.

He hit send before he could overthink it and hauled one of his blankets off the bed and wrapped himself in it. He went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee, scalding hot and entirely mediocre, and sat at the table and simply held it.

His fingers were stiff and slightly numb and there was only so much heat he could leech from a hot drink.

Eventually he gave up in defeat and poured the now cold coffee back into the sink with a grimace. He went back to his room and pulled on the softest clothes he could find before wrapping himself back up in the blanket.

A flash caught his eye and when he grabbed his phone there was a new message waiting for him.

5:59 PM: dont worry about the hammer, like I said its no problem :) would you be feeling up to getting coffee with me in 20? if not then no problem, i can take you out later

Keith clenched and unclenched his hands. His finger were still stiff with cold, the knot in his chest heavy like a block of ice; he thought of Shiro's hands, his warmth and sent off an agreement before he registered what he was doing.

He stared blankly at his phone and then at the hand which had betrayed him.

Too soon his phone lit up with a reply. A ‘c u soon’ stared up at him but Keiths heart tripped in his chest at the heart tacked onto the end.

He swallowed, ran his tongue over teeth which suddenly felt too sharp and checked the time.

Five more minutes in his blanket and then he had to go.

The sun was beginning to dip below the mountain peak by the time he got to the diner. The temperature was dropping with it; quicker than usual as the wind picked up.

He couldn’t see Shiro inside and didn't feel like dealing with the few other people he could see milling about the diner so he settled back against a shadowed part of the wall and waited.

Keith jolted hard when a hand brushed against his arm, jaw clenching tight and eyes snapping open (when had he closed them?). It was Shiro, hands held up, an apology in his grey eyes that quickly bled away into concern.

“Sorry Keith,” Shiro said softly. Keith just blinks at him tiredly.

“You usually know I'm coming,” Shiro adds hesitantly, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies after a moment and then winces in unison with Shiro at how raspy his voice sounds. He clears his throat but it doesn't do much to help. “Just a bit sick or something, I’ll be fine. Just maybe don't kiss me.”

Shiro gives a soft huff before very deliberately leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Keiths frowning mouth. It lasts for one heart beat, two, and when he finally pulls away Keith chases, helpless.

Shiro outright laughs but obligingly presses another quick kiss to his lips and then his cheek.

“I’ve got a good immune system,” he says with a grin, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He reaches forward and gently tugs Keith's hands out of his pockets, grip so light that if Keith didn't want to be moved he wouldn't. Shiro grins at him, soft and sweet but that disappears when he finally gets his hands around Keiths. He swears, shocked, and quickly tugs Keith under his arm and into the diner.

Keith bewildered, allows it and follows when Shiro drags them into their booth. As soon as they’re sitting Shiro begins to chafe at Keith's fingers.

Oh. Right.

“Fucking hell Keith,” he hisses, concerned. “You’re freezing, why didn't you wait inside?”

Keith swallows. Shrugs as best he could with Shiro’s hands on him.

“Didn't notice,” he settles on.

It's true, kinda. He forgot. After a while the feel of all encompassing cold had faded in favour of the nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Shiro.

The sound Shiro makes is deeply worried. He keeps rubbing at Keiths hands but after a minute or two he pulls away. The tiny plaintive sound that escapes from Keith is both entirely involuntary and completely embarrassing.

There’s a soothing rumble; it's Shiro. Keith blinks at him, startled and sits and watches as Shiro shifts just far enough away to pull his jacket off. Keith stiffens as fabric envelops him. Shiro fusses for a second, tugging the jacket in tighter around Keith's shoulders.

Its warm with Shiro’s body heat and it smells like him; something wild and human with the faintest hint of a subtle, agonising sweetness. He cant stop himself from turning his head and breathing it in, hopes Shiro doesn't notice but when he looks up, Shiro is staring at him, grey eyes gone dark.

Keith swallows heavily; watches Shiro’s eyes flicker to track the movement of his throat.

It hits him then.

He wants Shiro with a molten sort of desire, a longing, an ache he’s never felt before, not even during their other dates and the night they’d spent together and it threatens to set him on fire from the inside out.

He wants to devour him in all the best ways; wants to be devoured in turn, but above all else Keith wants to keep him, and he thinks that, just maybe, he also wants to be kept.

It's a pipe dream at best, Keith knows that. Only one of them is in this thing fully aware and that makes something ugly twist in Keiths stomach.

A good man would take that into account and see it as just another reason not to pursue this thing with Shiro.

Keith gave up on being a good man long ago. These days, he just tries to be better.

He doesn't always succeed.

xXX

They don't go back to Shiro’s apartment like he had assumed they would. Instead by the time they stumble outside, Shiro is frowning again, looking at Keith with an inscrutable expression in his eyes.

It's like whatever fire had lit their veins has cooled with the night air; suddenly and absolutely. Almost on reflex Keith hunches slightly, still enveloped in the fading warmth of Shiro's jacket.

“Keith.” Shiro says softly. He wets his lips and it takes all of Keiths concentration to avoid tracking the movement with his eyes. “I—,” Shiro frowns and then shakes his head a little. “You should go home,” he finishes softly and Keiths heart freezes.

He stiffens, drawing back and away, mentally combing over the past few minutes frantically. Had he done something to put Shiro off? Been too eager? Not eager enough?

Rigidly, Keith shrugs off the jacket and holds it out to Shiro.

Shiro, who is staring at him with wide eyes and very much making no move to take the jacket from him.

They’re caught like that for moment, suspended at an impasse. Keith cant do anything to stop the growing twinge of hurt in his chest aside from keeping it from his face.

A breeze blew in and Keith shuddered as it sapped more and more of the little heat he had managed to steal.

Across from him, Shiro made a small pained sound and his hand finally snapped out to take the jacket. Keith let his hand fall and turned to walk away.

There was a dark blur of movement out of the corner of his eyes and he flinched out of the way, spinning to catch the hand coming at him by the wrist.

His jaw creaked and it was a miracle that his eyes didn't flash but he crushed the urge ruthlessly even as it made his jaw ache.

Keith stared at Shiro who in turn is staring at the grip Keith has on his wrist. Immediately Keith lets go and Shiro's hand drops limply to his side. The hand clenches and unclenches for a moment and then Shiro takes a small step towards Keith.

“Keith.” His voice is rough. “I just meant...” He shakes his head, white hair almost glowing in the low light. He walks forward and with a mulish tilt of his head, wraps the jacket back around Keith's shoulders.

Keith feels wrong footed.

There’s no real warmth to the cloth anymore but the scent envelopes him in such a way that he barely notices. Shiro fusses over him but it's muted compared to before, softer, like he’s unsure of his welcome or Keith is a wild animal he’s trying not to startle.

After a while Shiro settles from fussing to just touching to touch. His hands no longer plucked at the seams of the jacket in an effort to hang it better over his narrower shoulders, but rather they stroked.

Over tense shoulders, down to his elbows and back up, again and again. Rhythmic. Soothing. The longer it went on the more tension leaked out of him, drained away by comforting touch.

Eventually they stop at his shoulders, tighten and kneed at the muscle there. The weight of them is solid and good and engulfing.

Everything about Shiro is big. By rights it should make him uneasy, knowing what he does now. In the state he’s in Keith doubts he would be entirely successful at getting away from Shiro; his strength and his size should make him nervous.

For now, as it has for a long time, it feels nothing but safe.

Still he makes no move to get out from under those hands and when the next chilled breeze blows its way through he cant stop the shiver that wracks through him. God he’s cold.

“Thats what I mean,” Shiro sounds worried. The hands pull him closer and angle him so Shiro takes the brunt of the wind. “You’re sick Keith,” he continues softly, “Just— just let me walk you home?”

Keith blinks up at him. Shiro looks so dreadfully sincere, frowning down at him in concern. Keiths stomach twists.

“Please Keith?” He wets his lips and Keith cant stop himself from following the motion. Shiro huffs softly. “We can do anything you want another night, but please, can I take you home so you can get some sleep?”

Keith stared at him. Honestly it was sounding like a better and better idea the longer Shiro talked even if for not the reasons he was thinking.

Keith was cold in a way he hadn't felt since he first woke up all those years ago, in the dark with water seeping in through his coffin. He desperately wanted to be warm and Shiro was warm and his bed would be too.

But Keith didn't trust that would stay as just a longing for warmth. This close and Keith could hear Shiro’s heartbeat, strong and constant. He thought of a man with dark hair and grey eyes and warm blood and forcibly shunted that memory down into the dark where he wouldn't have to look at it.

Yeah. It was definitely better if he went to bed alone.

xXX

They walked back in silence, Keith a half-step ahead leading the way.

Night had settled in proper, shadows washing over the buildings and the streets with a completeness that mocked the harshness of the day.

The moon above taunted Keith with its fullness. He should’t be this cold when the moon still hung in the sky. It sapped at his energy until all he wanted to do was sleep until it left him.

He felt heavy, like he had lead in his bones.

Or, he thought darkly amused, like he had gold in his bones, poisonous and heavy enough to weigh him

down

down

down.

He found himself longing for morning and the daylight it would bring, wanting nothing more than to see the sun, to feel it on his skin with an intensity that by all rights should set him aflame.

Dawn was still hours away though.

When his building came into view it was a relief. He heard Shiro make a small sound behind him but without looking back he couldn’t identify it; was it surprise? Shock maybe? Or something else?

Keith couldn't think of a reason why his building would be of interest. It wasn't new but it wasn’t ancient, not expensive but it wasn't the cheapest available either.

It was thoroughly unremarkable really, and that was a big part of why Keith kept it.

Keith half expected Shiro to stop at the entrance but he followed him inside, if hesitantly.

When they got to the elevator Keith finally looked back.

Shiro was looking around, a slight frown on his lips. One hand was rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist where Keith had grabbed him and Keith had to fight a wince. He hadn't meant to hurt him.

Struck with a sudden wave of unease, Keith hit the button for the lift. He felt himself sway on his feet, exhaustion dragging at his bones all the more now that he’s finally come to a stop and all at once whatever Shiro was mulling over he abandoned.

Before Keith could say anything Shiro was at his back, a solid line of muscle and heat and Keith couldn't stop the sigh he let out even if he wanted to as he tentatively leaned back into the arm Shiro had thrown around his waist.

Shiro made another sound, this one a strange mix of amusement and worry and he might have said something but it was lost amongst the mechanical sound of the approaching elevator and a dull constant roar that was slowly drowning everything else out.

Shiro herded Keith into the elevator and Keith swiped at the button to his floor without looking. He closed his eyes and leaned further into Shiro and the hunter took his weight without complaint, just shuffled them slightly so he was leaning up against the wall with Keith wrapped in his arms.

It took a few seconds for Keith to realise that the swaying he felt wasn't the elevator and that, underneath the roar, there was a soft rumbling hum coming from somewhere deep in Shiro chest. It lulled him into something that was too close to sleep for comfort, the old elevator drawing the trip out as it climbed slowly.

Keith turned his head and tried to edge closer to Shiro. One of Shiro’s hands came up to cup the back of his head and without warning Keith found his face being tucked into the crook of his neck.

Keith bit back a sigh and let himself slump into the hold.

He nosed along the skin of Shiro’s neck, listening all the while to that dull roar that had drowned out even the humming.

The grip around his waist tightened.

There was a moment.

A moment that stretched and clung and it had his jaw straining and his teeth aching.

It dawned on Keith then, that the roar he’d been hearing was blood.

It moved in time with the beat of Shiro’s heart; as steady as the man it belonged to.

In a daze, Keith pressed a soft kiss to the skin of his neck, felt a shiver run through the strong body he was leaning against. For a second he imagined what it would be like; the slight resistance as his fangs pierced flesh, the richness of the blood that ran just below the surface.

Would he struggle as Keith drank? Or would he let Keith take him?

He would make it good, Keith vowed. He would dull the pain till it was nothing but a memory, a spark for something greater.

It would be good.

It would be good.

It...

...wouldn't be.

Keith jerked out of Shiro’s hold violently enough that it sent his head spinning. Or no, it sent the elevator cart rocking slightly as it reached its stop.

“Keith!” The voice was almost frantic and then there were hands on his arms, steadying him but Keith barely heard it over the panicked beating of his own heart.

The hands gripping at him moved him, urging him out the doors and into the hallway.

“Keith?” Shiro was worried. “Keith, baby, can you tell me which apartment is yours?”

Keith doesn't answer but he does pull away, or tries to, and heads down the hallway at speeds that would be jog on anyone else.

Corner apartment at the end of the hallway. Keith stumbles to a stop and fumbles with his keys. Shiro hovers behind him until he makes a sound and takes them from him to open his door.

Keith stops just inside the threshold. He turns, hand gripping at the doorframe and maybe it creaks under his grip but the building is old and full of sounds so it's hard to tell.

Shiro is hovering there, hands outstretched like he’d been waiting to catch Keith even with one hand still clutching at the keys. His grey eyes are fixed over Keith's shoulder on the apartment behind him and that look he’d had downstairs is back on his face; lips pulled into a slight frown, a look of something like consideration tugging at his eyebrows.

Hastily Keith reaches out to take his keys. There’s slight resistance as he takes them and the frown transfers itself to Keith and Shiro bites at his bottom lip before opening his mouth.

“Keith,” he said hesitantly, “are you going to be okay?” His eyes flicker back over Keith for a second. “Maybe I should stay?”

Keith shakes his head. It's a shade off frantic. He couldn't see that ending well, not right now.

“I’ll be fine,” Keith says. It's not a lie. “Im just gonna sleep so there’s no point.” Also not a lie.

Shiro stares at him. “Are you sure, Keith?” he asks slowly.

Keith nods. Something is wrong, something is wrong with him and he’s dangerous right now, more dangerous than he’s been in a long time.

He doesn’t want to be dangerous, especially not to Shiro.

He fingers the edge of a sleeve for a second before he starts to shrug the jacket off, intending to hand it over. Shiro stops him. Tugs the jacket back into place for the third time that night with a shake of his head.

“Keep it,” he says softly and before Keith can do or say anything Shiro swoops down and places a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth

He lingers for a moment and Keith cant stop his eyes from fluttering closed. When Shiro withdraws its a struggle to open them again but he manages. Shiro just looks at him long and hard before gently reaching out to nudge Keith further into the room and Keith lets himself be moved.

“Get some sleep Keith.” He’s not asking and Keith nods as the door swings shut between them.

He stays there until he hears footsteps fade and the elevator doors open. Only then does he turn around to face his apartment.

It's cold inside and dark and despite the numerous years he’s called this town his home he hasn’t accumulated a lot of things.

He thinks of Shiro’s apartment, thinks of the various trinkets and odds and ends scattered about, even with half of it still in boxes and how that equals a life, and wonders what Shiro thought when he saw it.

It looks bare even to him.

He wonders when he forgot how to live; if it was something he lost all at once after waking that first time or if it was something he lost gradually as the years took more and more from him.

He thinks it was something he remembered when Regris was still there. Likes to believe it anyway. But now, years later and with little to show for it, Keith finds that he doesn't know how to be anything other than what he is.

And what he is, is dead.

He drifts over to the the window, not wanting to look a the room around him any longer.

He hasn't bothered with the lights, doesn't open the curtain more than the sliver its already at. He knows from experience that it’s difficult to pick an individual window from out on the street, the levels on the outside never seeming to match their actual placement on the inside; a strange quirk of the buildings architecture.

He gets there in time to watch Shiro exit the building. To Keith's confusion, he stops just a few meters away, out on the footpath leading out onto the street.

He’s not looking up, not trying to catch a glimpse of the apartment he’d left Keith in; rather he’s staring at the building entrance with that frown on his face again.

Keith can see one hand rubbing gently at his wrist and the sight sticks with him long after Shiro finally turns away and disappears off into the night.

Unsettled, Keith abandons the window.

He spares a thought to having a shower again, to letting the hot water chase away the cold but decides against it. The bone deep tiredness wins out and he strips and throws on the warmest pyjamas he owns.

On an afterthought he throws Shiro’s jacket on over the top and buries his way under the blankets.

Theres that twinge of guilt settling into his stomach again but resolutely he ignores it, lets his mind grow still.

He drifts off eventually into the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, Shiro's scent hovering at the edges.

xXx

Desert sun and vampires were never meant to mix.

Not until him.

Keith let his head thunk back against the wall beside his bedroom window. Already the heat index was climbing and the weak morning sunlight felt like it was searing itself into his skin.

After the cold and the dark of the previous nights, the burn was embraced with a new appreciation.

The fog that had been following him like a dark cloud was lifting. He stretched, flexing his arms and his hands, lazing in the sun like a cat.

There were messages on his phone, and in a surprise move for recent times, they weren’t just from Shiro.

Rolo and Nyma had sent him separate messages asking if is he was okay. He sent off a short reply, assuring them that he was still alive (and if he let himself feel a small sliver of black humour at his word choice then the only one to know it was him) and to apologise for the radio silence.

That left three messages.

Two were messages from Shiro; one telling him that he hopes he feels better and the other commenting on the fact that he had to remove two scorpions from his living room before 9am and his general feelings of unease about that fact.

There was an accompanying photo.

Keith grimaced and told him to avoid getting stung with what he thought was an appropriate amount of worry.

The final message was from a number that took him a few seconds to place.

It's a request for an update on how things are, so politely worded that Keith can practically feel the worry dripping from it.

Keith gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment, debating with himself.

While he lets himself mull over his options he reaches over to grab the cigarette he had rolled earlier. A flick of his lighter and sweet smelling smoke curled in his lungs on an inhale. He got through about half before reaching a decision.

He grabs his phone, deletes the message and then hits call.

It rings twice before being answered with a click.

“So you’re not dead then,” came a dry voice.

Keith snorted. “I feel like that’s potentially up for some debate,” he said wryly. “But no Ulaz, I’m not dead.”

A second voice echoed through the phone, lighter and full of mocking indignation, “You don't call, you don't write for months and this is what we get? I feel like I should be demanding a refund.”

Keith blinked. “A refund for what exactly?”

“Emotional damages,” Thace shot back dryly.

And yes there was humour there but some truth as well. He could practically feel the tension thrumming from the phone, in the slight clipped way they both spoke.

He’d worried them.

He felt the immediate rush of guilt roll over him. “I’m sorry,” he said softy, “things just—“ Keith rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “—things just got away from me a bit.”

“Perhaps,” Ulaz said slowly, “it would be a good idea for us to visit.”

Worry immediately flared in Keiths chest. “No.” he said firmly. “Not right now.”

The silence on the other side of the phone was stunned. Never had he refused their company so forcefully before.

“Keith,” Ulaz asked.

“Whats going on?” Thace finished.

Keith sighed. “Hunters.” he said simply.

“Hunters?”

“And vampires?”

“And bears oh my."

“Hush Thace. Kit what are you talking about?“

Slowly Keith begins to explain.

When he finished Ulaz hummed into his ear and he could hear Thace laugh somewhere beyond him. “It will never cease to amaze me, the amount of trouble you find yourself in.”

“You and me both,” Keith admits with a sigh.

Thace snorts. “Well at least you’re self aware,” he mutters ruefully. “But by the gods Keith, a hunter? Of all people?”

Before Keith can say anything in his defence—though honesty what would he even say—he hears the soft thump of Ulaz cuffing Thace lightly over the head. “Hush love. You know as well as I do that matters of the heart are rarely straight forward or even under our control.”

“Thank’s Ulaz,” Keith mutters quietly.

“Oh, Kit.” Thace sounds apologetic and Keith can picture the expression on his face with ease. “I didn’t mean anything by it and you have to admit that its…surprising at best. We’re there really no signs at all?”

