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The early morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, shining softly on Keith’s eyelids. He resisted for as long as he could, brow drawing down and face burying deeper into the pillow, but behind the facade of sleep he was slowly coming awake.
Behind him, the mattress shifted as Shiro rolled over and draped an arm across Keith’s waist.
“‘s it morning already?”
Keith grumbled and reluctantly opened one eye. On the bedside table, the clock read 6:27.
“Three more minutes,” he said. Three minutes to relax into his husband’s warmth behind him. Three minutes of rest before he had to pull himself together to face the day.
“Sounds good,” Shiro answered, pulling Keith closer. He buried his face against Keith’s back, between his shoulderblades, and sighed. Keith slid a hand down and laced their fingers together where Shiro’s prosthetic rested gently on his hip, then closed his eyes and drifted.
Minutes later he was jolted fully awake by the shrill siren of the alarm.
More grumbling ensued as Shiro -- always the conscientious one -- sat up and removed his body heat from Keith’s back.
“We should sleep in,” Keith groaned into his pillow. “Call in sick.”
“You know we can’t do that.” Shiro leaned over and planted a kiss on Keith’s bare shoulder. “C’mon, get up. I’ll make you breakfast.”
He felt Shiro stand up and heard his slow shuffle toward the bathroom.
“You’d better be up by the time I’m done showering!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Keith closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the willpower to force himself out of the blanket cocoon. He shivered when his feet touched the floor and fumbled quickly for his slippers. It was his job in the mornings to make the bed and empty the dishwasher; in exchange, Shiro would make breakfast for both of them while Keith took his turn showering.
That was the way their life had been for the last year since they’d both graduated and moved in together. Keith smiled as he went about his chores; as much as he complained, any minor discomfort was worth it. Life with Shiro was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Waking up with his husband close beside him, going about his day knowing that he could come home to Shiro’s embrace, simply existing in the same time and space together was enough to make his heart beat softer.
When Shiro got out of the shower, towel around his waist as he rummaged through the dresser for clean socks, Keith leaned in to kiss him before heading to the bathroom. There was a heart drawn on the mirror, smudged into the condensation, and Keith smiled at his own foggy reflection. He showered quickly; although the hot water felt like a blessing, he wanted to have more time afterward to simply be with Shiro before they both went their separate ways to work.
Breakfast was ready by the time he got out, the smell of coffee and toast wafting through the apartment. Keith’s mouth watered as he finished dressing and came into the kitchen. There was nothing like the scent of food to get him motivated in the mornings, and Shiro knew that and used it to his advantage.
“Good to see you’re fully conscious,” the older man greeted him, turning around from where he was frying eggs on the stove. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep in there.”
“Your confidence in me knows no bounds.” Keith moved closer, standing behind Shiro and winding his arms around his waist. Shiro relaxed into the touch but kept a watchful eye on the skillet.
“I trust awake you a lot more than sleepy you,” Shiro said, sparing one hand to rest over Keith’s own. The gold band on his finger shone softly where it rested against the matching one on Keith’s hand.
“Well right now you’re dealing with hungry me, so how does that affect your calculations?”
Shiro squeezed his hand before picking up the spatula to flip the almost-burning eggs. “It makes me think someone ought to be getting a plate if he wants to eat before heading out.”
“Ha.” Keith bumped his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder; the other man shoved back and Keith pulled away, laughing, and opened the cabinet.
Breakfast might have been simple, but it was each other’s company that made it special. Keith scrolled through the news feed on his phone, seemingly ignoring his husband, but under the table his foot was rubbing against Shiro’s calf. Shiro buttered his toast, then casually reached over the table and picked up Keith’s own to spread jam on it.
“Thanks, love,” Keith murmured, hardly looking up. It wasn’t that he was taking Shiro for granted -- far from it -- but they were in such perfect sync that they knew almost exactly what each other was thinking. Right now they were in the mindset for work; later there would be time for savoring their relationship and luxuriating in each other’s company.
Keith finished eating first and made a halfhearted attempt to steal the last bit of Shiro’s toast but the other man was too quick for him.
“Slowpoke,” Shiro teased, and Keith blew a raspberry.
Dumping his plate in the sink, Keith raced to the bathroom, closely pursued by Shiro, and they elbowed each other for a first turn at brushing teeth. Shiro’s fingers found the tender spot over Keith’s ribs and he collapsed in a fit of giggles, effectively yielding his place at the sink. Shiro had barely put his toothbrush in his mouth before Keith recovered enough to attack him with kisses up and down his neck, striking his ticklish spots and making him twist away. Despite his best efforts, Shiro was driven from the sink and Keith got his turn, sticking the toothbrush in his mouth and starting to scrub just as Shiro’s hand returned to his hip.
