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This is the end of the hunt. After a lifetime of doing this, Keith can feel when it’s about to end as a thrumming in his blood. It’s thirty degrees, his blood is hot, and he’s in nothing but a leather jacket and old work boots. Running across the snow, he can see his quarry ten feet ahead.
Over the branches he picks his way, gaining speed, until he has his werewolf cornered against an oak. Back against a trunk that’s about three times his width, there’s no way he’s getting out of this.
Keith takes both of his blades he sharpened for this very purpose and scissors them across his neck, refined steel threatening tendons and fur. He stares at the face of his quarry, this monster, and tries to see the human within, but all he can see is wolf. The eyes, maybe, if he’s being generous, but this being killed three campers in the woods last summer. He can’t afford mercy.
“Wait,” the wolf pleads, putting his hands by his head. One claw is as big as Keith’s little finger, is he kidding, he has to dispatch this thing before it can grab the upper hand--”Please, please don’t kill me.”
Keith forces himself to look past the fur, the snout, the teeth as big as his eye--beneath his thin layers of clothing Keith shudders, appalled that his dad could ever see this as more than a monster--he’s a killer, has to be, because of his very nature--and smells the fear wafting off his quarry, hones in on the harsh trembling exhibited only by an animal who knows it’s about to die.
For some reason, only this once--he feels pity.
He lowers his blades a fraction to talk. “And why,” he pants, out of breath from the chase and fog coming harsh in the chill, “do you think I should spare you? Give me one reason.”
“It’s Christmas,” the wolf in front of him says. “I know I deserve to die, but I got this close, and I thought, ‘I just want to see another Christmas.’” Keith’s dog catches up to him and pads over to his side softly, paws leaving puddles of footprints in the snow. Keith wants to train him to become a hunting dog, but every time he closes in on a hunt, Kosmo gets distracted. He has no idea how a rotted tree is more exciting, but Kosmo isn’t convinced. He takes one more step towards the werewolf, and barks.
“Are you kidding me right now?” This is a trap, a way to distract Keith so he lowers his guard.
“I’m not kidding, I--really want to see it,” the werewolf pants, equally out of breath.
Keith cocks his head. “Come on.”
“A reason to see Christmas? Isn’t that something everyone wants to do?” Keith stares at him blankly. “It’s the season of holiday cheer. Humans spend this time with their family. They open gifts, they look at lights, they give thanks. It’s a really special time of year.”
It’s funny he talks about those things, but it doesn’t matter. Keith’s never done any of those things. “And you think, that because this time of year is special, I should spare you?”
The eyes in front of him are pleading now, and the werewolf’s paws are scrabbling against the ground to push him back further against the tree. “Look, I know your reputation, I’m not going to escape, just do what you want. But I’m saying, if it’s going to end anyway, give me a few more days.”
“No way.” Keith draws back to get ready to stick his knife into the werewolf’s chest.
“Please!” Keith stops mid-way. “Do you know your history?”
“My history?”
“In World War One, for the week leading up to Christmas, the British and German soldiers stopped fighting and declared a truce. They treated each other like humans, if only for a little while. Some of them even played soccer.”
“Like humans? You’re not human.” And neither am I, Keith finishes in his head, but he doesn’t need to know that. And how is a truce that happened in some unrelated war supposed to sway his decision now?
“Please.” Keith sighs. He sheaths his knives with the covers hanging on his belt and pulls his jacket close around his chest. It’s getting cold standing around here. He has no idea why he’s doing this; he doesn’t know what’s special about Christmas anyway.
Once the wolf is released, he clutches at his throat and the rest of his body to make sure it’s still there. Keith can see the snout fading, his features becoming more delicate, but only a little. Maybe it’s the light.
“You’re a good person. Can I have your first name?”
“It’s Keith,” says Keith, turning away.
“I’m Shiro.” It's cold; Keith needs to get back to his cabin, and add more antifreeze to his engine or the car won't start. That would be a bummer.
Shiro follows.
“You a history buff, or something?”
“No, it's just something that came to me, in the moment.”