Keith though long and hard and, slowly, shook his head. “None,” he says honestly. “He never carried the scent of a hunters weapons on him. No pine, no brass, not even silver.”

“Perhaps this can be a good thing,” Ulaz murmurs. “It may be enough to keep you above suspicion, especially if you say that there’s another vampire in your town.”

“Thats an idea,” Thace said. “Let them take care of your problem. It would serve them right, especially if they are Garrison.”

Something clicked into place. Keith ran his tongue over his teeth and felt the sharp points of his fangs and went over the idea even as the other two descended into quiet mutterings.

Let them take care of your problem.

And maybe that was it?

“What are the odds,” Keith began slowly, feeling his theory out as he spoke, “that this was the Carpathian's plan?”

There was silence. “…What do you mean?” Thace asked, hesitant.

“I thought it was strange,” Keith began, “that the Carpathian came out of nowhere. It wasn't turned here, I’ve kept an eye out when the attacks started and while people turned up dead, there weren’t any missing people in town. There were no signs of attacks in any of the closest cities and there should have been.” Animals left tracks after all; human, or vampire it was all the same. “It was half mad Thace, eating like it was starved.”

“You’re thinking it was sent there?” Thace asked, thoughtful.

“I’m thinking it was set loose here,” Keith corrected. “The amount of trouble it caused? There was no way hunters wouldn’t notice.”

There was a raspy hum from Ulaz and then, “That would make sense. They have been trying to get rid of you for an age. I doubt they thought just one of their kind could take you out but if they thought the Garrison would have better luck...” Ulaz trailed off into silence as the three of them thought it over.

If the Carpathian's thought that the Garrison would have better luck killing Keith, then sending one of their own to die would have been a pittance, especially one that was so obviously off the deep end. There were so many Carpathian's that the older ones viewed the newly turned as expendable foot soldiers. They were easy to make, easy to manipulate.

And it was easy for Keith to kill them; easy knowing that once turned, a Carpathian lost something that other strains didn't, that capacity for love or kindness or unselfish acts. There was a reason why they were generally despised amongst the others.

If there were true monsters amongst vampires then Carpathian's were it.

They were fuelled by greed and lust for power and were every bad vampire stereotype bundled into one homicidal package.

Most other strains tried to avoid them.

And now, thanks to the Garrison there were too many to fight, a plague in all but name, outnumbering most others 20 to 1.

Keith had made a name for himself for his habit of killing any and all he came across. There were few things that brought him as much joy as ruining their plans or wiping out their nests.

He had an advantage over them that sheer numbers couldn't beat; his ability to withstand sunlight, his invulnerability to wood and fire. The knowledge of his weaknesses was something he’d kept close to his chest over the years and he’d killed the one hunter who’d been unlucky enough to figure it out.

“Theres something else,” Keiths adds hesitantly.

“More about the hunters?” Thace asks gently.

“No.” Keith sits there, silent and they let him. When Keith speaks again he sounds subdued to his own ears. “Have you ever heard of anything…inducing bloodlust?”

“Inducing?” Thace sounds bewildered and Ulaz has gone deathly silent.

“Yeah.” Keith sucks his lip into his mouth and remembers being hunched over in the shower, tearing through his own lip. “Something happened…”

“Keith.” Ulaz sounds stiff which is his way of sounding worried. “Tell me everything.”

And Keith does. He tells them of the hunger that had struck him, of the way animal blood didn't sate it. He told them of the way he’d crashed afterwards, the sudden absence of hunger sending him on a downward spiral.

And throughout his recount he heard Thace make small sounds of disbelief and concern and Ulaz stayed disconcertingly quiet.

When he finally ran out of things to tell them, he shrugged his own shoulders helplessly. “I know I can live off animal blood a lot longer than what I managed. The more I’ve been thinking about it, it sounds like a bad drug trip. A weird fevered high and then a crushing low. I just—“ Keith faltered. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

“How severe was it,” Ulaz asked, clinical. “Compared to the other time you experienced bloodlust?”

Keith shudders. “Not quite as bad. I was basically an animal then but this time ‘round I was able to think, more or less, but it was definitely the same feeling at its core.”

Ulaz hums and Keith can hear Thace make an inquiring sound.

“There’s been whispers,” Ulaz said slowly, parsing out his own thoughts. “That the Carpathian's have been working on something.”

“Aren't they always,” Thace mutters bitterly.

“Working on what exactly,” Keith prompts.

“A torture device honestly,” Ulaz replies and a wash of cold runs down Keiths spine as Ulaz continues. “Something capable of driving a vampire insane. I’d heard talk from some of our friends up north many many years ago—of vampires going missing and that it wasn't the Garrison doing the vanishing.”

“You think the Carpathian's took them.”

“I do,” Ulaz confirms. “There was one story I heard in particular. About thirty years ago, one of the old Roman strains went missing only to reappear two towns over. The vampires already there had to put him down,” Ulaz said and Keith went still. “Apparently, he was completely feral when they found him.”

“Like the Carpathian that was released here.” Keith says with an encroaching sense of dread.

“Yes,” Ulaz pauses and Keith can practically hear his thoughts buzzing. “Did anything unusual happen before the craving started?”

Keith blinked and thought of Shiro and then immediately decided that wasn't what Ulaz was thinking about. “I was just at work.” Keith frowned. “Had to stick around because I had a custo—“ Keith froze in place, jaw creaking and eyes flashing. He heard twin sounds of worry come through the phone and then realised that it was creaking in his grip.

Hastily he let go and snarled. “I had a customer come by, acting shady as fuck. I tried to get rid of him soon as possible but he—“ Keith cut himself off with s vicious swear.

Keith hadn't heard him coming. He’d written that off as him being agitated and distracted but what if he literally hadn't been making a sound. No heartbeat. Sendak hadn't left a scent.

Fuck.

“I don't suppose you know if they also have something that can hide their scent, do you?”

Thace snorted. “If they can come up with something that can induce bloodlust in a vampire to the point of sending them feral, they can probably come up with a scent blocker.” Keith closed his eyes. “Those bastards are always meddling with shit they shouldn't.”

“You’re thinking this customer of yours was a Carpathian.”

“Yeah. Didn't hear him or smell him coming and he disappeared like a fuckin’ ghost afterwards.”

“How did he dose you though?” Thace wondered.

Keith thinks back to that night; the sounds and the smells of the desert. He thinks back to the silence that tipped him off and then the sounds that followed, the soft footfalls and the quiet, sinister sound of scraping against glass.

“He had something with him,” Keith says in a rush. “Something he he brought with him, held in glass— he mustuv’—“ Keith lets his head thunk back with a groan. “He slipped it into my coffee.” he hissed.

Thace hummed. “Yeah, that’d do it. That stuff you like is bitter as hell, you wouldn't have been able to taste anything added to it.”

“What did you say his name was?” Ulaz asked.

Keiths lip curled. “Sendak Faust, was the name he gave us.”

“Well,” Thace says after a moment, “that sound extremely fake and also thematically appropriate.”

That startles a laugh out of Keith and he suspects thats why Thace said it in the first place. Thace always said he needed to laugh more.

“I wonder why it didn't turn me feral like the others,” Keith wondered quietly.

Keith heard the rustle of fabric as Thace shrugged. “You’re an American Vampire, kid. First of your kind and one of two to exist in total. Who knows why anything happens the way it does to you. Out of curiosity,” Thace said, “when did the symptoms end?”

“This morning,” Keith said softly. He looked to the sunlight around him “It all went away when I got myself into the sun.”

“Thats probably not something they could have planned for.” Thace said consideringly. “You really are unique when it comes to matters of UV light,” he finishes, dry and amused.

“I’ll keep an ear to the ground for news on this, Keith.” Ulaz said gravely. “And I’ll let you know if I hear anything as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Ulaz.” Keith says, grateful.

“Be careful Keith,” Ulaz said gravely and Keiths throat grew tight as he heard Thace echo his partner.

“I’ll try my best,” Keith rasped out because in the end that was all he could offer.

The way neither of them tried to get a promise for more out of him told him that they knew that.

They lapsed back into silence and Keith closed his eyes against the sun and let himself listen to the sounds of them moving around their home. Thace had put the phone down but hadn't hung up and he could hear them talking softly to each other, moving around each other in their small kitchen.

They could afford a bigger space but Keith knew that they preferred the close quarters.

It went on like that for a while, long enough for shadows to shift with the sun and set his spot on the fire escape into partial shade. He finished the rest of his cigarette to the sound of Thace discussing his students and Ulaz telling stories of his shifts at the hospital.

Apparently betting pools on inter-hospital relationships are a thing that exist beyond bad tv sitcoms and Keith could have happily gone the rest of his existence without knowing that.

There was something in his gut that was urging him to stay on the phone just a little while longer, to linger at the fringes while he could. He got the impression that they could feel it too, the more they put off sending him on his way.

It was like they didn't want to say goodbye.

Some small part of him wondered if he’d get another chance to do this, let alone visit them and their home again. As much as he longed to say that everything would be fine he knew it might not be and he knew that they knew it too.

xXx

“You know I was always under the impression that you didn't get sick.”

Keith looked up to see Rolo perched on the counter like some kind of demented gargoyle and promptly tossed a small bolt at him.

“Get down from there you animal,” he mutters around the screwdriver clenched in his teeth. He looked back down at what he was doing and there was the thudding sound of Rolo dropping to the ground.

“Just sayin’ man.” A bottle of water appears in his vision and with a sigh, Keith drops the screwdriver and pushes himself away from his work, taking it with a grateful nod. “Three years we’ve known you and you’ve never called in sick, let alone just not come in at all.”

The heat in the shop was edging into obscene even with the A/C on high. Rolo sinks down onto the floor, disregarding the chairs in favour of the cool cement and Keith followed with a groan.

Keith shrugged a shoulder. “Had to happen eventually, I suppose.” Keith took a drink and let himself enjoy the cold water. “Sorry about the no warning thing though, didn't mean to worry you. Just kinda came outta nowhere and knocked me on my ass.”

“But you’re okay now right?” Keith can see the concern digging itself in around the corner of Rolo’s eyes and he feels the swell of affection in his chest for the lanky man.

“Yeah,” he says softly, picking at the label on the bottle, “Yeah I’m good now.”

“Good,” Rolo says after a moment. “Thats good to hear man. I think Nyma was about to march her way up to your apartment just to make sure you were still alive when you messaged.”

“Would have been a long trip for nothin’ then,” Keith said, faintly amused by the mental image. “I keep my doors locked.”

Rolo waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, we woulda’ just picked the locks,” he says with a bright grin and Keith huffs out a laugh.

“Of course you would have,” Keith mutters good-naturedly.

They lapse back into comfortable silence, the heat sapping any will to keep working from the both of them. Not that there was much to do, Keith noted. The only major thing to complete was Sendak's vehicle and for now Keith was content to not touch that with a ten foot pole. Everything else was just small bits of tinkering that had no due by date, more for pleasure than anything else.

Keith let his eyes drift over the shop before coming to rest on Rolo. He was lying back against the floor and his long fingers were picking out a rhythm. Keith tilted his head to the side, counting out the pattern and grinned.

“Working on something new?” He asked and when Rolo looked at him confused he nodded towards his hands.

Rolo laughed. “Oh, yeah. Nyma wants something new to play and I’ve had this tune stuck in my head for a few days.”

“Oh?” Keith raises an eyebrow and, obligingly, Rolo whistles out the tune.

“Sounds very…western.” Keith says dryly.

Rolo shrugs as best he can while lying down. “When in Rome and all that. Might not stay that way but gotta start somewhere.”

Keith nods. “Fair enough.”

He startles slightly when Rolo sits upright, a smirking grin on his lips.

“What’s that look for?” he asks suspicious. Nothing good had ever come from Rolo having that look on his face.

The grin widens. “You sing, right?” Rolo asks practically vibrating in place.

Keith blinks and then scowls. “I don’t.” he says flatly.

“Yeah you do, I’ve heard you singing to yourself before.” Keith can feel himself flush and glares darkly at Rolo when the man chuckles at him. “Just sayin’ man, you got a good voice. Maybe you can sing it for me when its finished. Bet Nyma would love that.”

Keith sighs and lets himself fall back. “Of course she would,” he mutters.

“Her birthdays comin’ up,” Rolo mentions casually and Keith rolls his eyes skyward.

Keith debates with himself for a moment before deflating. “I’ll think about it,” he says and takes a sort of vindictive pleasure in the way Rolo’s eyes widen in shock.

Keith is saved from any further discussion when his phone chimes with a message. Rolo goes back to counting out bars as Keith fishes his phone from his pocket.

4:46 PM: feeling better???

Keith blinks at the message from Shiro and doesn't bother trying to crush the glow of warm relief in his chest. It had been two days since Keiths call with Thace and Ulaz and Keith hadn't heard from Shiro since the two messages that morning.

4:47 PM: yeah, feeling a lot better. Back at work rn as well

He lets his phone drop to his chest and resolutely ignores the way Rolo’s fingers have gone still.

It takes a few minutes for Shiro to reply and Keith can feel his heart beat tick up in a pavlovian response.

4:50 PM: is it ok if i call u?

Keith sits up, frowning slightly at how vaguely ominous that sounds. Before he can reply two more messages come through in quick succession, almost as if Shiro had felt him panicking.

4:51 PM: dont worry nothing bad just want to hear you

4:51 PM: i mean only if you're not busy or anything i dont want to bother you

Keith lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding and bites back the small relieved grin he can feel forming on his face. In his periphery, Rolo is still suspiciously still.

He looks up from his phone and squints at Rolo who merely smiles at him innocently.

Keith distrusts that look immediately. Rolo has never been innocent a day in his life.

Pointedly he looks away and hits call.

Shiro answers the phone almost before it has time to ring.

“Keith,” he breathes. “Hi.”

This time Keith cant fight the small grin. “Hey Shiro.” Without looking at him Keith tosses rolo the finger as the man makes a small sound.

“Well you definitely sound a lot better now,” Shiro muses and, yeah, Keith doesn’t doubt that.

“Feel a lot better and look a lot better too,” Keith says and shuffles until his back is leaning against the wall.

“Come on now Keith, you always look great.”

Keith chokes slightly and stammers slightly. “Cant fuckin’ say shit like that, jesus Shiro.” and on the other end of the line Shiro laughs lightly.

“Sure I can,” he teases. “Especially when it's true.” Then suddenly, like a switch as been flicked, Shiro’s voice turns serious. “Hey Keith?”

“Yeah Shiro?” Keith asks, hesitantly.

Theres the sound of Shiro taking a deep breath and Keiths stomach twists unpleasantly. “Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks eventually and Keith blinks.

“Tomorrow? No, I’m not doing anything, why?”

“So you’re not working or anything?” Shiro asks, oddly insistent.

“Nope,” Keith fidgets slightly, picking at his fingers. There’s motor oil under his nails again despite not having actually gone near an engine today. “Rolo and Nyma barely agreed to let me work today. I think if i’d tried to work tomorrow I would have had a mutiny on my hands.”

Shiro doesn't laugh like he’d hoped he would only hums consideringly. “Good, thats good.” he seemingly mutters to himself.

Keith swallows. “Shiro?”

“Oh, right.” Shiro says, bashful. “I was just wondering if you would want to spend the day with me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Keith repeats blankly.

“Or tonight?” Shiro adds carefully and Keith freezes slightly. “You don’t have to if you don't want to of course,” Shiro rushes to add in the face of the ensuing silence. “If you want to just go home after work then thats fine, we can just do lunch tomorrow? O-or not at all, we don't have to do anything you don't want to, I just.”

Shiro takes a moment to breathe and it reminds Keith to do the same.

“I just. Would like to spend some time with you is all,” Shiro gets out eventually. His voice is small. “Would like to see you’re really okay with my own two eyes I guess.” He laughs and it's not a happy laugh and Keith hates that with an immediate passion.

“I can come over tonight.” Keith says immediately and there’s another small sound that comes from Rolo. He ignores him with steadfast dedication. “I can even bring that hammer with me if you like? Unless you managed to knock all those nails in with the wrench like you planned.”

God Keith hopes he waited.

This time when Shiro laughs its amused. “No, I just kinda left it. It's still sitting in a pile; Matt keeps giving me shit for it.”

“Oh.” Keith thinks of Matt, pushes past the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and nods to himself. He can see that. “Well, I can definitely bring one. You can even have it, not like we don't have plenty laying around the place.”

Shiro makes a small sound. “Wont that get you into trouble?” He sounds genuinely concerned and it takes a few seconds for it to click for Keith.

He snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m not gonna get in trouble for taking a hammer, trust me.”

“Oh well—“ Shiro flounders slightly on the other end, and Keith smiles again, endeared. “That would be great actually. But only if you’re sure.” He hastens to add. “What time would you want to come over?”

Keith leans forward to check the time and catches sight of Rolo hastily dropping his own phone. They stare at each other for a second, Rolo with that same innocent expression on his face, before Keith shakes his head sharply. Whatever it is, he’ll find out eventually, probably in some inconvenient way.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Keith hums. “Should be done here by 5:15.” He sees Rolo mouth thank god to himself and gives him the finger again. “Slow day,” he continues, “so we’re not staying back late. Should be at your place around 6 if I walk quick enough.”

“Or,” Shiro breaks in hesitantly. “I could pick you up?”

“Pick me up?” Keith repeats. “You want to pick me up from work?”

He can see Rolo frantically typing away at his phone and a feeling of dread runs down his spine.

“I’m out at the moment anyway, shouldn't take me too long to get there.” Shiro says confidently. “That way you don't have to walk back in the heat.”

“I thought you liked me tired and sweaty,” Keith adds absently, now glaring at Rolo.

Shiro chokes and Keith thinks about what he said and then shrugs after a moments consideration. It's not like he’s lying after all.

“Yeah well,” Shiro says, sounding strangled but not denying it. “Still would like to pick you up. If you want me to of course.”

Keith bites his lip and then grins slightly. “Yeah sure, you can come pick me up.”

“Great,” Shiro sighs happily. “I’ll see you soon, baby.”

Keith says goodbye, distracted because Rolo is now grinning at him, innocent face overtaken by something that reminds Keith disconcertingly of a shark.

“What did you do?” He asks suspiciously.

“Nothing.” Rolo says back, standing and stretching. He reaches out a hand for Keith to take, and after a moment he does, letting the taller man haul him to his feet. “Gonna start cleaning up if we’re leavin’ early bossman.”

Keith nods, still suspicious.

He goes to clean up his own space when Rolo, half out of the room calls back to him,

“Nyma’s picking me up by the way.”

“Wait what,” Keith asks, whipping around but Rolo’s already gone. He can hear him laughing though and Keith wonders desperately if its too late to call Shiro back and tell him not to come.

xXx

Keith blinks and its 5:05.

Rolo is waiting across from him, swivelling himself around on his chair and far too cheerful for a man about to be murdered.

“I cant believe you told Nyma to come here,” he hisses.

He can, in fact, believe that Rolo told Nyma to pick him up and by the shit eating grin Rolo sends him, Rolo knows that too.

“Aww don't be cross, bossman,” comes a deceptively sweet voice and fuck, Keith must be loosing his edge since people keep sneaking up on him lately. He turns slowly and Nyma walks in through the door. Theres a sparkle in her eye that tells him that he isn't going to like whatever comes out of her mouth next.

“We just want to meet the man in your life is all. Seeing him through the window of a diner can only provide so much.”

Keith changes his mind. Nyma’s the one about to be murdered.