Keith expected another attack but instead Shiro pulled him closer so they were standing elbow-to-elbow by the sink, watching themselves in the mirror. They stayed that way as they finished brushing teeth, as Keith raked a comb through his hair, as Shiro straightened his dress shirt and buttoned his cuffs.
“We need to be going,” Keith said at last. Glancing in the mirror one more time, he caught the way Shiro was looking at him. His eyes were dark and soft and Keith could almost feel the way they were tracing over him, feather-light and gentle. Keith stopped in the doorway, feet unwilling to carry himself any farther away.
Shiro came up to him, smelling of soap and aftershave, and Keith willingly leaned into his arms. They stayed that way for a moment, Keith resting his head on the bigger man’s chest, Shiro threading his fingers through Keith’s dark hair.
Then the alarm clock sounded again, a harsh reminder that jolted through them, and Shiro apologetically pulled away. “That’s the last call,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “Gotta go.”
Keith reeled him in with a hand on the back of his neck and they shared a lingering kiss before walking hand in hand to the front door. Shiro put on his shoes and reached for the car keys, tossing one set to Keith and putting the other in his pocket.
“Have a great day at work,” Keith said, bouncing on one foot as he crammed the other into his shoe. Shiro paused, one hand on the doorknob, and watched him fondly.
“You too. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Love ya.”
“Love you, Keith.”
----
It wasn’t often that Keith got home before Shiro, but he didn’t mind the apartment being empty and quiet when he opened the door. In fact, that was all the better for his plans tonight. Not that he wanted Shiro to be stuck on a late shift or in traffic on the interstate, but it would give Keith a bit more time to prepare the surprise for him. He knew with almost certainty that Shiro had forgotten their anniversary today -- not the main one, not the wedding that they would never forget, but the date that they very first laid eyes on each other. Keith knew the date by heart because he’d gone home that day, four years ago, and circled the number big and bold on his calendar.
Four years together, and nearly a year married.
He smiled to himself and rubbed the wedding band on his finger. If there was ever a dream come true, this was surely it.
Rolling up his sleeves, Keith stepped into the kitchen and set to work. He didn’t often get an opportunity to make dinner, too tired at the end of the day or too willing to do other chores while Shiro cooked, but it wasn’t for lack of skill. He knew plenty of good recipes by heart -- and there was the chance he’d memorized some of Shiro’s favorites just for this occasion. Lasagna, green beans, dinner rolls. Nothing too fancy, but their relationship didn’t call for fancy. It was a gesture from the heart, and he knew Shiro would appreciate it.
Keith turned on the TV as he worked, letting the ambient voices fill the living room and float into the kitchen. Maybe he’d been lying when he thought the silence didn’t bother him. It was a little bit lonely in here without Shiro’s presence. Even when the other man was busy, typing away on his laptop or sorting through paperwork, he was usually in Keith’s line of sight like a silent guardian angel. Right now, without him, the apartment was just a little too lifeless.
The pasta was finished cooking and Keith was in the process of layering noodles, meat, and cheese in a casserole dish when the news came on TV. He ignored it, letting the droning voices fill the silence, until Route 41 was mentioned. Keith perked up, hearing the familiar name, knowing that it was Shiro’s usual way home. It would make sense if there was traffic this time of day; that would also explain why his husband was unusually late.
Except the news reporter wasn’t talking about traffic, they were talking about a five-car pileup that had happened just minutes earlier.
Keith laid down one last layer of cheese before stepping into the living room, absently wiping his hands on the kitchen towel.
Abruptly the towel hit the floor, fallen from his numb fingers.
The TV was showing live feed of the wreckage, cars smashed into each other in an unrecognizable tangle of metal, and right in the middle was a familiar shade of red. Shiro’s car.
Keith stood there for a long time. Long enough for the next three stories to run, long enough for the kitchen timer to fade from his hearing. Long enough, finally, for his brain to kick back into gear. It was silly, there was no way Shiro was hurt. Hadn’t he told Keith that he’d see him tonight? Shiro would never break a promise like that. He’d be home. He’d be home.
Moving slowly, Keith found the remote and turned off the TV then went back into the kitchen. The lasagna was still sitting on the counter, ready to go in the oven. The candlesticks were laid out on the table; cheesily romantic, but Keith had wanted to set the mood. There was a bottle of red wine hidden in the back of one of the cabinets, a surprise that he’d saved up for and had been keeping secret for this day.