Shiro follows a few more steps, and Keith whips around.
“I thought you were getting out of here.”
“I am. I just wanted to thank you. No one else would have done this for me, you know. You know the true meaning of the Christmas spirit.” He holds Keith's eyes for too long, and Keith stares him down, trying to get him to retreat, but Shiro stubbornly refuses to take the hint.
True meaning of the Christmas spirit, yeah, right--“You know I don't even celebrate, right?”
“...Are you Jewish or something?”
Keith crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg. “I'm a hunter. When I'm not on the road all the time, I live in a cabin and there's no one around. Kind of hard to celebrate Christmas then, don't you think?”
“Have you... ever celebrated Christmas?”
“When I was eleven.”
Shiro looks Keith over from top to bottom, then brings his focus back up to Keith's face. Yes, Keith knows, he's twenty-two and scarred and he doesn't look remotely close to eleven.
“You haven't celebrated since you were eleven? Don't you have a family, a friend you could spend it with?”
Keith glares daggers at Shiro, and he wishes he could look more intimidating. His dad died when he was eleven, and there's no way he’s seeking out his mother. This is a nomadic lifestyle, hunters don't have friends, and they sure as hell don't have family.
“No,” Keith says, and he stalks away, determined to hole up in the safety of his cabin and then the nearest ripped booth of a roadside diner when he's sick of trapping rabbits.
“Well, I don't have anyone, either.”
Keith stumbles over a root in surprise and turns around. “You don't? I thought you lived in packs.”
“Not me. I've always been alone.”
“Then what did you want the extra days for? I was under the impression you had a big family to go home to, kids who you could feed the lie to a little longer.”
Shiro smiles, and okay, he's definitely transforming back. His canines are less pointy than they were at first. “Everyone wants a few more days, Keith. That's the bottom line.”
He doesn't feel like he's been lied to, at all--that's fair. Keith continues trudging through the silent landscape of the woods with Kosmo at his back, everything familiar blanketed in white. “So, you're not celebrating Christmas?”
“Probably not. Unless...I could spend it with you?” Keith stops again to fix Shiro with a death trap stare. He's always been able to do these, but he's still not as scary as a werewolf. When Shiro doesn't flinch, he thinks maybe, he should stop trying.
And then, he thinks, that's not a bad idea. He misses the company. There's one problem, though. “I don't know how to celebrate. It's been so long.”
“I'll show you, if you want.”
He finds himself saying okay.
---
Shiro has white fur. It's completely white, the color of mercy, Keith notices, even as he shifts back on the way to the cabin. He's never seen a wolf like this before, werewolf or other.
The predawn light creeps over the trees, injecting purple into the edge of the dark blue sky until it spreads and it becomes completely light out. Just like a nightmare that seems silly in the light of day, Shiro's wolfish features have disappeared and he's become a man. A very attractive man, Keith sees, as his fur shifts away and reveals abs that he's only seen in gym ads, and a face that should probably sell something, too.
Shiro has a strong jaw and he still has those oddly calming eyes, that light up when he's excited and crinkle when he smiles. And he smiles easily. Keith rummages through his drawers so he can find some clothes that fit Shiro before he sees too much.
It's December 23rd, so they have three days to do what they want before Shiro's going to be out of here. Keith'll give him a head start.
He doesn't have much, but he does have a larger jacket that belonged to his father. Any jeans and flannel should work. He has a ton of those. He brings the clothes out to Shiro and gives him space to put them on, returning later to his bedroom to stare out the window and reflect on his actions.
The evergreen in front of his view has a giant chunk of snow hanging on its bottom most bough; it's close to falling. If any more snow falls, the weight will push the branch down and the snow will tumble to the ground, leaving the branch to bounce free.
Keith rolls over and sprawls his arms out over his bed, taking up the whole thing. He's going to have to sleep at some point, and he led a werewolf to his house. Shiro knows where he sleeps now. Keith's going to have to move houses.
Keith groans and hears Kosmo enter the room. He pads over, and Keith ruffles his fur. Kosmo can protect him. If not, they'll both wake up dead, and be saved from a life lived from motel to motel.