“Is this really necessary,” he grits out.

“Yes,” Nyma says simply and breezes past him to sit on Rolo’s lap.

Keith sighs and feel a bit of his soul go with it. “At least tell me that you’re not going to give him the shovel talk,” he mutters, coming over to heave himself up onto the desk.

Rolo shakes his head and Nyma snorts derisively. “Of course not.” She twists slightly to get a better look at him and whatever she sees makes her soften. “We’re not going to try and scare him off bossman,” she reassures. “We just want to see him.”

“Not our place to tell you who you can and cant date,” Rolo adds with a shrug. “You’re a grown man.”

Keith considers them both for a moment. They look back at him and Keith can tell they’re sincere and in the face of that he softens slightly.

“Wow,” Nyma murmurs. “You really do like him, huh.”

Keith picks at his fingers before clenching them tight. “Yeah,” he says, looking down. “He’s nice.”

And maybe to anyone else that wouldn't have meant much but Rolo and Nyma must pick up on what he meant. They look at each other and then at him and they smile.

“Thats good,” Nyma says softly. She stands and stops in front of him and reaches up to gently smooth a strand of his hair back. “Its good that he’s nice.”

Nyma eventually drags over another chair and they spend the next few minutes trying to out cheat each other in poker. They don't play for stakes so much as they play in an attempt to distract Keith which he’s grateful for.

The clock ticks over and it barely hits quarter past when Keith hears a car pulling up out front.

He cant help it, he freezes stock still and whatever look he has on his face has Nyma reaching out to quickly squeeze at his hands and at her side, Rolo nods at him.

The door to the shop opens soundlessly.

“Keith?” Shiro calls.

He turns in time to catch him walk in through the door and watches in the grin spread over his face in real time as he spots Keith.

“Hi Keith,” Shiro says, with a small grin and only then does he seems to notice Rolo and Nyma. “Oh,” Shiro blinks and straightens slightly. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Rolo drawls and Nyma waves with the hand that isn't holding her cards. “You must be Shiro.”

“We’ve heard about you,” Nyma says, frowning as she tosses a card with a flick of her wrist.

Keith doesn't say anything but he does send Shiro a quick grin before closing his own cards with a snap. Rolo groans and Nyma huffs as they lay down their own cards.

“I could have won that hand,” Rolo mutters under his breath and Nyma just laughs.

“No you wouldn't have,” she says adoringly. “I have both the queens and I’m pretty sure Keith has all the aces up his sleeve.” She pauses. “Literally, I mean.”

Without saying anything, Keith fishes the four cards out from his sleeve and flicks them at Rolo, one by one.

“Oh fuck you both,” Rolo groans.

“Just learn to cheat better,” Keith advises and he stands, turning to face Shiro.

Shiro is staring at the three of them, wide eyed and a little confused. “You’re playing poker?” He asks and then shakes his head. He squints at them. “No, you’re cheating at poker. Why?”

“Because it's more fun.” Keith says simply and before he can talk himself out of it he darts forward to press his lips against Shiro’s. “Hi.” he whispers against his lips.

He feels Shiro grin and pulls back slightly so he can look at him. There’s a faint dusting of red over the bridge of his nose, his grey eyes are lit up and he’s looking down at Keith adoringly.

“Hi Keith,” he says again.

Behind him Keith feels Nyma and Rolo moving and decided he doesn't want to know. He does pull away properly and cant pretend that the small distressed sound Shiro makes at the move doesn’t make his heart skip.

Keith clears his throat and gestures to two behind him.

“These two are Rolo and Nyma,” he introduces. “They’re the other employees here.”

Shiro reaches out and to Keiths surprise, shakes their hands with a faint smile.

“Pleasure,” Shiro says and he sounds genuine in that. Rolo and Nyma also seem to pick up on that because, when they grin, it also seems sincere.

“Good to finally meet you man,” Rolo says. “Its nice to put a face to the name and all that.”

Nyma nods. “Maybe you can finally convince Keith to come out with us,” she adds teasingly. “Do you play pool by any chance?”

And yeah no, Keith senses danger.

“How about you don't try to take all his money,” Keith suggests.

Nyma scoffs lightly. “For all you know,” she grouses, “he might be the best pool player we’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” Rolo says laughing slightly. He looks at Shiro. “Come on man, whaddya say? Pool or poker one night.”

“We can go to the bar,” Nyma says consideringly. She brightens. “It could be like a double date.”

Before Keith can figure a way out of this Shiro laughs, and betrays him. “Sure, sounds fun. I’m lousy at poker and pool though.” He add with a self-deprecating smile.

Nyma waves him off. “I’m sure Keith can help you with that. He’d be a wonderful teacher.” Her eyes glint and she grins at Keith with teeth. “Very hands on, I’m sure.”

The urge to murder her comes back but it's softened by the way Shiro actually blushes at that. Filing that away for later Keith fixes Rolo and Nyma with a glare, swiping the hammer off the table.

“We’re outta here,” he says. “Have fun locking up.”

Keith grabs Shiro by the arm and tows him around the desk and out of the workshop, ignoring the groans coming from the two behind him.

Stepping out into the night air is a relief. Its not cool but there’s a breeze and the last bit of tension in Keith drifts from him like smoke. They slide into Shiro’s car and head off home.

“They seem like characters,” Shiro says after a while.

Keith snorts. Thats an understatement if he’s ever heard one. “Yeah. They’re good people.” He says with a smile. “I’d suggest counting your fingers after shaking hands but you couldn’t ask for better friends.”

Shiro make a small amused sound in the back of his throat. “How long have you known them?”

“Three years,” Keith says easily.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’ve been working with me for most of that time, some of the best mechanics I know.”

“I wonder if they’d like to meet Hunk,” Shiro says consideringly.

“Maybe,” Keith gets out after finally placing the name to one of Shiro’s friends—one of his team. He runs his tongue over his teeth and then continues. “To be honest though, they mainly work here because the hours are flexible and the pay is good. Given the chance they’d probably both prefer to do something in music.”

“Music?” Shiro repeats, sounding surprised.

Keith nods. “Nyma plays violin, a bit of piano too I think but they haven't got one at the moment.” He thinks of the times he’d seen them play on the small rickety stage in the bar and the few times they’d convinced him to join in with one of their old guitars. “Rolo seems to play a bit of everything and he’s good at composing too.”

“Huh.”

“That surprise you,” Keith asks teasingly. “Didn't expect to find talent out here in the ass end of nowhere?”

Shiro laughs, abashed. “Kinda,” he admits. He looks at the road in front of them and then at Keith from the corner of his eye. He reaches out his hand and takes Keiths from where it’s sitting on his thigh. “But i’m learning that there’s plenty of amazing things hidden out here in the desert.”

Keith doesn't respond but he does curl their fingers together and that might be enough in and of itself.

xXx
xXx

Keith wakes with a start.

At some point he’d drifted away from Shiro. With the size of the bed it was easy to do but Keith had gotten used to Shiro curling around him in the night.

Keith shivered slightly.

Shiro had the habit of sleeping under the softest warmest blanket Keith had ever felt with the A/C turned to freezing. That blanket was now half off the bed and tangled around Shiro’s legs.

Keith sat up blearily.

Something had woken him up and not the cold. It takes a few moments for him to hear it again and when he does he freezes.

A whimper.

Slowly, Keith turns to look at Shiro.

He’s curled up on himself at the very edge of the bed and while his face is turned away Keith can smell the distress coming from him. He twitches slightly in his sleep, a flinch maybe and Keith drags in a breath and scoots back until he’s sitting up against the headboard.

Shiro makes another small sound, something hurt and scared and Keith has to force himself to breath.

Keith doesn't know if he should touch him. He wants to, wants to drag him closer into his arms and soothe away the dreams but Keith doesn't know how he would react to touch; doesn't know if Shiro would remember falling asleep with Keith.

Another sound and Keiths fists clench in his lap.

They hadn't talked about this but he’s beginning to think that maybe they should have. Keith had assumed that whatever Shiro went through to take his arm, give him those scars and the shockingly white hair would have left a mark deeper than the physical. It was just, for some reason, he had never really thought he would see it.

Maybe he’d just never thought that they would make it here, that Keith would be welcome in Shiro’s bed like this.

But now Keith was and he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

Hesitantly, he shifted closer stopping just as he began to feel the barest hint of the other mans warmth. He stayed sitting for now and cast about for what to do.

A shudder went through the man next to him and Keith let his head tilt back with a soft thunk.

Softly he began to hum.

The song comes to him like a lavender tinted dream. There are no words, not that he can remember but he’s almost positive that there had been, once, before age had stolen them from him. At his side, Shiro seems to breathe easier and he uncurls ever so slightly. Encouraged, Keith continued.

There was a press of warmth against his thigh and Keith falters slightly. He looks down and Shiro has uncurled completely, his back now pressed in a line of fire against him. Hesitantly, he reaches out and lightly presses his hand against the skin of his shoulder.

Shiro seems to sigh, and like he’d been waiting for a sign, he rolls over to face Keith.

Keith lets his hand hover for a moment before reaching out again to run his fingers gently through silver hair.

He’s not certain but he thinks his mother had sung this song to him. There was no way to confirm that thought of course, everyone aside from Keith who might have been able to tell him for certain was both dead and gone, some for longer than others.

It doesn't really matter though, he thinks.

Keith keeps up the soft strokes even as his own eyes begin to grow heavy. Shiro at least seems to settle completely, breathing deep and even and the scent of distress in the air is merely old and lingering.

Keith lets his eyes drift close.

xXx

Keith wakes slower the second time.

It takes a few seconds for him to realise that he’s lying down. Odd, he could have sworn that he passed out while still sitting up.There’s a weight over his waist and this time none of the uncomfortable cold. He stretches slightly and turns into the warmth, chasing it with the same single minded devotion that he does the sun.

There’s a rumble from under him. A soft laugh.

“Good morning, Keith.”

“S’not mornin’ if I’m not awake,” Keith croaks and pressed his face harder Shiro’s chest.

“Fair enough,” Shiro says softly and a hand comes up to run itself through Keith hair.

It feels good, Shiro working his fingers through the knots that had formed, always so careful when he put his hands on Keith. Keith hums under the sensation and Shiro’s hands pause slightly before continuing.

It goes like that for a while, just lazing about in bed in a way that Keith had never really managed to enjoy before. Shiro’s warmth and his hands are enough to lull him almost back to sleep and Keith is aware of the fact that neither of them have obligations.

They could actually do it, he realised with a slow curl of warmth. If they wanted to they could spend the entire day in bed together.

“Hey Keith?” Shiro’s hand scratches at the nape of his neck lightly and Keith shivers.

“Mmm?” He manages to get out.

The hands on him slow and then stop completely. Keith cant stop the small sound of displeasure he lets out and Shiro huffs beneath him. The hands come back, but this time while one cradles the back of his neck the other runs down his shoulders and his spine in long luxurious sweeps.

Keith shivers again at the feeling of the broad hand stroking down his back. The touch fills him with an aching sort of pleasure, simple as it is.

He remembers reading once that humans needed physical contact to thrive. Touch starvation, he thinks it was called. He wonders is vampires could suffer from such a thing and if they did, then surely he must have had it. There’s no other explanation for this to feel as good as it does otherwise.

“Did you…” Shiro pauses and under him, Keith hears his normally steady heartbeat skip slightly.

Frowning now, Keith shifts just enough that he can look up at Shiro.

He doesn't look tired but there’s something else in the beloved planes of his face. Keith cant get a read on it.

“Shiro?” he shifts enough to free a hand and runs his fingertips over the cut of his jaw. “Whats wrong?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Nothings wrong baby, just.” He swallows and lets his head fall back against the pillow, hiding his eyes from Keiths sight. “Last night did I—“

Keith presses a fleeting kiss to Shiro’s collarbone. He thinks he knows what this is about and he stays silent, waiting him out.

“Did you sing to me last night?” Shiro’s voice is small and tired but there’s something else running through it like an undercurrent, deep and strong.

Keith swallows. “Yes.” He whispers into the curve of a bone.

The hand running down his back stills again only to suddenly tighten around him. Keith finds himself being enfolded into the curve of his body and like this Keith feels small. Keith likes it more than he should.

Shiro buries his face against the crown of Keiths head and just breathes. Keith twists his hips slightly and Shiro makes an almost animal sound of protest but Keith merely curls his legs around Shiro’s, tugging him into the cradle of his thighs.

They settle like that together and Keith is far too awake now to drift back into sleep but finds that he wouldn’t want to anyway.

Shiro stays like that for a while, burying himself in Keith and Keith welcomes it.

Eventually though Shiro shifts until he can bury his face into the crook of Keiths neck.

“Thank you.” He presses the words into his skin and Keith rubs a palm over the nape of his neck.

“No need to thank me.” Keith had been happy to do it, happy to help even in such a small way.

Shiro shakes his head. “There’s every reason to thank you.” He nuzzles lightly into Keiths neck and then sighs. “They cling,” Shiro admits quietly. “The nightmares, I mean. Even if I wake myself up, they’re still there.”

And Keith gets that. He thinks back on every time he’d woken up from a nightmare only to still feel it on him afterwards; memories and dreams blending into one potent cocktail.

“They didn't stick last night.” Shiro mumbles into his skin.

Its Keiths turn to look back at the ceiling. “Thats good,” he says softly playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Thats good.” He repeats softly and then he turns his head to press a kiss against the first bit of Shiro he can.

“You’re not going to ask?”

Keith blinks. “Would that help?” he asks curiously.

Shiro hums. “I don't know.” He admits. “Never tried it.”

Keith presses another kiss to Shiro’s head, a more lingering one this time. “If you want to tell me, you can.”

Shiro doesn't say anything but he does try to bury himself even closer to Keith. Keith welcomes it and lets his eyes close even if the promise of sleep is long gone. His internal clock tells him that its still early morning yet and he was warm with no where else to be.

Shiro’s heart beat in a solid rhythm and it was easy to let himself drift to that.

xXx

“Its always dark in the dreams.”

Keith looks up from where he’s slumped over the coffee Shiro had given him. Its no Sals but its black and strong and Keith finds that he likes it well enough.

Shiro has his back to him, washing the dishes with a single mindedness that would be impressive if it wasn't so concerning. He looks like he’s about to wear a hole through the plate he’s washing but before Keith can say anything, Shiro is dropping the plate into the sink with a soft clatter.

He hunches slightly, gripping the edges of the basin and it clicks, what Shiro said.

Keith takes a small sip of his coffee and waits.

“Its always dark.” Shiro repeats to the sink. “Always smells like blood and animal and I can never move. Cant speak.” His grip tightens but he catches himself quickly.

Keith runs his finger over the rim of his mug. “Are you alone?”

“Sometimes.” Shiro shakes his head. “Most of the time.” He straightens and Keith can see him folding his arms in front of himself. From behind it looks almost like a hug. “Sometimes the people who come are bad,” he says quietly enough that Keith actually has to strain to hear him. “But sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” Keith prompts gently, when it becomes clear that Shiro wasn't going to continue on his own.

Shiro shrugs and turns and Keith watches as Shiro switches his grip to his wrist. He’s looking down at the floor now, still avoiding Keiths eyes but Keith doesn't let that bother him. Sometimes it was easier to talk about something if you weren't looking at the person you were telling it to.

“There was someone.” Shiro’s grip tightens and then relaxes. “Someone who helped me. I don't remember his face but I remember his voice.” He trails off slightly as if caught in a memory. “I think he told me his name but I don't remember it. I don't remember a lot.”

He seems to shake himself awake. “They’re memories,” Shiro says eventually. “Not just dreams.” Keith had suspected that but to hear it confirmed makes something go tight in his chest.

“Do you think I’m scared of ghosts?” Shiro asks absently.

Keith thinks about the scars they both carry and the way bad memories linger like phantasms. “I would be.” he says honestly and then amends, “I am.”

He waits a moment but it seems like Shiro is done talking this time. He pushes his coffee away from himself and stands, cracking his back with a sigh. He walk and come to a stop in front of Shiro and waits till he looks up.

Carefully, watching for a sign he’s not welcome, Keith raises both hands to frame his face. Shiro just watches him, a strange light in his grey eyes. Keith gently sweeps his thumbs under his eyes and Shiro lets his eyes drift shut.

Keith pulls Shiro down slightly, meeting him halfway by standing on his toes. He presses a kiss over each eyelid in a move that rings familiar to Keith.

Had his dad done that for him? His mother? Keith doesn't remember any more.

Shiro sighs and sways forward catching himself against Keith. “I’m glad you decided to sing last night.”

Keith smiles lopsidedly. “I’ll sing for you every night if you want.”

Shiro huffs out a laugh against Keiths hair. “You would, would you?”

Keith nods seriously and unconsciously sets them swaying. “Of course. Any requests.”

Shiro noses into Keiths hair, pretending to think. “Something happy.”

Keiths runs through the songs he knows and then smiles.

“I'm an alligator, I'm a mama-papa coming for you,” he warbles and Shiro snorts suddenly, muffling his laughter in Keiths hair. He preens slightly in response, getting the exact reaction he’d been hoping for.

“Hey Keith?” Shiro asks quietly just as he makes to continue. Keith tilts his head back to look at Shiro. “Stay for tomorrow as well?” he murmurs, tone hopeful and not commanding in any way.

Keith swallows. “Yeah sure,” he says. “‘Course I can Shiro.” They sway together in the kitchen and Keith lets his eyes shut.

“I'm the space invader, I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you…”

xXx

Keith doesn't think he’s ever spent so much of a weekend in bed before.

Its only late afternoon but Shiro had dragged him back into the bedroom with a startling eagerness and then made sure to keep Keith there. He aches but its a good ache and he stretches like a cat, feeling his spine crack.

He could hear the sound of Shiro in the bathroom, water in the shower running. Keith thought about joining him but the prospect of moving was as unappealing to him now as it was five minutes ago.

The shower stops and a minute later Shiro comes out, towel drying his hair. He tosses the wet towel into the hamper with impressive aim.

“Ten outta ten,” Keith drawls and Shiro mock bows before climbing into the bed beside Keith.

He stays sitting up, back against the headboard in an inverse of the night before but infinitely more pleasant. Shiro’s finger card through Keith’s long hair delicately, every once in a while stopping to fiddle with an ink black strand.

“How’s your hair so soft?” Shiro sounds wondering and pleased and Keith nuzzles into the thigh by his face.

“Genetics, probably.” Keith yawn and feels his jaw click. “Should probably braid it before I sleep,” he mutters fuzzily.

The fingers still again and then tug lightly, catching his attention. “Can I do it for you?”

Keith looks up at Shiro in surprise.

“You know how to braid?”

Shiro shrugs with a faint smile on his lips. “I have a friend with long hair, she used to make me help her with it whenever she had an event she had to go to.”

“Huh.” Shiro looks faintly embarrassed but earnest in his request and honestly Keith would be a fool to say no.

Instead of replying verbally, Keith forces himself up and gives his back to Shiro. There’s a sharp inhale from behind him but Keith pays that no mind; instead he just takes a moment to gather his hair and lay it down his back.

When Shiro makes no move to start Keith looks back over his shoulder. Shiro is staring at him, a look on his face that Keith cant place. “Shiro?” He asks, concern stirring in his gut.

Shiro shakes his head and scoots forward, crossing his legs and settling in behind Keith. Those large hands work their way into his hair and Keith hums with delight.