Shiro would be home to enjoy it. He had to be. There were tons of red cars on the road; the one on the news could be anyone’s.
Keith put the dinner in the oven, jerking back when he accidentally touched the rack. He stared at his burned finger for a minute as he tried to sort out the pain signals. Everything will be okay, his brain kept saying, at the same time overlaid with, nothing matters anymore.
The rest of dinner was put together in a daze. Keith went rifling through the fridge, looking for the green beans, only to turn around and realize that they were already simmering on the stove. The timer went off for the rolls and he stared at it, wondering what it was for. He picked up the towel where he’d dropped it in the doorway and slung it over one shoulder, forgetting to put it back on the hook.
At some point he went to the bedroom to retrieve his phone and he sat on the edge of the bed staring at it. He didn’t want to dial the number but he had to. Slowly his fingers navigated to his contact list, to the first listing, where Shiro’s name was flanked by hearts. Keith pressed the number and put the phone to his ear, staring into the empty space in front of him.
It rang several times before going to voicemail.
Keith hung up and placed the phone back on his bedside table, next to the clock and their framed wedding photo.
So it wasn’t just any car crushed in the middle of thousands of pounds of steel.
He lay down on the bed, curling up on his allotted half of the mattress. Everything about this was too sudden and surreal. If it had been more of a shock, maybe that would have broken the gates of his tears, but as it was, Keith couldn’t even cry. He closed his eyes and listened to his own breathing, somehow so calm despite the fact that...
Closing his hands into fists, he pressed the wedding ring against his chest and stayed like that, letting it make an indent in his skin.
He was in love; he was happy. This couldn’t be happening, not to him and not to a good person like Shiro.
The sound of the front door opening barely registered on his consciousness. But what finally pulled him from his listlessness was footsteps across the kitchen floor, followed by a confused call of his name.
“Keith? You here?”
He sat up on instinct. “Shiro?”
“Everything okay? Dinner’s burning in here.”
Suddenly there were tears burning Keith’s eyes, making him stumble on nothing as he lurched from the bedroom to the kitchen where Shiro was standing and looking around with a confused smile.
“The candles are a sweet touch,” he started to say, but stopped as Keith collided with his chest. “Oh, love. What’s wrong?” A strong arm was around Keith’s shoulders instantly, pulling him closer as he sobbed into Shiro’s shirt.
Shiro tried to walk them into the living room but Keith’s legs couldn’t hold out that far, and with a whimper he went to his knees there on the kitchen floor. His husband followed him down, cradling Keith close to his chest and making quiet shushing sounds as he rubbed Keith’s back. Eventually Keith was able to get his panicked breathing under control, his heart inexplicably racing now that the danger was gone.
“Keith, can you look at me?”
He gulped in a breath and looked up, meeting worried gray eyes. “I thought something had happened to you.”
“Why --? I’m okay, I’m right here.” Shiro cupped Keith’s face with his flesh hand. “I promise I’m okay.”
Keith wrapped his hand tightly around Shiro’s, using him as a pillar of strength to ground himself. “It’s just... there was a wreck on the news, and it looked like your car, and you were late getting home --”
“I was late because I was getting you flowers,” Shiro said with a smile, nodding toward the table. In between the candles there was a bouquet of a dozen roses interspersed with small white flowers. “You thought I’d forget our not-anniversary?”
Keith choked out a laugh. “You were buying flowers, and I thought you’d died!” He clenched a fist and pummeled it against Shiro’s chest. “How could you let me think that?”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Shiro took three of the blows but on the fourth he caught Keith’s wrist. “I promise there won’t be any more surprises from me.”
“Speaking of,” Keith glanced at where the lasagna had three more minutes on the timer, “you’ve got time to make it up to me.”
Shiro stretched out his legs and rested his back against the cabinets, Keith still settled in his lap. “How many kisses do you think it’ll take?” he asked, already starting to pepper light kisses along Keith’s cheeks, following the tracks of his erstwhile tears.
“How many are you willing to give me?”
“As many as I’ve got in me.”
Keith rested their foreheads together, breathing returned to normal, and pecked lightly at Shiro’s lips. “We’ve got four years behind us. Here’s to a lifetime more.”
Shiro tilted his head back and pressed their mouths together. They kissed for a long time, long enough for Keith’s legs to fall asleep where he was kneeling on the floor, long enough for the timer to go off while they ignored it, long enough to solidify the feeling in their hearts that they were there for each other and nothing could ever separate them.
And then they kissed one more time after that, for love.