He's drifting off when Shiro knocks at the door. “I built a fire, do you want to come out?”
That sounds so good. Keith will move in front of the fireplace, and fall asleep later. “Yes, wait, I'm coming.” Keith looks at himself in the mirror and knows there's no way of fixing his hair. There's no blood in it, but it's still a tangled mess. “Actually, Shiro, do you mind if I take a bath first? I'm disgusting.”
“It's your house. Knock yourself out.”
Keith does. He's lucky to have running water, so he fills the tub until steam is rolling off the top, strips down, and lowers himself in until the dirt and grime washes away. It's a simple thing, but he appreciates it. He doesn't know how much longer he'll be alive. Angels and demons want him to serve them or otherwise die, and now he's living with a werewolf.
He lets Shiro take the bath after him, thinking he'll appreciate it in the same way since he also just escaped death. There's something about that that makes it sweet.
Afterwards, they curl up by the fire, Keith in his thin wool blanket and Shiro using nothing, just sitting calm and cross-legged staring into the flames. Keith lays his head down on the floor, ready to pass out. Kosmo curls up behind him, lending his warmth.
He raises his head and peers over at Shiro. “Don't kill me, okay? Kosmo will get you if you do.” He should take more precautions, but he's tired of running.
“We have a truce, and I plan to honor it.”
Good. Keith doesn't know how much to value a verbal promise from a werewolf, but it's better than nothing. He can rest easy now.
“You tired?”
“From hunting you. You gave me a run for my money,” Keith admits, and it has been hard. He used to track creatures like this, but recently it's been demons. Either there's ghosts in someone's home, making trouble in a way that he can see and the owners can already tell him about, or there's a demon in some abandoned warehouse or at the crossroads and they always find Keith first. It's been awhile since he had to pinpoint what creature did it, track it down in its own habitat, and find a way to stop it.
The last time he hunted something as at home in its environment as Shiro was years ago, when Keith was still starting out as a hunter. He stayed up all night last night. Shiro's good at stealthy camouflage.
Shiro gives him a “what can I tell you” sort of shrug, and Keith drifts off to sleep. His legs hurt. He doesn't even care if he dies anymore. His mom's blood will probably protect him.
He wakes up when the sun's streaming through the windows, leaving parallelograms on the floor. The fire's still going steady. He can hear the logs crackling.
“Can I get to know you now?” Shiro asks once Keith's sitting up. Keith has some questions of his own, but he doesn't want to get attracted to this already too-attractive man.
“You said we were celebrating Christmas, we're celebrating Christmas. What's first?”
“You don't want to get to know me?”
“Not really, no.”
“You don't have any questions for a werewolf?”
“Okay, why did you kill three people?”
Shiro looks at him in confusion and Keith pulls out his dad's journal that he keeps for reference, and fills with newspaper clippings of supernatural incidents. He flips to the page about werewolves and shows Shiro the story. “Three campers, two men and one woman. Why did you kill them?”
“They were hunters, after me and my kind. They had killed before and if I didn't get them, I would have been next.”
“Sure.”
“I was fighting for my life, are you telling me you don't believe that?” Shiro crumples the news clipping in his hand. Shiro's voice is edged with desperation now and Keith couldn't care less.
“I'm telling you I don't care.”
“Because you're going to kill me in three days, right.”
Shiro hugs his knees, and together, they let the fire die out.
---
The first thing they do is pick a tree. The orphanage has one every year, so Keith knows that much.
“What about this one?” Keith says about a relatively small pine tree in front of his house. It's about twelve feet, not quite as high as the roof. Shiro thinks about it for a second.
“That's the smallest one you have?” Keith looks around at the other towering pines surrounding this copse of the woods and a few pines guarding the entrance that are taller. He nods, and Shiro purses his his lips.
He doesn't really want to go through the process of cutting down a pine tree, because first off, he doesn't know how, and second, he doesn't feel like ruining his yard. He could search the surrounding woods, but then he and Shiro would have to carry it back, and though he supposes werewolves are strong, they're not that strong.