The next while passes in a daze for Keith. He feels Shiro comb his fingers through his hair, gently untangling knots and then separating it and twining it together. He thinks he feels Shiro stop once and undo his work but Keith cant honestly say if it was due to a mistake or if Shiro just wanted to spend longer playing with his hair. The soft, almost inaudible rumble of pleasure coming from behind him makes Keith think its the latter and that makes something in him preen ever so slightly.

Eventually though it has to end.

“Do you have a hair tie?” Shiro fiddles with the gathered ends of his hair and Keith tugs the band off his wrist and hands it over.

Shiro ties off then end and when he lets it drop it falls mid shoulder, perfect and straight. Keith rolls his head from side to side gently, feeling it out. Not too tight and not so loose as it would come undone during the night.

“You’re good at that,” he says, soft with appreciation.

Shiro's hand dances up his back and over a shoulder. “Patience yields focus.”

“Never heard that applied to hair before.”

Shiro’s hand comes up to tug the braid out of the way. There’s the soft press of lips against the nape of his neck, then over the swell of a shoulder. Keith lets his eyes fall shut but notices when Shiro hesitates slightly.

Shiro presses a kiss against the long curving scar over his shoulder and Keiths breath catches.

Oh.

Shiro lingers there and at the same time Keith can feel one of his hands come up to brush against the small round scar below one of his shoulder blades. There’s a matching one on his front. Keith had never considered how it must look to others.

“Shiro?”

Shiro presses another kiss to his shoulder, firm, and then noses against the skin there. Then he pulls away, tugging Keith back with him until they’re both lying on their sides, Keith tucked back into the curve of his body.

Keith thinks about saying something but really what would he say? So he keeps quiet and presses himself back further until practically moulded against the man behind him. Shiro’s grip tightens slightly and before he can do anything the hand pressed against his stomach slides upwards until it's pressed over the entry scar on his front.

“You weren't always a mechanic, were you.” It's not a question but it's also not a demand for answers.

Still Keith shakes his head. “No. I wasn't.” he says carefully.

Behind him Shiro hums and the sound travels through Keith like a shot.

“Do you get nightmares?”

Keith swallows. “Sometimes,” he admits.

“Does anything help with them,” Shiro questions softly.

Keith hesitates for a second before answering. “I don't know.” He thinks back to waking up alone and trying to wash the memories off him, to the numerous times before that when he only had himself for company. “I’ve never had anyone try.”

Shiro, somehow, brings him closer.

“I’ll help if I can,” he says hazily.

I like you, Keith thinks desperately, so much.

“I know you will,” Keith says softly, eventually, but behind him Shiro has already fallen into sleep.

It’s only just turning over to night outside and if he was alone, Keith thinks he wouldn't be able to sleep. But the arm around him is warm, he feels safe in this bed and Keith finds it shockingly easy to close his eyes and drift off after Shiro.

Shiro’s promise hovers in the back of his mind, soft and sweet and Keith lets himself believe it.

xXx

It was a week before the next time Keith spent time in Shiro’s apartment.

He had watched the moon fall into shadow and feels his skin go soft and breakable and fills his time by throwing himself into fixing the only thing left to fix.

Sendak’s jeep was in front of him, looking good as new and running even better. Keith gnawed on his lip as he considered it. He had called the number Sendak had left the shop earlier, if reluctantly and had been unnerved when it went straight to voicemail.

The silence on that front made Keith wary. Sendak’s ploy had failed but Keith had the sinking sensation that the vampire wasn’t the kind to give up on a hunt. He was out there, somewhere in town biding his time and Keith had no idea what his next plan was. Ulaz and Thace hadn’t been able to find anything either though they were still looking.

Keith carefully flexed his fingers, popping a talon and then retracting it purely for something to do.

With a huff he left the jeep where it was and wandered out back into the warm even air.

He let himself fall back into the chair with a sigh and fished out a cigarette and lit it with a flick.

He was bored. It was an irritating feeling especially in the wake of the last two months or so where everything had seemed like it was happening all at once. This sudden stall was enough to have him climbing the walls.

Just as he was beginning to consider taking Red out for a spin around the desert his phone chimed with a message.

5:30 PM: u interested in dinner??

Keith stares, a little bewildered. Shiro had never asked him to dinner before. He’d never even really asked him out to lunch, it was always coffee dates and random snacking and once, a light breakfast.

Keith hesitates.

Its one thing to eat small amounts of normal food here and there. He enjoyed the taste of some fruits and certain sweets but his body wasn’t built for solids the same way a human was anymore.

The first time he’d discovered that had been unpleasant; wild fowl that Regris had caught and cooked for him and he spent the next twenty minutes throwing it back up and wracked with stomach cramps.

As much as he might like Shiro, he drew the line at deliberately torturing himself like that.

And yet.

Keith bites his lip, fingers hovering over his phone. A small amount of food wont hurt him. And the idea of having dinner with Shiro appealed to something in him that Keith thought was long dead.

5:37 PM: do I need to get changed from my work clothes?

He hits send and waits, nervously making his way through the rest of his cigarette.

5:38 PM: was actually thinking of cooking no need to get changed

5:38 PM: unless u want to ofc

A home cooked meal. It’s been…Keith tilts his head back, looks up at the sunset and thinks. It’s been a while since anyones cooked for him. Thace might have done as close to a home cooked meal that they could manage a few years ago, serving warm blood in fancy glasses and before that there had been Acxa and Regris but none of those had ever quite felt like this.

Keith runs his tongue over his teeth and finds them sharp. He takes a deep breath, relaxes and then replies.

5:40 PM: I can be there around 6? Just need to close up first.

The reply comes almost instantaneous.

5:41 PM: c u soon <3

Keith stubs out the remains of his cigarette and pockets his phone, heading inside. It doesn't take long at all to pack his tools away and clean up the shop. He has the doors and windows locked in record time, security system primed in a second.

He’s flying down the street on Red barely a moment after the garage door closes behind him, the slowly cooling night air rushing past him. He guns it, edging beyond the speed limit and he cant tell if the feeling running through him is from the high speeds or nerves at whats waiting for him at Shiro’s place.

He parks down the street and begins the walk to Shiro’s house. His phone buzzes and he fishes it out, reading through the wall of text Thace had sent him regarding their search. He’s so engrossed in the message that he barely manages to dodge out of the way of the small figure that comes careening towards the path to Shiro’s doorway.

Keith gets the distinct impression of green, sharp eyes behind large glasses and hunter as he catches them lightly by their sleeve and stops them from skidding into the mailbox.

“Oh,” she says, straightening and adjusting her glasses. “Hi?”

“Hi?” Keith parrots back, bewildered. He steps away from her and gets a proper look. She’s small, clad in baggy greens and brown and her short hair is disheveled. Something about her face rings familiar and it takes longer than it should for it to click.

She really does look like her brother.

He must be staring because she frowns at him. “Something you wanna say pal?” She folds her arms and internally Keith panics.

Fuck. This wasn't what he’d been hoping for.

He swallows tightly. “Nothing, really…” He taps the fingers of his left hand together and then decided to bite the bullet. “You’re Katie Holt, right?”

Immediately she bristles. “How the fuck do you know my name?” she demands and okay, thats a fair thing to ask.

He steps away from her slightly, raising his hands in the universal request for peace. “Sorry,” he gets out.

“I’m a—“ he falters, “friend of Shiro’s. And I’ve met your brother,” he adds lamely, hoping that might help.

Slowly her frown lessens and she stares at him intently. Keith remains frozen under her scrutiny, instincts demanding that he either fight or flee but not willing to do either one.

“Oh.” She says eventually. She scratches over the back of her neck. “Okay then.” She blinks at him suddenly, and then looks him up and down and he has to fight the urge to bristle. Her eyes brighten slightly in recognition. “Oh fuck, wait I know about you, you’re Keith right.”

Keith stares at her but she continues like she hasn't noticed.

“Shiro’s mentioned you about a thousand times,” she says nonchalantly and Keith chokes. “And my brother talked meeting you once.” She blinks at him and then smirks. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Keith asks after a moment.

She shrugs. “I’ll let you know when I figure that out. You’re seeing Shiro?” He nods hesitantly. “Cool, I need to talk to him too.”

She turns on her heel and starts walking, heading up the pathway to the stairs of the front porch. When he makes no move to follow, she stops and looks back at him.

“You waiting for an engraved invitation or something,” she snarks, “come on already.”

Keith flexes a hand and then, reluctantly, follows her up.

“By the way,” she calls back to him. “Its Pidge, not Katie.”

Keith sighs tiredly. “Nice to meet you Pidge.”

xXx

Pidge waits till he’s standing next to her to knock Shiro’s door.

She’s practically vibrating in place and next to her Keith feels too silent and too still but he’s barely restraining the urge to turn around and leave. In fact he might have done that anyway but.

Shiro was cooking him dinner.

The door swung open and Shiro was standing there with an apron and a grin.

“Keith,” he beams and then falters looking down at Keiths side. “Katie? What are you doing here?”

She walks in under Shiro’s arm. “I came to remind you that Matt and I still need your help with the parameters for that Thing.” She emphasises the word like her brother did and Keith cant help but wonder exactly what the Thing is. She stops in the middle of the living room and takes in the kitchen. “But I guess you have other plans.”

Shiro stands there, like a deer caught in the headlights before he swears. “Fuck, I forgot about that again.”

“Yeah,” Pidge adds dryly. “I know.” She tilts her head to the side, birdlike and for a second she reminds Keith of Nyma. “Are you gonna invite your boyfriend in or is he going to have to wait outside all night?”

Shiro spins, eyes wide and all but drags Keith into the apartment. “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Keith lets himself be ushered inside but already the apprehension is growing. “Maybe we should reschedule?” he suggests, looking at Pidge warily. “If you’re busy I mean…” he trails off as Shiro shakes his head forcibly.

“No,” he says sounding annoyed. “I’m not chasing you out after making you come all this way.”

Keith shrugs lightly. “I drove so it wasn't that bad.”

Shiro just shakes his head again, a slightly mulish glint in his eyes. “No,” he repeats. “Just let me sort this out.”

Shiro turns to Pidge who was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes.

“So,” Shiro says crossing his arms. “What do I need to do to get you out of here.”

Keith snorts lightly at the bluntness even as a curl of warmth flickers in his chest. Shiro wanted him to stay.

Pidge crosses her own arms, a miniature of Shiro and it would look comical if the look in her eyes wasn't quite so terrifying. “That depends on how long you want me gone for and if you want me to keep the others away as well.”

“Tonight a-and,” Shiro looks back at Keith quickly, “maybe tomorrow?” Shiro pauses and it takes Keith a few seconds to realise what he’s asking. Biting his lip, Keith nods. He doesn't have anything he needs to do tomorrow. “And god, yes, please keep them away.”

Pidge nods to herself and nudges her glasses back into place.

“Gimmie some of your dinner and get Hunk to help me with my latest project and you’ve got a deal.” she says.

Shiro sighs, shoulders slumping. “This project of yours isn’t going to involve explosions, is it?”

She shrugs. “They’ll be controlled explosions.” she reassures and Keith cant help the small huff of laughter that escapes him.

Pidge’s eyes snap to him at the sound and he holds her gaze again until she dismisses him and looks back at Shiro. She grins. “Deal.”

Shiro sighs again and draws Keith further into the apartment with a warm hand at his back. Pidge follows them into the kitchen, leaning against the counter top while Keith settles himself into the chair furthest from her.

Shiro stations himself by the food spread out across the founder and throws an onion and her head and Pidge catches it with a scowl. “Dice those would you.”

“Making me do prep work.” She mutters while peeling the papery skin from the onion. “Why don’t you make Keith do prep work?”

Shiro snorts. “Because I actually invited Keith here and you just showed up on my doorstep like a starving waif.” He pauses, stirring at the pot on the stove. “Plus he said he’d wash.” he adds even though Keith said no such thing.

“I wouldn't have to if you actually replied to your messages once in a blue moon,” Pidge grouses, “instead of just spending your time staring at your boyfriends a—“

“The knives are in that drawer.” Shiro’s face flushes as he points to a random drawer and he doesn't quite meet Pidge's eyes.

“Oh thats where they wound up.” Keith cranes his neck to see the drawer in question. He definitely hadn’t put them in that one when Keith had helped Shiro put away a few of his boxes.

“You didn't know where the knives were?” Shiro blinks at him.

“You moved everything I put away,” he points out, “and then said that I wasn’t allowed to put the dishes away.”

“Because apparently you don’t know where they go.”

“Oh my god,” Pidge says, typing rapidly on her phone. Keith hadn’t even seen her pull it out.

“Hey,” Shiro calls to her. “If you don’t help you don’t get fed.”

She waves him off absently. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I just need to update the group chat.”

Shiro immediately looks alarmed and Keith could feel his own eyebrows rising. He couldn’t think of anything that was particularly message worthy.

“Don’t be like that,” she says with a snort after seeing Shiro’s face. “Its nothing bad.”

“Thats not exactly reassuring,” Keith points out and she grins at him like a shark.

“Who said I was trying to be reassuring.”

They settle into a comfortable rhythm and Keith actually begins to relax again despite Pidge’s obvious presence. She talks more at them, then to them, about subjects that were a bit beyond Keiths ability to grasp. When it strayed into engineering he could follow but inevitably she would swing right back around into computers and software and the kind of tech he just didn't use.

She was okay, Keith decided.

Shiro seemed content to be the wall she talked to. He listened, of course he did but it seemed that he was used to being used more as an audience as opposed to a participant.

He shares an almost conspiratorial look with Keith at one point, rolling his eyes and smiling fondly at Pidge as she waved the knife around in emphasis more than she actually used it to help prepare the food.

“I honestly don't understand why they wont just let us break the thing down and build it up ourselves,” she says with a vicious stab of the knife. The onion, a poor victim to her ire falls neatly in two. “It would be far more efficient.”

“I don’t think thats the point.” Shiro says, amused.

“Then what is the point?”

“Think about it,” Shiro advised. “It’ll come to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” she says with a sigh. “You can be such an older brother sometimes.”

Shiro grins goofily and Keith blinks because yeah he can see that. He looks at them both again and the comfort and ease they have with each other and comes to a realisation.

This is a family, not just a team.

He must make a sound because Shiro looks back at him concerned. Keith just shakes his head and tucks his epiphany down into his chest.

Eventually, Keith sets the table while Shiro ducks out to have a shower. He ignores the momentary twinge of discomfort he feels at being left alone with someone who isn't Shiro and instead just moves around the kitchen like he’s meant to be there because he is.

Pidge swings her legs back and forth, watching him.

“So you're a mechanic right?”

Keith nods.

“Any good?”

Keith cant help the way his lips quirk up. She's blunt. He likes that he thinks, far better than he would if she tried talking around him.

“I get by.” he says with a shrug.

“Yeah but what does that mean in this town?”

“It means my customers don’t complain and their shit works when I’m done with it.” he says, dry as dust.

She squints at him and he holds her gaze. Suddenly she grins.

“Yeah, you’re okay, I guess.”

He blinks at her. “Thanks,” he says, “I think.”

When Shiro reemerges Pidge surprises them both by announcing her leave.

“I thought you wanted food?” Keith asks.

She waves him off. “I already told Matt to order in. Besides the prospect of watching Shiro make eyes at you in front of my soup isn’t really that appealing to me.”

Shiro makes a sound like he's dying and Keith surprises himself by actually laughing.

“Thats fair,” he says and she swings herself down from the countertop and sends a sloppy salute to them both.

Keith sends her one back and she laughs as she slams the front door behind her.

When Keith looks back Shiro is staring at him, smiling slightly.

“What?” Keith asks, feeling oddly defensive.

“Nothing.” Shiro says and comes up and hugs him quickly. “Just glad you two didn’t kill each other while I was in the shower.”

Keith snorts. “Yeah, we managed a whole five minutes of civil conversation while you weren't here.”

Shiro doles out the food with a flourish. “She likes you.” he says, pleased. “I can tell.”

“Well,” Keith says consideringly. “She did say I was okay.” It makes something small and pleased curl up in his chest and that only grows when Shiro beams at him.

Keith proceeds to eat the minimal about of food he can get away with and he’s almost upset by that. While it sits oddly in his stomach, he cant deny the simple pleasure of a home cooked meal made just for him.

“It’s the onion isn't it.” Shiro says frowning at his own soup. “I knew I should have used less.”

Keith shakes his head and swallows down the last of his bowl. “No it's good,” he reassures. It honestly isn't bad at all. “I’m just not that hungry.” he finishes, apologetic.

“I’ll find something you like.” Shiro says anyway and Keith just sighs and takes it.

He excuses himself and wanders into Shiro's bathroom. When he comes out, it’s to find Shiro scrubbing at one of the pots he’d used to cook and he clicks his tongue.

“Thats my job,” he points out, wryly.

“I made a mess.” Shiro answers which is a lie. Shiro cleaned as he cooked which meant that there were maybe two plates and two pots that really required cleaning.

Keith shakes his head and shoos him away from the sink. “You can dry.”

He’s done this once of twice with Acxa over the years.

It was rare they found themselves in the same place at the same time but it happened. She liked to cook, said it was a comfort even if they rarely actually ate anything she made, instead preferring to donate it to whatever person or family had caught her eye. A granite exterior but soft as butter on the inside she was. Afterwards they would tidy up together, arms knocking as they navigated close spaces.

There was always something firm about Acxa that he admired, something that made it seem that the world could fall out from under her feet and she’d still remain standing out of sheer force of will.

Standing now in the kitchen with Shiro he thinks that it's a quality he shares; that steadiness.

He’d loved her a little for that. Keith isn't quite sure what he feels for Shiro but it burns warm in his chest and he likes it.

“Hey,” Shiro says.

Keith looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Yeah?”

“You’re quiet. Or quieter than usual,” Shiro amends.

Keith hands him the clean utensils and grabs the remaining pot. “Just thinking.”

“About?” Shiro prods, swinging his hip lightly into Keith’s.

“Domesticity.” Keith answers honestly while wiping down a spoon. “And about how much I like it.”

Shiro’s gaze falls fully on Keith this time warm and heavy, and Keith, suds up to his wrists and hair tied back messily, wonders what he sees.

xXx

“Are you here for any particular reason,” Rolo grunts out as he lets the heavy tire roll to a stop at his feet. “Aside from lookin’ pretty I mean.”

Keith, from his spot lounging across two chairs, merely smiles.

“I mean really,” Rolo huffs, “how’s that fair?”

“Its fair,” Keith drawls, “because I'm the boss. Also,” he says, deciding to be honest, “if I stayed in my apartment any longer I was gonna go insane.”

“Why not go annoy your boy then?” Rolo quirks an eyebrow at him.

Keith shrugs, picking at his fingers. “He’s got something to do; a Thing.” He says with the same amount of emphasis that the Holt siblings had used. Rolo snorts.

“I mean, okay whatever. Be a dear and come help me lift this shit.”

With a put upon sigh Keith stands, cracking his back and went to help Rolo move the new industrial tire into place.

Afterwards, Rolo wipes the sweat from his brow while Keith inspects the oil that had managed to work its way under his nails in about two seconds flat. Rolo squints at him and then flicks Keith high up on the shoulder gently.

“Fucking mutant strength,” he mutters and Keith represses a smile.

“Its called excises and heating healthy,” he lies.

“Now thats the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Rolo says, swiping up his water from the desk. “Ive never seen you so much as jog and you eat like a bird. Also” he continues when Keith goes to talk, “coffee doesn't count as food.”

Keith merely huffs at him and wanders back over to his chairs and listens to the sounds of Rolo moving about.

Honestly he was only partially there out of boredom. Ulaz had called the previous night and delivered mildly distressing news.

“They’re definitely planning something,” Ulaz said gravely.

“You mean, still.” Keith groans.

“Yes.” There was the sound of cutlery shifting about and it was one of the few times Keith could remember Thace not being there in the background. “From what little chatter my people have been able to come up with, it sounds like they’ve got ongoing plans.”

Keith sighs. “Still tryin’ to get the Garrison to take me out?” He asked wearily.

Keith thinks he hears Ulaz nod. “They haven't been able to find out how, exactly, they were planning on achieving this but be on your guard. I doubt Sendak is just going to leave any time soon.”

Keith lets his head thunk back. “No, ‘course not,” he mutters viciously. “That would be too easy.”

And now here he was, lurking in the background while Rolo did actual work.

Nyma was spending the evening out with actual people she knew outside of work and had been sending Keith pictures food the entire time. Wherever she was, she was likely surrounded by people and as safe as she could feasibly be. But Rolo was scheduled to be working by himself and when he had thought about it, it had seemed like a singularly bad idea knowing that Sendak was still lurking around somewhere.

The twisting in his gut was warning him to be watchful and so he was.

Keith let himself recline in the chairs, tapping out a few quick messages to Nyma before tucking his phone away. He let his eyes slide shut to the sound of Rolo puttering about. The man was humming under his breath lightly and Keith recognised the tune as the one Rolo had been working on.

Keith smiles. “Not quite as western sounding anymore.”

“Huh?” Theres a clang but no swearing so Keith doesn't bother opening his eyes to check. “Oh yeah. Told you, gotta start somewhere, man.”

The humming starts up again and Keith listens to Rolo loop the tune a few times before joining in. Rolo pauses, shock maybe, but soon enough he’s humming it in time with Keith.

When Keith finally lets his duet die off Rolo laughs. “Is that you’r way of telling me that you’ll sing it for Nyma when it's ready?” He asks hopefully.

Keith pretend to take a moment to think about it but honestly, he’d made his mind up a while ago. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I’ll do it when it's done.”

Rolo sighs in relief. “Thank fuck,” he says on a laugh. “I think Nyma’s more interested in hearing you sing than she is the actual song.”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters. “That sounds like her.”

“You know how she is man.” Keith opens his eyes a crack when he feels Rolo standing over him. “She likes it when you do shit with us, especially if it's something you’ve never done before.”

Keith thinks about that and agrees. Nyma was always particularly happy when he shared bits of himself with them, small as they might be and well. It's been over three years. Keith find he doesn't mind giving pieces of himself if it makes her happy.

Still, there’s only so much emotional retrospection he can handle, and honestly it feels like he’s reached his quote for the year let alone the last few days.

He smacks Rolo in the thigh, urging him away and stands. “Going for a smoke.” he says slipping past the taller man.

Rolo waves him off and wander back over to his work while Keith slips outside.

Evening is beginning to fall outside so Keith settles down to watch the sunset. It's different than watching a sunrise, light fading into dark but the colours spill in similar dazzling arrays. He lets the tension leak from his shoulders bit by bit and decides to forego the cigarette.

The air is clear and he thinks he can smell rain on the wind, the faintest hint of ozone. Keith feels the stir of anticipation in his gut.

The summer storms were on their way.

The first weeks of summer were the unrelenting heat, draining the land dry and sending the very earth cracking. But, like clockwork, the storms came eventually, ripping their way through the sky like nothing else.

The rains were their own destructive power, like the heat and the dust storms. Keith had been out there before, in the desert when the monsoons had come. Watching the heavens open up above him, the lightning ripping its way across the sky made him feel small in ways that very little else could.

Just ten minutes of rain could cause a flash flood, raging waters sweeping through valleys, bursting riverbanks. It was how canyons were formed, he knew, the water cutting its way through the dirt and the rock, changing the very landscape itself.

Keith used to swim in the flooded washes left behind. Regris used to do it too.

Distantly Keith thinks he hears the rumble of thunder.

xXx

It's late when Keith hears it. Or rather, its late when he doesn't hear it.

The sounds of the night animals have died down and its so reminiscent of the last time it happened that Keith is immediately on edge. He freezes, corpse still, listening but thats when he smells it; the sweet smell of blood. It's not animal.

The door slams into the wall when he throws it open, chipping the plaster but Keith doesn't think about that, not at all, not when he’s suddenly struck by the need to see Rolo in front of him, to see that he’s okay.

He practically skids into the room and his knees almost go out from under him at the sight of Rolo half buried in an engine.

Rolo looks up from where he’s bent over, black grease smeared up his forearms and over the jumpsuit. He looks alarmed. “Where’s the fire?” he asks, looking around.

Keith just holds up a hand and Rolo falls silent.

He cocks his head to the side and listens. There’s the sound of Rolo breathing and the background hum of machines but beyond that the wildlife is still silent. Slowly, Keith walks through the shop, barely registering it when Rolo makes to follow behind him.

He stops at one of the far windows looking out over the expanse of desert. Its properly night time outside and Keith strains to hear whatever is is thats disrupted the natural flow of things.

He hears it at the very edge of his hearing; a footstep in the dirt the scrape of something against metal.

“Keith?” Rolo says, startled but Keith doesn't bother responding just books it to the front entrance. He feels Rolo following but just before Keith throws open the door he hears the faint sound of footsteps disappearing off into the night, swifter then a human could ever possible manage.

Keith steps out into the night air in time to see the fainted shadow disappearing off into the distance.

“What the fuck,” Rolo mutters behind him.

Keith turns to say something when the smell hits him. Keith reels back as if struck, eyes snapping to the window beside the front door and he can feel his lips curling back in a snarl.

“Woah, Keith what the hell,” Rolo takes a step back but when he realises that Keith isn't looking at him he turns too. Freezes.

Below the window is a handprint. It glistens sickly in the low light and Keith can tell even from this distance thats its in fresh blood. Human blood.

“Okay, thats creepy as fuck,” Rolo mutters sounding entirely unnerved. He takes a step closer, inspecting it. “Is that blood?”

“Yeah,” Keith rasps. “Its blood.”

Rolo turns around and his eyebrows rise when he gets a look at Keith. “You’re lookin’ a bit grey there, man, you okay?”

“Yeah.” Keith blinks and looks away from the handprint. “Yeah I’m good.”

Struck by a sudden urgency, Keith walks the outside of his shop. The area out back where he’s been was clear and so was the side where he’s looked out of. But the fourth wall was marked as well, a long thin smear of blood about chest high, like someone had run two dripping fingers along the cement.

He stares at it. He makes to head inside, brushing past Rolo in his haste. “I’m gonna go get a bucket, wash that shit off.”

“Suppose there’s no point in calling the cops about this,” he hears Rolo murmur, “In this town, they wouldn’t do a damn thing about it anyway.”

Keith fills a bucket with water and after a moments deliberation dumps a cap full of bleach in with it. The smell of the chemical gives him an instant headache and he finds he’s oddly grateful for it.

Rolo is hovering nervously by the door when he gets back and he watches in silence as Keith starts scrubbing furiously. The smell of bleach and the blood mix together in a combination that he finds immediately makes him nauseous. But more than that, theres a burning anger roiling in his chest, gnawing at his ribs like something half starved.

Sendak left this. To what end Keith doesn't know, but he knows a threat when he sees one and this had been delivered while Rolo was there, when he was meant to be there alone.

Pale pink water drips down his wrists and he suspects if he was human, his skin would be stinging from the bleach. He didn't wear gloves. He should have worn gloves.

Keith startles when a hand comes down on his shoulder.

Rolo tugs at him until he’s standing, motions for Keith to drop the sponge. Keith lets it fall back into the bucket, spilling water as it lands.

“Let me clean it. You’re really not looking too good there.”

“I—“

“No man seriously.” Rolo shoos him away from the wall and reaches down to grab the sponge. Keiths hand flashes out like lightning, catching his wrist before he can touch it.

“Theres bleach in the water.”

“The fuck Keith, you weren't wearing gloves.” Rolo says aghast.

Keith shakes his head and ushers Rolo back into the light of the doorway.

“Wait here.” he mutters, casting his eyes about to the night around them. The streets were empty. “I’ll go wash my hands and grab you some gloves.”

He leaves before Rolo can say anything, darting his way back into the shop and to the nearest sink.

Having Rolo out of his sight is an exercise in anxiety but his gives his hands a cursory rinse and grabs the duck yellow gloves off the counter top in record time.

He freezes in place and quickly fishes out his phone, shooting Nyma a message before heading back outside to hand the gloves off to Rolo

“Thanks man.” Rolo says carefully before picking up the sponge scrubbing the last of the blood from the front wall.

He works in silence as he starts on the second marking and Keith hovers around his back.

The bleach still stings his nose but with every scrub it slowly overpowers the smell of blood and Keith relaxes minutely.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out so quickly it almost slips from between his fingers. Its Nyma and that last bit of tension in his chest melts away. She’s fine, she’s okay.

He looks up to find Rolo finished and watching him, arms folded. With the yellow gloves it was slightly comical but that small kernel of humour was smothered by the relief he felt at the blood being gone and the twinge of unease that he felt at the look on Rolo’s face.

“What?” he said defensively.

Rolo shrugged. “Just never took you as the type to be afraid of blood i guess.”

Keith stared. “Im not afraid of blood.” While there were plenty of things he was afraid of, he could safely say that blood was not on the list. It would have been inconvenient to say the least if it was.

Rolo just hums and stares at him for long enough that Keith begins to pick at his nails again, uncomfortable.

Rolo hums again like he’s confirmed something but before Keith can ask the man is tearing off the gloves and grabbing the bucket. “Coming?” He calls over his shoulder and it only then that Keith can manage to unstick his feet from the ground and move.

The strange mood lingers. Rolo cleans up the rest of the shop in silence, occasionally breaking out into humming. Keith doesn't join in.

He stays at the front desk, perched on the edge and intent like a watchdog.

He strains, listening for any creak or rustle coming from outside and knowing he wont hear either. The wildlife is back and his guy is telling him that they wouldn't be getting another visit tonight.

The clock rolls over to nine when Keith hears the car coming down the street.

“Its just Nyma.” Rolo is back to watching him carefully and Keith cocks his head at him, confused.

Rolo waves a hand to his ear. “The car I guess you just heard. It's Nyma coming to pick me up.”

“Oh.” Keith feels his jaw unclench and his hands uncurl slightly. Then he frowns. “Nyma's car is a piece of shit,” he says, “this one actually sounds okay.”

Rolo bursts out laughing. “She gave it a tuneup recently, so it's slightly less of a piece of shit.” He explains. A fond looking smile works its way over his face but Keith cant tell if it’s directed at Nyma or himself. It was possible it might be both.

The fond look shift to something serious. “She’ll get me home safe.” Rolo says after a moment. His voice is quiet, reassuring. “We can give you a lift as well if you want.”

Slowly, Keith shakes his head and then he pauses. “Maybe a lift just into town. No need to go the whole way.”

Rolo watches him, assessing before he nods, just once. “Okay then.”

xXx

Shiro was looking down at the map again—looking at a pattern and trying to ignore it.

It wasn’t up on the board with the rest of what they’ve gathered. Oh, bits and pieces of it were but the somehow he’d managed to keep the whole thing to himself for now, while he scrambled to try and work out what it meant in some way that made sense to him.

He’d found it the day Matt had interrupted him and Keith—had found it while going through the stack of papers Matt had handed off to him. Notices of disappearances found in police records which seemed to fall into limbo, mostly homeless but a few who weren’t. Reports gathered from Lance and Hunk from people they talked to on the streets, people who notice things even if they don’t realise it themselves.

He’d looked over every single one, had checked them twice and then three times and now he was faced with the result.

Ten people who’ve disappeared after the fire. No bodies—not yet anyway—but Shiro already knew that whatever they were hunting wasn’t like the first vampire which had torn its way through the town, leaving bodies torn to pieces in its wake.

He hadn’t told the others yet but they would start asking about it soon. He could already see that look in Matt’s eyes that he got before the he started snooping.

Shiro sighed, rubbed at his eyes and then went back to staring at the map.

It was like a bullseye almost, or an X marks the spot and sitting smack dab in the centre was an apartment block that he recognised.

Small, little things nudged at him but the forced them down and away, rubbing absently at his wrist.

He know’s what he should be thinking. It would make a certain kind of sense, if he thought about it alongside those other…little things. But at the same time his gut was telling him that it wasn’t and in this matter he trusted his gut.

And there were other things that didn’t fit. It was too perfect, too clean and if Shiro had learnt anything during his life, it was that things were never that simple.

So he’d wait, wait until he had something more, something better to show his team—something that would hopefully prove his gut over his head.

Decision made, Shiro tucked the map into a drawer and locked it with a click.

It was late outside but not ridiculously so which was better than he managed most nights when he wasn’t with Keith.

Patrol stretched into the early hours and more then once the five of them had been lumped together, going through ever bit of intel they could get their hands on. The others were out doing their own things tonight and that left Shiro without much to do.

The urge to call Keith was there. It would be easy, and Keith would answer and he’d sound happy to hear from him—he always was which was something that set a happy warmth in his stomach.

But—

But.

His finger hovered over the button, wavering and with a frustrated growl, Shiro shoved his phone back into his pocket and practically threw himself into his car. The drive home was quiet and lonely. Bright Eyes had started playing over the radio the one time he’d tried turning it on and he’d hit the off button so hard he’d winced at the impact.

His street was deserted when he pulled into it, parking in front of his house. The white paint was dusted with almost reddish dirt and that left it looking muddy at night. He got out of his car, sighing as he stood and closed the door behind him and the lights turned off completely. With that light gone and the moon only at a sliver when it wasn’t hidden behind clouds, he didn’t notice the figure on his steps until he almost ran into them.

“Keith?” Shiro said, bewildered and feeling blindsided.

Keith looked up from where his head had been resting against his knees, blinking at him slowly. He looked tired but Shiro could see there was something else beyond that.

His gut clenched.

He stepped closer and reached for him slowly. “Keith, baby—are you okay?”

Keith blinked up at him again and then sighed and reached up for his hands. They were cold where they touched him and Keith listed forward, until his head was tucking itself under his jaw.

“Bad day,” came the murmur.

Shiro frowned, running a hand through Keith’s hair, being careful to not catch the strands in the plates of his prosthetic. “Come inside and tell me what happened.”

Keith follows him, docile and tired, slumping into the couch while Shiro rushed to change and brush his teeth. He grabs clothes for Keith too, the soft dark grey sweatpants that he’d seemed to take a liking to and Shiro’s old ranger hoodie, fraying at the sleeves and huge enough on Keith that it was almost a dress.

He steps back into the living room to find Keith almost dozing on the couch, long neck bared in a graceful arch with his dark hair pooling around his head.

He looks like a vision.

Shiro steps up beside the couch and gently touches his shoulder. Blue eyes blink open at him, heavy lidded and Shiro gently presses the clothes into his hands.

“Get changed and come to bed.”

Keith snorts and even that sounds tired. “Thought you wanted me to tell you what happened.”

Shiro clucks his tongue and helps him stand. “We can do that tomorrow but you’re tired Keith.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Get changed,” he says again, quietly, “and come to bed.”

There’s a second where he thinks Keith might argue but then he’s swaying into Shiro again, head thumping against his sternum. Shiro wraps his arms around him and they stand like that for a moment, swaying gently together.

And then Keith is pulling away and disappearing into the bathroom.

Shiro goes through his own routine, locking the doors and the windows and then double checking the doors and the windows. He turns on the A/C and slips under the covers so that it’ll be warm under the blankets when Keith gets there.

He doesn’t have to wait long until he’s slipping out of the bathroom, dressed in Shiro’s clothes and slipping into Shiro’s bed. Immediately he wraps his arms around him and pulls him against his chest, taking cold hands in his and holding them gently until they begin to warm.

He doesn’t try to talk, happy to let Keith slip into sleep. He’s halfway there himself when he feels Keith sigh, more than he hears it.

“Something happened tonight,” Keith mutters, half into the pillow. “Not a good thing. ‘M worried.”

Shiro makes a questioning hum and doesn’t stop his thumb from rubbing small circles into the back of his hand.

“‘m worried about Rolo and Nyma.” He says. Pauses. “Worried about you. Fuck, I’m kind worried about myself too.”

Shiro presses a kiss against the nape of his neck and holds him tighter. “It’ll be okay Keith. Whatever it is, I’ll help.”

Slowly, Keith begins to relax against him and Shiro breathes in deep and smells, desert dust and sweet smoke.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Shiro says and he means it.

xXx
xXx

Getting Keith to talk about what happened during the day after a full nights sleep was very much like getting blood from a stone, only slightly better.

He gets enough anyway, to know what he has to do—reads in between the silences and the shifty eyes and clenching jaw.

In the daylight Keith looks better than he did the night before. Pressing a kiss against his lips in the early morning sun is as close to perfection as anything Shiro’s ever seen—if only it wasn’t happening on Keith’s way out the door, and back to his own apartment.

Still Shiro wasn’t going to let an opportunity pass him by when it presents itself to him.

He had Pidge give him the details—he was right about her liking Keith, was gratified to hear how quiet she got when she learned that what he wanted was for Keith and how quickly she went about it. They’d only met once but it had been enough for her to see something in him, maybe a similar something to what Shiro had seen in him that very first time at Sal’s Diner.

Keith deserves more friends.

Shiro follows the directions she’d given him, winding down streets he’d seen while on hunt but not during the day. The houses here look older, more run down but the one he eventually stops at has brightly pained pots on the porch with carefully tended plants growing in them and colour on the house looks fresh compared to everywhere else.

Taking a deep breath, Shiro walks to the front door, steeling himself as he knocks.

Nyma opens the door and she doesn’t look overly surprised to see him there. Calculating yes. A hint of wariness even.

But not surprised.

“Come in then,” she says, turning away and leaving the door ajar for him to follow.

He follows her into the living room, looking about as he goes. The place is filled with second hand furniture, and the walls are painted a soft shade of yellow. There’s small things on every shelf, knickknacks and photos though very few of them seem to have people in them.

Sitting sideways on a beat up old couch is Rolo, chewing on the end of a pencil with a stack of paper resting against his knees. Nyma sits down in the leftover space, picking up a still steaming mug of something from the coffee table and he sits in the only other available spot, an old love-seat that is almost criminally comfortable.

“So,” Nyma says after a moment. “You’re not here about that double date, are you.” She sounds disappointed.

Shiro winces slightly. “Uhh, no—not this time anyway.”

There’s a heavy sight from Rolo. “I was looking forward to that,” he mumbles out around the pencil. There’s a rusting and then he’s shoving the papers and the pencil down onto the table, legs stretching out over Nyma’s thighs.

“So why are you here then, man?”

Under the weight of both their gazes Shiro finds himself having to fight off the urge to shift in place. That rarely happened anymore, not after a lifetime of service and then—well, and then. But these were Keith’s friends and he liked what he’d seen of them and its a startling realisation to know that he wants them to like him too.

“Keith was over at my place last night,” he begins and he sees them both straighten at the mention of their friend. “He was…agitated. Worried. About you two and himself.” And me he thinks silently. “But this morning he wouldn’t tell me more about it and I was just—” he shrugs helplessly.

“Would either of you know what it's about? I want to help,” he adds, “If I can.”

Rolo and Nyma share a glance and then look at him and he doesn’t know what they see but they relax afterwards.

“Some weird things have been happening lately,” Rolo begins. “Last night was…” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what that was. But it's not the first.”

“We haven’t mentioned it to Keith yet,” Nyma says quietly. “We don’t want him to worry. But both us have been feeling…watched, lately. Usually when we’re going through the city but a few times it’s happened here.”

Shiro frowns and a fissure of unease skitters down his spine. “You’re certain about that? And that it’s something worth worrying about?”

Nyma gives him a look. “We know when we’re being watched. And we know when it’s not by someone nice.”

“Last night was new though.” Rolo shifts until he’s sitting up more. “I was meant to be at the shop alone but Keith was there too. Not the first time that’s happened lately, where one or both of us are working a late shift instead of Keith but he’s shown up anyway.”

“He’s been worried lately,” Nyma says quietly. “Moreso then I think I’ve ever seen him.”

Rolo nods in agreement. “He was out the back for a bit while I was working when suddenly he came tearing through the place, pale as a ghost. Saw me, looked like he was about to say something and then bolted for the front of the shop.” He scratched at his jaw, eyes hooded. “I could swear Keith saw someone but it was dark out and I looked I couldn’t see, well anything really.”

“And that’s when we found the handprint.”

“A handprint,” Shiro repeats, frowning.

Rolo gestures vaguely. “Below the window like someone had leaned against the wall to look inside. Smelt and looked like blood.”

Something in Shiro’s chest freezes like a block of ice and his gut clenches. “Did you call the police,” he asks after a moment. A long moment.

Rolo and Nyma snort at the same time. “Cops don’t do anything around here,” Nyma says wryly. “You’ve better luck tripping over gold than them doing something useful.”

“Keith just started washing it off,” Rolo continues. “I took over when Keith looked he was about to keel over and he spent the rest of the night twitchy as all hell. Like a guard dog on alert.”

“He was messaging me too,” Nyma says. “Asking how I was.”

“And that’s unusual?” Shiro asks.

Nyma gives him a look. “Before all this, I could count on one hand the number of times he’d messaged me about things that weren’t work related. Verbose and sharing, our boy is not.”

“Fair enough,” Shiro agrees after a moment. He could see that being true, even if the number of messages he’d received from Keith was certainly respectable. But Keith almost never initiated and he preferred to say what he wanted to say in as few words as possible.

“Do either of you,” Shiro begins, hesitantly, “know what’s going on?”

Rolo and Nyma share another look, this one longer.

“Listen,” Nyma says slowly. “We don’t know where Keith came from which is fine. We don’t need to know. But neither of us think he’s been a mechanic all his life.”

Shiro thinks of the scar curving over Keith’s shoulder and the shockingly neat exit wound below it. “No,” he agrees softly. “No you’re right on that one.”

Rolo nods. “That doesn’t bother us. Neither of us have always been mechanics either but it does mean that…well. With the way Keith is acting now? Maybe it’s something to do with that before time.”

“You think someone’s after Keith?”

Rolo shrugs. “Could be. I mean, Arrowhead is a great place to hide. Or it was anyway.”

Small town in the middle of nowhere. Shiro had never heard of it before the attacks started and when he’d asked his team, none of them had either. A good place to disappear, if you needed it.

“Can you think of anyone it might be? Anyone acting suspicious or anyone that gives you a bad feeling?”

“We were thinking about that too,” Nyma said. “ There’s only been one new person around enough whose given us bad vibes like that in the last few months.”

“That weird customer at the shop,” Rolo finishes.

Shiro thinks for a minute. “Keith mentioned him. Said he’d done something?”

“Not really done something,” Nyma admits with a sigh. “But something about him just…doesn’t feel right, you know? I don’t know how to explain it. And Keith hates him too, you could see it whenever he had to deal with him.”

“There are people out there we’re afraid of,” Rolo says quietly. “For one reason or another but there’s always been a reason. This is the first time we haven’t had that. Something about him just feels dangerous, like—“ he cuts himself off, frowning.

“Like we’re prey.” Nyma says quietly. “Like we should be running.”

“A gut feeling,” Shiro says quietly. He was familiar with that feeling.

“Yup,” Rolo says with a sigh. “And if this were any other time, any other place you could bet that’s exactly what we would be doing.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “But not this time?”

“Of course not,” Nyma looks at him, frowning. “We can’t just leave Keith.”

Shiro looks at them both for a minute, just taking them in. He could tell that both of them were unsettled, were worried but they were sincere when they said they weren’t going anywhere. For Keith. Something warm split the ice in his chest—it was good to know that they really were Keith’s friends.

“Can you tell me the name of the customer,” he asks after a while.

“Oh,” Nyma says, “Yeah I can do that, I dealt with the paper work for him. His name is Sendak. Sendak Faust.”

Sendak.

The name hit him like a punch to the chest but he didn’t know why. Something about it tugged at him, pricked at him like fine needles. It meant something. He just needed to find out what.

“Thank you,” he says, standing. “I’ll see if I can find anything to help.”

Nyma snorts. “Consulting, huh.” The look in her eyes was knowing.

Both of them follow him up and walk him to the door. He can see them watching him as he pulls away.

His gut was telling him that this was the right thread to pull on, better than the map still locked away in its drawer. This felt right in the way that hadn’t.

Outside, brown and white rippling heat went past him as he made his way to Pidge and Matt’s apartment. He needed to talk to Katie first, see if she could dig anything up, if there was anything even to dig up.

One question burned in the back of his mind though.

What had Keith done to earn the attention of a vampire?

xXx

Keith was lounging on the fire escape again, soaking up the sun while he could.

The night before had rattled something in him hard. Sendak’s attentions were turning to people close to him and the urge to tear his head off and be done with it was growing.

But he couldn’t track him.

Whatever scent blockers he was using were effective and unlike the vampire from before, he wasn’t leaving a trail of bodies a mile wide. No, it was like Sendak had dug himself a hole and had pulled it in after him.

It was frustrating, being able to do nothing. He hated sitting still like this, while the anticipation grew and grew. He wanted a fight because then he could end it.

Like the universe had heard his thoughts, his phone chose the moment to ring.

He answered without opening his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Well hello to you too,” Thace said. And then— “We found something.”

Keith sat up slowly. “You found something on what they’re doing?”

Thace hums. “Not exactly but it’s still something that’ll interest you. While Ulaz was asking around we did get some information, not on the plans but on the plans executioner.”

Keith’s lip curled. “Sendak.”

“Yes.” Thace paused. “Did something happen?”

Keith dragged a hand down his face, fingers pinching briefly at the bridge of his nose. “He went to the shop last night. Rolo was scheduled to be there alone but I was there as well, just in case. He left a mark. A threat.”

“What was it?”

“A handprint. In human blood.”

There’s quiet on the other end for a moment. “I see. That would fit with what we know.”

“Which is?…” Keith prompts.

“Sendak is well known amongst the Carpathians it would seem. High ranking but he doesn’t work for any of the usual suspects. He works for Haggar.”

Keith freezes. The Witch. He works for the Witch, which can only mean— “This has something to do with Dracula, doesn’t it.”

There’s a slow measured breath on the other end. “It’s looking that way. We’ve put out the word, seeing what we can find. But Haggar rarely shows herself. Instead she usually sends Sendak to do what she wants. He’s a monster, Keith. It took a while for Ulaz to find the records to confirm it but we’ve seen the results of his work, his and the Witch’s.”

“There was a raid we went on quite a few years ago. We thought it was a bleeding factory at first but we were…wrong. It was an arena.”

“What do you mean by that?” Keith says slowly. He feels tense and still.

“Now we’re beginning to think this is all part of a bigger plot but…there were some humans there. Modified humans. It looks like the Witch had been experimenting but we’re not sure to what end exactly. And there were vampire there as well, Carpathians, who had been, well, twisted. At first we thought it had just been the result of the damage they’d sustained—missing jaws, missing fingers—but now we’re not entirely certain.”

“You think it’s the same thing? This…artificial bloodlust they’ve been creating.”

“Yes,” Thace says heavily. “We just thought they were insane but now, well. Sendak was in charge of maintaining that facility when the Witch wasn’t there.”

Keith frowns. “You said that there were humans there? What happened to them?”

“We freed them of course but many died from traumatic injuries. From memory one or two of them survived to be transferred to another facility—a human one. Military I think?” There’s a heavy sigh. “You know we don’t really keep track of survivors. We clean out the nests, and save what we can but once they’re out of out care we tend to loose them.”

Keith hums. He gets it, he really does. It’s harder for some strains to have dealings with humans and a lot of them just don’t care beyond what damage helping them could do against the Carpathians.

“So,” Keith says. “What do you want me to do with this information?”

“Well,” Thace begins. “Some of the others want you to capture him if possible. They’re unwilling to send back up though, not while the hunters are there but they think that you should be able to handle him one on one.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think…” Thace is quiet for a moment. “I think that if you can bring him in that would be good. But if you have to? Don’t hesitate to rip him to pieces. Either we take him and we hold him or he’s dead. He’s not the kind that should be left to wander free.”

Keith thinks for a moment and then nods. “Thats what I was hoping you’d say.”

xXx

Shiro knocked on the door to the apartment and waited. There was the faint sound of something crashing, a soft curse and then the door was being thrown open to reveal a small green human, glaring up at him.

“What?”

Shiro holds up a bag of sour lollies as a peace offering. “Can I come in,” he says quietly, “I need to talk to you.”

Pidge blinks up at him. “Yeah, sure. Matt is out and Hunk was just leaving to find you I think.”

He follows her into the apartment, stepping carefully over and around boxes and bits and pieces of machinery. It doesn’t look any clearer than the last time he’d been here though he wasn’t too surprised by that. Matt and Pidge thrived in chaos.

Hunk was leaning over something on one of the benches shoved against the wall in Pidges’ room. He straightened when he saw them and grinned widely at Shiro.

“I was just gonna see if I could find you!” He exclaimed. “I got something on that book we found at the house.”

“Oh?” Shiro said. In the midst of everything else he’d forgotten about that.

“Yeah,” Hunk said, digging through a pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. “I found the full name but there’s nothing I could find on the person other than an address. I did go by the library and I talked to some of them employees there and I got a description. I don’t know if it means anything though.”

Shiro unfolded the paper.

Keith Kogane. The apartment matched.

Shiro very carefully kept his face blank. It…might be a coincidence. Shiro couldn’t know why Keith would go to the house but it was probably just to look. Plenty of people did that, it was a bit off but nothing malicious.

But that combined with the other things…no. No, that still didn’t feel right to him.

“So,” Pidge drawled, bringing Shiro out of his head. “What does the guy look like? You said you asked.”

Neither of them notice Shiro stiffen.

Hunk shrugs. “Medium build, blue eyes, long dark hair. Handsome, apparently. Lots of leather and plaid and has, and I’m quoting here, ‘turbulent energies surrounding him.’ No idea what that means, but the head librarian insisted on telling me that.”

Pidge was still and she looked at Shiro out of the corner of his eye. “Huh,” she said. “Interesting. Didn’t you say Lance needed you for something.”

Hunk looked at them both and straightened. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I did say that. So uhh, I’m just…going to. Go do that.”

He slipped out around them and they heard the front door open and close.

“Shiro. What does Keith have to do with this?”

Shiro let his breath escape him in a rush. “Honestly? No idea exactly.”

“But he does have something to do with it. You wouldn’t have that face otherwise.”

“What face?” Shiro asks, frowning.

“The worried one,” Pidge replies.

She gestures to a chair and Shiro sinks down into it.

“Talk.”

“Just. Little things,” Shiro says with a sigh. “A lot of little things.”

“A lot of little things that make a big thing?”

Shiro nods.

“Do you…” Pidge trails off. “Do you think Keith is—”

“No!” Shiro bursts out. And then he sinks back down. “Not—what we’re hunting…” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “Fuck.”

“Okay.” Pidge drags another chair over and sinks into it. “Tell me. Everything.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I went through all those reports you handed me, the missing persons and the things Hunk and Lance found out. I checked and I double checked and they’re all centred around one building with a few outliers. That building is Keith’s apartment.”

“Oh.” Pidge says. “Fuck.”

“But it doesn’t feel right, Pidge. It feels…too easy. Like it's what we're meant to think.”

“Hey, I trust your gut on this,” she reassures him. “So he’s not our killer. But you think he’s something. These little things you were telling me about?”

Shiro swallows. “I almost never see him eat and if he does he doesn't eat a lot. He’s always cold and a few times I—” Shiro looks down. “I wasn’t sure at first but sometimes just. He’s so still. Too still.”

“Not breathing kind of still?” Pidge guesses.

Shiro nods. “I don’t think he notices but I’ve seen some things beside that too. A scar—Katie, I was in the army, and then the Garrison. I know a fatal wound when I see one. By all rights he should be dead.”

Pidge nods. “Okay, I can see all that. But one major question?”

“The sunlight thing?” Shiro asks, tired.

“The sunlight thing. Like, you can’t fake that Shiro. I’ve seen him in full sun—if he’s a vamp he should be dust.”

“Not,’ Shiro says slowly, “necessarily.”

Pidge blinks at him. “Come again.”

“Just rumours mostly,” he says quietly. “In the Garrison. A new type of vampire or--or maybe an old one. One that doesn't just survive in sunlight, it thrives." And that was Keith in a nutshell really. He's never seen him happier than after he gets to sit in the sun for a while. "Your dad probably knows more, maybe Matt .”

“And you think Keith might be it?”

Shiro is quiet for a second. And then he nods. “My gut is tell me that’s it.”

“Well,” Pidge says after a moment. “This is…I don’t know what this is to be honest.”

“Complicated, is what it is.”

“Well you’re not wrong,” she agrees with a wry smile. “So what do we do now?”

Shiro takes a deep breath. And then another. “I need you to look for someone for me. I have a name but nothing else.”

“Shoot.”

“Sendak. Sendak Faust.”

xXx

Two days pass in relative peace. Shiro keeps his eye on Keith and grows increasingly concerned with what he sees.

He’s pale and worried and Shiro sees more and more of that uncanny stillness as time passes, moments where Keith seems to freeze like a predator waiting and listening for a sign. But now he’s almost certain he was right but other things are getting clearer too.

In passing he mentions the bodies that had been talked about on the news and is rewarded with a faint look of disgust. Afterwards he mentions hearing talk about the homeless population in town ‘moving on’ and this time he spots a flash of worry and something that looks like anger.

Keith isn’t the hunter. It’s clear to him now that whatever he is, he’s not out to kill people, not in the same way this thing is. But the more he thinks about it the more likely it becomes that Keith wants it gone too.

It’s a quiet evening in when the call comes and the peace comes crashing down around his head. Keith’s head is in his lap. He’s dozing lightly as Shiro runs his fingers through his soft hair, not really trying to do anything, so much as enjoying the sensation of the strands running through his fingers.

His phone lights up bright, the ring tone obnoxious and jaunty. It's Matt.

“Hey Matt, what’s up?”

Under his hand, Keith stiffens slightly. Stills.

There’s breathing on the other end and the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“Matt?” he asks again.

And then—

“Katie’s missing.”

xXx

Keith slips out the door with shaking hands.

Somewhere behind him he could still hear Shiro grabbing his things, the panicked undertone to his voice. Keith could relate.

Katie’s missing.

Gone. Taken. From what he’d heard before he’d left, she’d been out in the town, checking on some of the surveillance cameras she’d installed. A few were broken, maybe deliberately and she hadn’t thought to take anyone with her.

Keith’s gut told him that he knew exactly who’d taken her.

He’s heard the way Shiro’s heart had begun to race, had smelt the acrid scent of fear and panic and he’d had to get out—had to leave.

How quickly he moved now was important.

Sendak had now made two mistakes.

Firstly, he’d taken someone Keith liked. He had only met her once but she’d been bright and sarcastic and she’d teased Shiro like a little sister would and that meant something. That meant a lot of things. Shiro would be devastated if she was killed and Keith would never get the chance to show her his shop like she’d wanted him too.

Secondly, Sendak had taken someone he knew. Forget the scent blocker he used, this—Katie—was something he could track.

So Keith put his head down and did exactly that.

xXx

Shiro’s head was full of static.

He functioned. Gave orders and set out a plan but his head was filled with white noise, crackling in his ears.

They’d found where Pidge had last been, her phone in pieces and its tracker a blinking red dot on Matts screen.

Split up he’d said. The three of them, Matt and Hunk and Lance, to stay close to each other and look for any clues. To call him if they found anything.

Matt had wanted to argue but he hadn’t. He knew better than anyone that Shiro could look after himself but that they’d need ever hand they could get if Sendak found them first.

Because it was Sendak. Matt had found her notes and the one grainy image she’d managed to pull off one of her cameras of the man he’d sent her looking for.

The image tugged at him, pulled at him. There was something familiar about it and it burned.

The alleyways were cool and shadowed and there was the faintest hint of water in the air.

He crept quietly though the shadows and heard his arm hum at his side.

He’d sent the others west, towards the centre of the town. He’d taken east, where there were apartments standing tall and, in one small area, a few old warehouses.

They’d swept them when they’d arrived in town and three times since but now his gut was urging him to move and so he did.

He crept in through a door and was assaulted with the thick scent of dust and old rust. He wasn’t sure what they used to make here—there was machinery hanging from the ceiling, hooks and chains swinging in the light breeze but nothing definitive.

There was

a

s o u n d

It came from awards the back, a scuffle, like cloth against stone. The wind crept in from somewhere, blowing towards him and he smelt it.

Grave dirt. Rot.

The sound stopped and Shiro’s arm burned.

A door in the back flung open, heavy and metal and moved like it was nothing. Shiro didn’t stop to think, just hit call and ran.

Matt could track it but if Shiro didn’t follow there might be nothing left to find.

Shiro bursts through the door just in time to catch a figure rounding a corner. Desperate, he follows, tracking a moving shadow and the faint sounds of feet. The alleys grow darker as the cloud slips behind the clouds and it’s difficult to see what lays before him but he doesn’t stop—wont stop.

It's almost a surprise when he turns a corner and finds Sendak waiting for him.

He’s trapped between Shiro and a dead end. There’s a shadowed awning between them, set into a wall. He thinks it might be another warehouse but it’s close to him than it is to Sendak. Pidge hands from clawed hands, pale and unconscious.

“Well,” comes a rasping voice. “You are the last person I expected to see here.”

Shiro freezes. He knows that voice.

“I suppose it's better this way,” the vampire continues. “Once I deal with this one, I can collect you. The Lady will be disappointed about the American but she’ll be pleased to see you Brough back to heel.”

Shiro’s hand flexes. “What,” he gasps, “are you talking about?”

Sendak shifts forward, just enough. “You mean you’ve forgotten Her? My my, she’d be so sad to hear that, especially coming from her favourite.” That last word comes out in a snarl, angry and vicious.

A claw taps against Pidges chest where she lays limp against Sendak.

“You’ve forgotten us, haven’t you?”

Shiro can’t stop the flinch, can’t shake the feeling of cold dread running through his veins. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“No matter. We’ll remind you.”

The claw flexes and then Pidge is being gripped.

“Let me deal with this one first and then I shall get to you.”

xXx

She's so tiny where she’s laying in the arms of the behemoth vampire. So small and painfully young and she’s not moving and Keith knows that Shiro is too far away.

It's not a full moon. The moon is waning, only a sliver in the sky and Keith knows that he’s at a disadvantage but now he’s angry.

It's like watching a study in the inevitable, the way Shiro’s eyes widen and his face goes pale as Sendak bends his head down towards Pidge. Shiro clearly knows how this is going to end, can see it in the way Pidge’s body will be sent sprawling, limp and broken like all those others— hat look on his face might be what finally shocks Keith into moving.

Pidge was sarcastic and sweet and she was Shiro’s family. She was his little sister.

Keith bursts out of the shadows and careens into Sendak with the power of an oncoming freight train.

He thinks he hears Shiro scream as claws are snatched away from Pidge’s unconscious form. He twists and throws Pidge behind him, careful as he can manage but he needs her out of the way. There’s the sound of movement behind him but Keith ignores it and instead focuses on letting the shift take him. It’s harder, this close to the new moon. He has to force the change to take and to hold but he can and he does—somehow he does.

Claws and teeth tear at his skin but they’re annoyances that burn away under the rage setting a fire in his chest.

How dare they try and kill her. How dare they try and take Shiro’s family from him.

Keith doesn't fight with finesses, just focus on tearing Sendak to pieces. It's easy; the vampire’s either weaker than he looks or is just nothing compared to Keith in a rage. It doesn't matter in the end because he gets a shot in and his talons rip through flesh and muscle and bone and his head detaches with the slick sound of flesh.

It comes to him in increments like the slow dripping of water.

Blood and viscera paint his hands, he was sure there was blood on his face. The very air is sticky with the smell of decay and already he can see pallid flesh greying and turning brittle.

He did that.

He did that in front of Shiro.

He turns slowly.

Shiro is hunched protectively over Pidge’s limp form. She’s small compared to him but in the low light and shadows Shiro also looks bigger. There’s a faint shine to his prosthetic, the light shining off it strangely— no, not the light. It’s glowing, Keith realises with confusion.

He’s staring at Keith.

Keith can see the whites of his eyes, can see the shuddering breaths.

He’s looking at Keith like he’s not really seeing him and the pit in Keith's stomach drops out and suddenly he is so very very afraid.

“Shiro?” He calls softly.

His voice, normally a soft rasp, sounds like gravel. He can still feel the the jaggedness of his teeth in his mouth but he can’t for the life of him, calm himself down enough to change back.

“Shiro?” He calls again. His voice breaks slightly.

Shiro doesn't respond, just clutches tighter at Pidge. If she was awake she’d be complaining.

Tentatively, Keith takes a small step forward. Then another when Shiro doesn't flinch away, and another until he's hovering just out of arms reach.

“Is she okay?” he asks, a shade off desperate.

Still no answer. Shiro is still staring at him, or maybe staring through him and Keith's chest feels like it's going to collapse in on itself like a star going black hole. He’s reaching out before he can stop himself, slow and hovering and he doesn't know who he wants to touch but it doesn't matter in the end.

The snarl makes Keith's ears ring but its nothing compared to the fire licking its way up his jaw and across his cheek.

He doesn't scream. Just breathes in raggedly and rocks back on his heels and out of the way of the second swipe of glowing fingers.

His heart refuses to beat but Keith can still feel warm blood trickling over his fingers where he presses his hand to his face.

Keith breathes unevenly, backs away from the man, from the body.

“Shiro,” he whispers.

Shiro mouth twists, an ugly thing and he snarls again. He’s wordless, angry, shifting to spring and Keith watches, horrified as his arm continues to glow with a sickly kind of heat.

But somehow thats nothing to the small spark of emotion that Keith can see kindling in Shiro’s eyes as he stares towards Keith.

Fear.

Keith almost stumbles when he steps back, frantic. A last pleading “Shiro” escapes his lips as his chest heaves. The emotion stays and its then that Keith knows he doesn't stand a chance.

Keith had never wanted to lie to Shiro, had never wanted to hurt him but most certainly he’d never ever wanted to make him afraid so Keith does the only thing he can think to do.

He runs.

xXx

When he stumbles through his front door, his chest is burning. He can't say if it's from his heart seizing in his chest, the way his lungs struggle to expand of the nebulous emotion that's beginning to gnaw away at his ribs like acid.

His face burns and he can feel drips of blood trailing their way down his cheek, his throat. The cut isn't healing but he hadn't expected it to have. It’ll scar, he knows, deep down. Whatever Shiro’s arm is made of is more than enough to kill him; a chink in his armour to up there with gold.

He stumbles walks into the bathroom in a daze and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

The last time he had done this he had looked sick with whatever drug Sendak had slipped him. He looks worse now. His black blood paints a macabre river down his front, and his face is paler than even blood loss should account for.

His heart tries to beat but fails and he raises a shaking hand to rub at his chest.

He’s still partially shifted. Yellow eyes stare back at him, inhuman. He can feel the sharpness of his own fangs cutting into his gums as his jaw creaks under the strain. The hand at his chest is tipped with bloodied talons and if this was what Shiro had been forced to look at then Keith couldn't even muster up the slightest but of anger at the wound the man had delt him.

Keith looked like a monster.

He reaches up a claw tipped finger and gently prods at the edges of the cut on his face. Its long and curves under his jawline and if it had been a fraction higher he might have actually lost his eye. The edges look enflamed almost, as if cauterised without the benefits of having stopped the bleeding.

A drop of blood splatters into the porcelain sink.

His breath catches and his lungs struggle.

A second drop. His lungs expand as if unsure of how to take up space in his chest.

A third drop and his breath shudders out of him on a sob. He muffles the sound with his hand, as best as he could but it still feels too loud, too big for the space to contain let alone his chest. Keith hunches over and the edge of the sink creaks under his grip and he hastily lets go.

Shiro had seen him and he’d been scared.

Keith thought of the scars scattered over Shiro’s body, and what he overheard from Sendak and the bits and pieces Thace had told him and it’s easy to put together and the urge to be sick rises in him quick and fast. He fights it down and his hands shake or maybe all of him does but it's hard to tell.

The urge to be clean rises in its stead and he strips with mechanical precision and turns on the shower. The water stings his face and the sound drowns out the wounded noises that escape the hand he has clasped over his mouth and when his legs give out it's not even a surprise.

He sinks to the floor and brings his knees to his chest and his hair hands around his face like a curtain but it means he cant see his warped reflection in the glass of the shower door so he doesn’t even try to move it out of the way.

Keith loses track of time under the spray but comes back to himself before the water turns cold.
Stumbling out into his room, wrapped in a towel with water still running in rivulets down his back and chest fills him with a sense of déjà vu. Outside he can hear the faint sounds of raindrops beginning to spatter against the building, a summer storm rolling in from the west.

He sinks down onto the edge of his bed and stares vacantly at the door to the hallway. There’s a restlessness building inside him thats painfully offset by the bone deep reluctance to do anything about it.

A small part of Keith half expects to hear his door splinter any moment, to hear the clicking of guns mix with the rumble of thunder that was tearing apart the night sky.

The logical part of Keith knew Shiro wouldn't be coming in through his door any time soon, not while Pidge was still out of commission. Shiro was too good of a man to leave any member of his family vulnerable.

Still. Keith should be moving. He should be getting dressed and getting ahead of this whole situation before it snaps shut around him because Keith can feel something in his gut stirring, under the restlessness and the frightful emptiness that was slowly creeping its way through his lungs.

Instinct was nipping at his heels like a wolf and it was telling him to start running again.

But not just yet.

Keith let himself fall back and it took almost nothing at all for him to sink into sleep, the sound of the beginning storm blanketing his thoughts.

xXx

It was still raining the next afternoon when he woke. The window in his bedroom revealed a town washed grey and the rain snapped against the pane of glass like a malevolent assault instead of mere weather.

He was getting dressed when he reached for his jacket and came up empty. A flash of cold goes through him.

He’d left it behind at Shiro’s house fully intending to go back and get it before everything had suddenly gone to shit. He’d left it, draped over a chair with his phone nestled in its pocket.

“Fuck,” he gets out before sinking back down onto his bed, letting his head fall into his hands.

He rests there like that for a moment and spares a second to consider trying to retrieve it. He dismisses it almost immediately but with a cringing sort of reluctance. The phone was a dime a dozen and had almost no information on it anyway. He could always get another one late and any important numbers he had memorised.

But the jacket.

His jaw stings under his hands, healed over enough to have stopped bleeding but still angry and incredibly tender.

It was a foolish thought; a foolish want, to have that small piece of Shiro back. No, best to leave it with its original owner.

But the sudden wind which had spurned him into moving was gone now and he sunk back down onto the bed.

He should be moving.

He wasn’t.

xXx

There’s a ringing in Shiro's ears.

There’s a ringing in Shiro's ears and blood on his hand and both are connected but at the same time they’re not and he feels like he’s about to scatter apart like so much stardust.

Keith was—

Keith was a monster, a voice in Shiro's head whispers and he keens.

Because Keith couldn't be a monster. He wasn’t like the ones from his dreams, the ones he remembers now. He wasn't like the hundred or the thousand he had faced down for the Garrison and then for Allura. He looked different, he acted different—he was good.

Shiro’s eyes flickered down to the body on the floor.

The vampire, Sendak, was already growing brittle. He looks away quickly, nausea swimming through him briefly. A shudder runs its way through Shiro and his grip tightens on Pidge and she groans. Hastily and he slackens his grip.

Keith had looked scared.

Shiro clenches and then unclenches the hand not clutching at Pidge. Drying blood, Keith’s blood, sticks to his fingers, tacky.

He’d looked so scared.

There’s a commotion at the end of the alleyway.

Shiro spins, teeth bared in a snarl, hunching over Pidge to protect her like he hadn't been able to before and is assaulted by bright flashlights.

“What the fuck, Shiro,” Lance cries but he's drowned out by the scream of “Katie!” and then Matt is falling to his knees before them.

Shiro lets Matt takes his sister, lets the around of his fussing wash over him.

“Thank christ,” Lance breathes. “You found her.”

“And you got the vampire.” Hunk comments as he wanders around them, giving Shiro a wide berth. “Thats good. And also kinda gross, how did you manage to tear his head off?”

He sounds queasy and joking at the same time and Shiro’s breath catches in his lungs on a sob.

“I didn't,” he chokes out.

He can feel Lance and Hunk looking at him but he’s focused on Matt. Matt, who looks up from his sister, a frown bleeding its way across his face.

“You didn't what?” Hunk asks, tentatively.

Shiro takes a deep breath. It shakes. “Didn't kill him.”

“Then whats with the detached head then?” Lance is squinting at him and Shiro sees the concern in his face and has to look away.

His eyes find Matts again. There’s a look of dawning realisation in his eyes and it drags the next few words out of Shiro by the roots.

“Keith killed him.” he says softly.

Silence greets his words. Shiro looks down at his hand again and has to close his eyes as the wave of nausea comes back.

“What do you mean, mullet killed him,” Lance asks, high pitched and incredulous.

Shiro takes a breath and then another but the words don't come out. Saying them makes it real.

Matt says it for him. “He’s a vampire, isn't he.” He sounds resigned and Shiro snaps to face him so quickly his head spins. He can hear Lance and Hunks exclamations of denial but Shiro is already nodding.

“B-but how?” Lance splutters. “You’ve seem him in sunlight!”

Matt looks back down at Pidge and hums. The pinched look on his face grows but Shiro cant look away, needs to hear what he has to say.

Instead he’s surprised when Matt just shakes his head. “We’re not going to have this discussion in an alley.” He shifts his grip on Pidge and stands, cradling her to his chest. After a beat, Shiro follows and his muscles ache and protest.

“Lance, Hunk,” Matt nods towards Sendak. “Take care of that will you? Then meet us back at my place. I need to think.”

There was a sound of agreement but Shiro couldn't do more than be grateful that Matt was willing to take the lead. He felt tired all of a sudden, like he was crashing after an adrenaline rush but his mind wouldn't stop chasing after itself.

“Shiro?”

He looked over and saw Matt waiting for him further down the alley. He forced himself to walk, one foot in front of the other.

He lost time again. Sitting in the car with Pidge tucked against his side while Matt drove. There was a drop of water on the window and then another and another. He blinks. He was walking up the stairs to the apartment Matt and Pidge shared with her in his arms.

Blinks.

Lance and Hunk were sitting on the couch. Matt was walking out of hallway and Pidge was nowhere to be seen. Shiro feels the surge of fear and Matt must notice because he smiles slightly and says,

“Katie’s fine. Just sleeping off whatever that bastard dosed her with.”

Shiro settles back down in the love-seat. He hadn't even noticed that he’d risen from it.

“Okay now that we’re all here,” Lance sits forward and there’s no humour in his eyes for once. “Can someone explain this shit to me? Cuz like I said before, I’ve definitely seen your boyfriend wandering about in sunlight while I was snooping on you and I don't think they make sunblock strong enough for the undead.”

Hunk is nodding beside him and even Shiro is turning to look at Matt.

Matt sighs, wanders into the kitchen and comes back with a beer. He settles into the seat across from Shiro and rubs at his face.

“Okay you gotta understand that this is like,” he waves his hands around, almost spilling some of his beer, “stuff my father worked on and things Shiro heard whispers of back when they were working for the Garrison, right? I never really thought too much about it but now?”

He takes a swig of his beer, thinking.

“So,” he begins, “back when my dad was with the Garrison he was part of their research team right? Like he wasn’t involved in their most classified stuff but he saw some shit. He was mostly involved in looking for ways to harness uv light better to our advantage like ray guns.” Matt laughs. “Honestly it was some real scifi shit.”

“But the longer he was there the more stuff he noticed and he found some real strange research notes that convinced him to do some more digging and what he found was, well...interesting.”

“Interesting how,” Lance asks suspiciously.

“Interesting like how the vampires we know aren’t actually the only vampires out there.”

Everyone stared at Matt and then at Shiro who didn’t say anything.

“Means exactly what I said.” Matt gestured expansively. “Banshee, mummies, fucking werewolves, you name it. Different names, different looks but same creature.”

“But those are just stories right?” Hunk lets out a nervous laugh and then stops when no one else joins him. “Wait seriously? Then why—“

Matt cuts him off. “Apparently there aren't many of them left. Most were wiped out years ago and the ones left behind can hide amongst human easy enough.”

“Wiped out?” Lance asks, frowning. “Wiped out by who, the Garrison?”

Matt shakes his head. “Wiped out by other vampires. The ones like that,” he waves vaguely in the direction of the city and Shiro takes that to mean, ones like Sendak, “apparently decided that they should be the only species around, some kind of superior race bullshit.”

Matt takes another swig of his beef before giving up and setting it on the coffee table with a clink. “There were never too many of the other species to begin with and the vampires that we know—“ Matt shrugs slightly. “Well, they multiply like rabbits.”

“And this just happened without the Garrison noticing?” Hunk asked, dubious.

Matt snorts. “Of course not. They knew exactly what was going on, but why would they care? Vampires were wiping out vampires; they were content to let them do their job for them. Of course it wasn't until the end that they realised that the vampires they were left with were ravenous greedy monsters and there weren't enough of the other species left to keep the population down.”

“So you’re saying that the other ones were good guys?” Hunk asks.

“Not really.” Matt frowns to himself. “But they weren’t really bad guys either from what I’ve been able to find out? Most of them could survive off of animals as well as humans and they preferred being left alone. Some killed people sure, but others didn't. Just like humans that way I guess. They also tended to police their own people.”

Matt sighed again. “I think my dad wanted the Garrison to consider recruiting some of those surviving vampires. He thought that they might have ‘invaluable insight’ as well as motivation to help take out as many of the common bloodsuckers as possible.” He shrugs a shoulder. “The Garrison didn't really care for the idea. The only reason they ever wanted one of those vampires in the Garrison was to figure out how to kill them.” Something grim flashes across his face. “Or how to weaponise them.”

Matt turns to look at Shiro. “Can you tell me what he looked like?” He asks. Its gentle, the way he does it and Shiro would resent it if he didn't think he needed it.

Shiro hesitates. “I don't—“ He cuts himself off. Breathes. “Yellow eyes,” he eventually gets out. “I remember yellow eyes. Reptilian.” Everything else was a blur, like his brain refused to look. He only remembered the expression on Keiths face. Shiro’s fingers twitch.

Matt swallows and shakes his head. “Not a lot to go on but he’s definitely not the same type as Sendak, they all have red eyes, and not any of the others I've heard whispers about either.”

They all lapse back into silence again and Shiro mind spins. Shiro thought about every vampire he'd ever met, their red eyes and sharp teeth and the glee in their faces when they hurt you.

That wasn't Keith.

“Shiro?” It's Hunk. Shiro looks up at him to see him wringing his hands slightly. “If Keith was the one that killed Sendak then...” he swallows and gestures. “Whose blood is on your hand?”

Shiro looks down at his hand and sees the others do the same. He clenches it again. It's still tacky and in the low light of the apartment it looks black.

Keiths, he thinks to himself. Its Keiths blood.

He needs to clean it off. He needs to get it off.

Silence stretches but Matt must read something in him because he lets his head tilt back to thunk into the back of the chair.

“Fuck,” he says emphatically and Shiro bolts for the bathroom.

xXx

It takes Pidge two days to fully sleep off the drugs and they all spend the time together.

In the wake of Pidge’s kidnapping and the revelation about Keith none of them wanted to be apart. They all piled in on the floor of her room and its too small for them but Shiro cant deny the way it makes something in him unclench slightly at having them all so close.

Not all, a voice whispers.

He shunts it to the side and breathes.

The blood on his hand is gone but it still feels like its there.

He shifts slightly and presses his leg more firmly against Matt who groans and swats at him in his sleep. Shiro grins slightly but it doesn't stick. Outside the storm continued to rage, rain pelting against the windows and the streets outside.

Everything felt off and Shiro didn't know how to make it better. A part of him wanted to leave, to run out the door and track Keith down and demand answers. Had Keith inserted himself into Shiro’s life knowing what Shiro was, because he knew now that there was no way that Keith didn't know. He wanted to grab him, shake him and demand answers but more than that, more than anything—

He wanted to apologise.

It had grown from a need to a compulsion over the last few hours. In the silence he had nothing better to do with his time but think and like a broken record he kept coming back to the way Keith had looked at him.

He’d been terrified of Shiro in the end.

Terrified and hurt, Shiro had made him bleed and the pit in his stomach gapes even wider. Shiro might know less about Keith than he thought, then he’d hoped, but in his heart he knew that Keith wasn't a murderer.

A killer, certainly. Sendak was proof enough of that.

And that meant that Shiro had been right in his guess. Keith had killed the first vampire and then they’d arrived in town and some time after that, Sendak had followed.

But this was all speculation. There was no way for him to know for certain without actually asking him and, Shiro thought with a sinking sensation, he didn't know if that was going to be possible.

“The hell happened to my head,” comes a groan from the bed.

Shiro springs up, knocking Matt awake and like a chain reaction the others startle in consciousness.

“Katie!” Matt lunges at the bed and Shiro laughs as Pidge squarks and flails under her brother weight.

“Get off me, you asshole,” she grumbles even as she pulls Matt in tighter. When Matt finally lets her go, Lance and Hunk both wonder over to claim their own hugs and then its just Shiro.

She squints at him. “What,” she grouses. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

Shiro sinks into the bed beside her and gathers her up in his arms. She hugs him back just as tightly and he for the first time since she went missing, his breathing came a little easier. After a minute she smack at him to let her go, and he does, reluctantly.

“So,” she says adjust the glasses Matt passes to her. “Whats happened.”

Shiro stares at her in surprise and her sharp eyes flit to each of them before rolling heavenwards.

“You’re all tense enough that it's a wonder you don't have muscle cramps. Plus you were all in my room and puppy piles aren’t our usual thing. So,” she fixes them with a glare, “Spill. Something happened and it's not just what happened to me, is it?”

Hunk caves first under her glare. “Keiths a vampire!” he blurts and then shrugs when everyone else turns and frowns at him. “What? She was going to find out eventually, may as well just rip it off like a bandaid.”

All aside from Shiro look back at her and she doesn't look surprised.

“You knew, didn't you.” Matt said heavily

“Oh,” Pidge rubs at her arms slightly. “No, not definitively, at least not before Sendak took me. He told me but yeah…” She trails off and then shrugs. “It just made a lot of sense, you know?”

“Sendak told you?” Shiro questions.

Pidge nods and they all settle around her. “The way he was talking, he made it seem like they’d been trying to get rid of him.”

“They?” Lance asks.

She flaps a hand at them. “They. Other vampires, ones like Sendak.” She clarifies. “Apparently there’s some kind of long standing grudge between Keith and Sendak’s people and they’d finally gotten tired of having him around.”

She scoots back to settle into the bed more. “Sounds like they sent one their own here to stir up trouble. They were hoping that it would be sting enough to take Keith out or at the very least whoever came after it would then take Keith out.” She shrugs, apparently not noticing the way Shiro suddenly stiffens, or more likely, just ignoring it. “When that didn't work they sent Sendak and things just kind of spiralled from there.”

“So the most recent murders,” Matt starts, “They were definitely Sendak, right?”

Pidge nods. “Yeah, those murders were all him” Her nose wrinkles distaste.

“He cant have thought that he’d be able to get away with it,” Lance wondered out loud and Shiro found himself agreeing.

“I don't think he cared what happened to him.” Pidge said thoughtfully. “Whatever this cause was, beyond getting rid of Keith, he seemed to be a true believer.” She shook her head, a faintly disguised look crossing her face. “Zealous,” She murmured. “He was zealous.”

She blinks and her eyes clear. “Guys.” She look around at them all before finally settling on Shiro and he has to force himself not to quail under her gaze. “What happened to Sendak? And what happened with Keith.”

Shiro starts to look away but before he can, a small hand catches his and squeezes.

“Shiro?” Pidge asks, softly.

“I—,” his voice breaks and Shiro clears his throat. “Sendaks dead. He had you when I found you and I—“ Shiro does look away this time and he must be hurting her had with how hard he’s clinging to her but she doesn't complain.

“And then you saved me?” She finished for him, more of a question and he shakes his head.

“I wouldn't have gotten to you in time,” he confesses softly and the others are staring at him as well. He hadn't said anything about this, not really. “Sendak had you at the far end, he would have killed you before I got to you.”

He shakes his head again and the scene plays out in his mind. Coming in though the alley to find red eyes staring at him from the shadows with her pale limp form laying in front of the massive vampire. For a second he’d thought she was dead and he’d been too late.

The hand in his grips him back, even harder.

“Shiro?” Pidge prompts and Shiro lets his breath rush from his lungs in a rush.

“It was Keith,” he says, voice rasping. “He must have come in through the other building because I didn't see him get there but he came bursting out of the shadows like…” he trailed off because there was no way to describe exactly what it had been like watching Keith throw himself into Sendak. It had been all fire and wrath and brutal movements and the fight had been over almost before it had begun.

“He knocked Sendak away from you and by the time I got to you the fight was almost over.” Shiro finishes and then Hunk helpfully adds,

“Keith tore off his head.”

Pidge gapes slightly. “He tore off his head?” She repeats, wide eyed, and Hunk and Lance nod.

“Left it lying a few feet away.” Lance confirms. “Fucker’s dead as a doornail. Permanently this time too.”

“Huh. Wicked.” Pidge blinks a few times. “Keith must be incredibly strong then,” She mutters, half to herself. “Sendak wasn’t your average vampire, for Keith to take him out…” She trails off and lets that thought settle in.

Pidge shakes her head. “What happened next?”

Shiro falters. This was the part that he’d been dreading but she deserved to know everything that had happened. He just didn't know what to say.

Pidge must see something in him though because her eyes narrow and she makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Okay,” she says. “All of you out.”

Shiro stands with the others but she doesn't let go of the grip on his hand, just leads him back to sit on the bed. “Not you,” she says softly. “But the rest of you, out. And no eavesdropping either,” she add, eyeing the other three.

Despite their protests, the others leave and a few seconds later Shiro hears the tv turn on in the living room, volume up loud.

Satisfied, Pidge turns to him. “Shiro?”

Shiro licks his lips, nervous.

“I saw him.” He gets out. Talking was like pulling teeth. “I saw him and I—I panicked. I saw a vampire and he came close and he was talking, I think, m-maybe asking about you I don’t know,” he whispers to her, plaintive. She watches him, silent.

“I hurt him,” he says, quietly horrified. “H-he got to close and I just. I just.” His breath catches in his throat and he curls into himself slightly. “I hurt him Pidge.”

Skinny arms catch him around his throat and pull him in and he goes limply. “I’m sorry Shiro,” she whispers to him. “I’m so sorry. But maybe we can find him? And you can talk to him and then things might be alright?”

Shiro shakes his head, jostling her slightly. “I don't think talking to him is going to help Pidge,” he croaks. “You didn't see his face a-after I…” He shakes his head again. “He was scared of me Pidge. He saved you and I hurt him and I scared him.”

Fingers pet at his head. “We’ll figure this out Shiro.” Pidge says and something about her voice settles the roiling feelings inside him a little. Maybe it's how determined she sounds.

He doest really believe that he can fix this but he believes that she’ll make sure he gets the chance to at least try.

xXx

They all go into work the next morning. It's grey and dreary, the streets still slick and wet from the deluge of the last few days.

Shiro feels like death warmed over, having only fallen into restless sleep for an hour or two before he’d forced himself to rise.

They all stumble into the office and go about they general duties but Shiro can see that their hearts aren't really in it. The deaths they’d been following were solved and there wasn’t really anything else to do in the meantime. They go through their files, putting them away now that the case is solved.

The board comes down and the photos with it.

Shiro had never found inactivity like this to be a problem before; patience after all was something he tried be mindful about but the urge to do something is simmering below his skin with no outlet. More and more he longs to be out on the streets, tracking Keith down. He couldn't though, at least not yet. Give it a day or two, he tells himself frantically. You don’t want to make him feel like he’s being hunted, don't want want to make him feel trapped.

Keith never liked feeling trapped, he thinks to himself, fingers rubbing at the edge of an old green book.

It was another thing that made sense now.

With hindsight being what it was, the thick roping scar running over Keiths shoulder took on a different meaning, as did the hesitance that had hung over him during their first few meetings, and even a bit beyond. Shiro had worked so hard to make Keith feel comfortable around him and now it was all gone like so much smoke.

With a frustrated sigh, Shiro slams his desk drawer close and the pens on his table rattle. The others all look up from own work, startled but Shiro couldn't even muster up the energy to apologise.

The morning passed slow like molasses with nothing to distract them, the tension in the room seemed to ratchet up with every minute that passed.

At first Lance had tried to talk to Shiro but Shiro’s stony silence soon had him fleeing back to his desk. The others didn't even bother with an attempt and left Shiro adrift in the no-mans-land of misery surrounding his desk.

By 12, Lance looked like he was about to chew through the pencil he was gnawing on, Hunk had retreated to the small kitchenette and even now Shiro could see him frantically cleaning down the worktops.

Matt and Pidge were clustered around the same desk and Shiro couldn't be certain but he hadn't seen them turn to a different page or write anything in the last ten minutes.

Eventually he couldn’t stand it.

“I’m going by my house,” he announces. “I think I—left a file there.”

Its a paper thin lie but he doesn’t care and the others don’t try to stop him.

When he stumbles in through the front door he feels, tired and aching. He should start cleaning things up, should be planning what to do next but instead he goes to the shower to go try and wash the day away.

It's pathetic maybe, but as soon as he’s out and dry enough that he isn't tracking water through his house, Shiro is crawling into his bed and curling up on the side that Keith had slept on. Shiro takes a deep breath and tries to pretend that he doesn't press his face into the pillow but it's a loosing battle.

The few nights Shiro had managed to convince Keith to stay with him had spoiled him. His room feels bigger and colder without the others mans added presence, which was terribly ironic considering that Keith sucked up heat like sponge and had always seemed determined to take up as little room as possible.

Shiro shivers slightly and tells himself its the cold.

He drifts into a light and restless sleep. Shadows play in his dreams, red eyes glaring from above and the cacophonous roar of a blood-high crowd. A haze falls over him and something looms, a figure.

The sound of a ringing phone shocks Shiro awake.

In a daze he stumbles from his bed and out into the living room. He blames the sleep still clinging to him for the fact that it takes a second for him to realise that the sound isn't coming from his own phone.

Wide eyed he tracks the sound back into the hallway and then into his study.

Draped over the arm of his chair was a jacket. Keith’s jacket, the one he’d given him.

Shiro lunges forward but the phone stops ringing before his shaking hands can find the right pocket. He pulls out the phone anyway and stares.

He unlocks the phone and goes to missed calls. There’s no caller id, just a number and on a whim he checks the call history and finds the same number from a few days previous, a six minute call at that. So not just a random phone number as the lack of name would imply with anyone else but someone Keith actually knows.

Shiro checks contacts quickly and frowns. There’s a grand total of three numbers programmed in with names; Rolo and Nyma and himself.

Frowning, Shiro sinks back onto his heels and chews on his lip in thought. Clutching the phone in his hand, Shiro paces. This doesn’t really help him, having Keith’s phone but somehow it feels like it should. He sits with a thump in his office chair, gnawing at his lip and as he’s watching the screen lights up again.

Same number.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he hits accept and holds it to his ear.

“Keith!” The voice on the other end is male and entirely relieved. “Are you okay, you didn't answer earlier?”

Shiro opens his mouth to say something but finds himself frozen.

“Keith? Keith whats wro—“ the voice cuts itself off and when it comes back, it holds none of the previous concern. “Who is this.” Its almost a snarl and Shiro cant stop the way his chest stutters at the sound, an instinctive reaction. “What have you done with Keith?”

“I haven't done anything with Keith,” Shiro blurts out. “I promise you, I’m a f-friend of his,” he curses himself for the way he stutters over the word but he closes his eyes.

“Who is this?”

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, muffled. A second persons voice in the background.

“My name is Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro says. “I’m a friend of his from Arrowhead.”

“Wait.” Another voice cut into the conversation, quick and sharp and gravelled. Something about it pings at Shiro’s memory. “Did you say Shirogane?”

Shiro blinks and answers hesitantly, “Yes?”

Then quietly, that second voice speaks again. “Thace. I know him.” 

“You know him?” The first voice, Thace apparently, sounded shocked and Shiro could sympathise with the feeling.

“Yes,” came the second speaker, solemn and weary, “I do. He was a good man from what I remember.” The voice comes through clearer, obviously pitched for Shiro to hear. “Why do you have Keith’s phone?”

“He left it at my place and I—“ Shiro chest tightens.

“Are you okay?” came that voice again.

“No,” Shiro says. “I don’t think so. I think I hurt him.”

There’s silence and then, “How. How did you hurt him.”

Shiro doesn’t know why he’s saying this, only that the voice is familiar in a way he can’t place and it doesn’t make him feel bad this time. “He surprised me. I s-saw—I saw him, and it surprised me and I don’t think I was seeing him and I didn’t mean to. He saved her from Sendak and I didn’t mean to but I wasn’t seeing him.”

“…Sendak is dead?…He stopped him?”

There’s a rumble then, involuntary sounding and pleased. “Well that’s something at least.”

Shiro leans back in his chair, eyes sliding shut as understanding dawns. “You’re—“ 

“—vampires, yes,” Thace's voice came in droll. “And you’re a hunter.” He hums to himself as if he hadn't just given Shiro and the others a shock. “Not only that but you’re Keith’s hunter.” He mused.

“I- wait, wait.” Shiro said desperately. “How exactly do you know that and how exactly do you know me?”

There was a silence at the other end and then the soft sound of the phone passing hands.

“Keith mentioned you last time we spoke.” Came Thace's voice, softer like he was walking away from the phone. ”Or rather he mentioned a hunter and we inferred the rest; the fact that he was against just killing you honesty’s said a lot.”

As Shiro tries to deal with that piece of knowledge, the nameless voice comes back, clear and strong and achingly gentle. “And as to how I know you.” There’s a pause, a considering air. “Well, I’m not surprised your don’t remember much. I practically had to carry you out of that cell.” 

Shiro freeze and the phone creaks under his grip. His cell. His cell.

freezing cold nights and a muzzle strapped to his face, cutting into the bridge of his nose. the jeering shouts of vampires as they watched and pitted him against their own kind. the haze of pain after a fight and the gnawing hunger in his stomach and his arm his arm his arm was gone and in its place was a metal thing claw tipped and brutal and they chanted champion as he was sent out. the rush as the arm lit up and the dizziness that came with the drugs they used to try and sedate him but it wouldn't work and it didn't work but the hands on him weren't hurting but helping and there was a voice—

“You.” Shiro says through numb lips. “You were there.” He swallows and its like swallowing glass. “You got me out.” 

“Yes.” Came the voice. “I did. You are not the only one with a grudge against them. Its always a pleasure to mess up their operations but when it comes with the added benefit of saving someone like you?” There was the faintest rustle of fabric like the other had shrugged. “Then its a reward unto itself.”

“Ulaz,” Shiro breathes out. “Your name is Ulaz.”

“Yes it is.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. “And I will discuss whatever it is you wish to know with you at a later time. For now there is a more pressing worry.”

Shiro lets out a shaking breath and nods absently. Keith. Keith came first. “Yes, agreed. Just—what do I do?”

“What you always do when one fucks up, I expect. Apologise for it.”

“Would that be enough?” Shiro asks, bitter.

Ulaz hums. “He likes you. Maybe even loves you. I assure you, he probably feels just as bad about this but I would hurry if I were you. He has a tendency to run.”

If Keith ran he wouldn’t find him. He knows that in his gut, sure as he knows the sun rise.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay. I’ll check the shop and the apartment and…” And hope.

He could fix this.

xXx

There was a knock on his door. For a split second, Keith almost thinks it’s Shiro or maybe even a whole team of Garrison Hunters coming to kill him. But no, they wouldn’t knock.

He gets up slowly, head throbbing and feeling dazed. He probably shouldn’t answer the door looking like he does. Last he checked his cheek was still red, the wound, unlike any other he’s ever gotten, beginning to scar.

He hasn’t scarred from something in years.

He goes to the door anyway and opens the door and its Shiro and he opens the door and its Shiro and he—

“Keith,” Shiro breaths out. His voice is wet sounding and wobbly and Keith thinks he makes a noise, he must from the way Shiro’s face crumples but he can’t hear it.

There’s a moment where he wonders if Shiro’s come to kill him but that thought scatters like dust on the wind as Shiro steps inside and gathers him up.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I'm so fucking sorry Keith.”

Keith lets him hold him, frozen and confused.

He doesn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says again. His voice is wet and his face is buried in Keith’s neck. “I didn’t—didn’t mean it. I know you’re good, I know you saved Katie and me and I know you didn’t kill anyone—I know.”

Keith swallows. “You know?”

Shiro snorts, almost amused. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Keith. I know a monster when I see one. You’re not one.”

And that..Keith doesn’t know what that is but it feels good.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Shiro says again. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I scared you too,” Keith gets out eventually. “Why are you here?”

He feels Shiro swallow. “I came to apologise. Maybe beg for forgiveness—that does seem appropriate in this situation. Some of your friends gave me some encouragement.”

And then he’s pulling away and holding up a familiar jacket and Keith’s phone.

“Thace called you by the way. Ulaz says hello too.”

Keith blinks and then slowly, grabs both things.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” he asks.

Shiro does him the courtesy of thinking about the question. “No,” he says eventually. “No it doesn’t. It might take some getting used to but I know you’re good and I know Ulaz is too.”

“You do?” Keith asks slowly.

Shiro nods. “Turns out Sendak isn’t the only vampire I’ve met who I didn’t remember.”

“You were one of the people they rescued.” Keith had already guessed that but to hear it confirmed was…something else.

There was an enormous amount of luck in that statement, things aligning just enough to produce this outcome and Keith wonders absently if this was where it all went—all his years of bad luck and it was just saving itself up for something good.
“You’re taking this rather well,” Keith says, hesitantly. “Me being…what I am.”

“I think I knew it that night I took you back home from the diner.” Shiro says. “You were so cold and I smelt blood on you and your heart—“ Shiro shakes his head frantically. “It didn’t matter,” he insists, “I didn’t care about it.”

“But this?” Keiths hand drifts up to touch his face and the scar, which still looked so new. “You were scared when you saw me, Shiro.”

Shiro stares at him and then slowly, tenderly his hand comes up to cover Keiths and the scar. He’s shaking his head, a small wounded sound building in his chest

“I wasn’t seeing you,” he confesses and something in Keiths chest clenches tight and then unravels. “I wasn’t in that alleyway, I wasn’t in this town. I saw Sendak and I was back in the pits and my cell and I could barely hear you talking to me and I just—” He swallows hard, shame flashing through his eyes briefly and Keith cant stop himself

He reaches out and tugs Shiro close and down until he’s enfolding the man as best he can. Shiro stiffens in his embrace but before Keith can think he’s overstepped, Shiro slumps, a wet sounding breath shuddering out of him.

Keith cards his hands through white hair and rocks slightly, swaying with the gentle humming sound he can hear.

It’s the song, he realises after a moment. The song, half remembered from a lifetime ago. 

His mother had sung this, he knew, but now if he tried, the things he can almost imagine the words.

“I had hoped,” he said thickly after a while, “that was the case.” He laughs a strangled sound and hurries to clarify. “That sounds fuckin’ awful I know but I just.” He tightens his grip around Shiro a little. “I just didn’t want to think of you hating me.” Keith admits. 

“I could never hate you.” Shiro denies vehemently. “I could never, Keith.” 

Shiro's own grip tightens and Keith can feel his ribs creak, but the strength in the arms around him feels good, feel safe. Shiro isn’t going to hurt him. Shiro would never.  

“You’re my good thing, Keith.” He whispers, aching and small and Keith cant stop the small ragged noise that breaks out of him.

He buries his face against Shiro and confesses.

“You’re my good thing too, Shiro.” 

They stand like that in his living room for a minute or maybe an hour. It doesn’t feel real yet but it doesn’t feel like a dream either. Shiro is too warm, too solid to be something made up by his own mind to comfort him.

Which means he’s actually there. He’s holding Keith.

Keith buries his face deeper into Shiro’s neck and then mumbles, “What now?”

Above him Shiro hums. “You should call Thace and Ulaz soon to tell them you’re okay, and-" he pauses, thinking about something and then to Keiths surprise adds, "Maybe also talk to Rolo and Nyma. They know somethings up, but they don't know what it is exactly and it's making them twitchy.”

"Okay," Keith sighs. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Those two really care about you," Shiro says softly. "Also, Pidge will want to see you to say thank you."

His team. Keith stiffens in his embrace slightly. “And the others?”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “They’ll follow mine and Katies lead. Don’t worry about them.”

It shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was but the tension in Keith bleeds out with his breath. And then it rushes back in again, immediate.

"You work for someone," Keith whispered. "You were here on a job."

"Yes," Shiro says slowly.

"Doesn't that mean you're laving now that it's over?"

The grip around him tightens. "No," Shiro says, soft but firm. "No, Keith. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do yet but I'm not just going to leave and if I have to, I'll come back. I promise."

Keith takes a long slow breath.

“Okay,” he says.

Shiro starts to sway gently, and it lulls Keith’s eyes into dropping, heavy and tired.

“Okay,” Shiro agrees.

He doesn’t let go of Keith.

Keith doesn't let go of him either.