“What if we just decorated some of the ones out here? Instead of cutting down a tree.”
“Sounds good to me,” says Shiro.
Keith doesn't have any Christmas lights, so they have to get in his car to go purchase some at the store. Shiro hops into the passenger's seat, and Keith has to clear it out because it's been at least a year since he's had anybody sit there.
Kosmo stays at home. Keith trusts him enough to be on his own.
“I like your car,” Shiro says, fastening his seatbelt, “Leather seats, nice.”
“It's my dad's. It's one of the last things I had from him before he died.”
“My dad died when I was young too. He didn't leave me a car though.”
Keith flicks on the headlights and pulls out of his own driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel road. The trees start to move by faster as he picks up speed. He turns on the heater. “I guess I was just more special.”
“Guess so.”
Keith scoffs at the idea. “No, Shiro--my dad--before he died, we sort of had a falling out. He betrayed everything a hunter stood for, and never explained to me why, after hunting was all I'd ever known.” He tightens his hands on the steering wheel, and stares straight ahead.
“What did he do?”
“I--can't tell you that right now, especially because I'm trying to forget it. Do you ever have those things you just wish you didn't know? Searched for an answer you wished you didn't find?”
“Yeah, I do.” Shiro nods, looking outside the frosted window. Keith already thinks he's said too much, but it's a product of not being around people that he has a story and he wants someone to know.
After a few miles, the gravel turns into pavement, and the forest thins out into somewhere people could start to put buildings in. There's gas stations, small grocery stores, and then they get to the heart of the town, a place with fast-food restaurants and departments stores that will no doubt have what they're looking for.
“Hey, this car has a CD player,” Shiro notices, “Do you want to get some Christmas tunes while we're at it?”
Keith's sorry to inform him, but he doesn't have that much money. He can barely pay for heating and electric bills as it is.
“It's okay, I'll buy it,” Shiro says as they exit the car.
Keith's curiosity is piqued. They walk towards the store, and Keith locks the car, hearing it beep reassuringly behind him. “Do you have a job? Where do you get the money?”
“That's not a fair question. You're going to hunt me down after this, so you don't get to know. I don't want to have to move my whole life around.”
“I'm a good tracker.”
“In the woods, maybe. I hit the suburbs, and you're going to have a considerably harder time tracking me down. Especially because I don't smell like a wolf all the time.”
Keith leans over and sniffs Shiro's shoulder. All he can catch is the scent of his own soap and his dad's leather jacket. Maybe he has to smell skin. His nose isn't as powerful as that of a full-blooded werewolf.
“Can I guess?”
They make it to the automatic doors and they're faced with shopping carts and paper ornaments hanging from the ceiling. Christmas music plays from the speakers nonstop.
“Mmm, question time is over. We're Christmas shopping now.”
---
Keith almost regrets the decision to let Shiro buy because now instead of getting Christmas lights like he wanted, they're getting Christmas lights and a variety of other stuff they're never going to need.
Three Christmas CD's? Marshmallows? Santa hats? What use is he going to have for this once the season ends? This is a waste of time. But as promised, Shiro pays, and they head back to the cabin, back seat overflowing with stuff.
He also regrets the decision to shut Shiro down at the fire last night when he suggested they get to know each other, because now, Shiro won't answer any questions at all. “Where do you work?” “What do you like to do?” “What's your favorite meal?”
They stop at a diner on the way back and Shiro orders for both of them, getting some combination of ham and eggs that looks just like continental breakfast for himself and pancakes for Keith that are definitely too buttery. Shiro takes his time, sprawling out against the booth like he's completely at ease, and Keith wolfs down his food, starving from the lack of dinner last night.
Some people need to hunt. Shiro's still cutting up his ham when he turns to Keith and says, “Hungry?” with a smirk on his face, nd Keith wants to say “no,” but he knows it's futile.
Since he finishes first, he has a lot of time to sit back and watch Shiro eat. He looks harmless like this, almost sweet. Shy with the fringe covering his eyes, and the way his eyelashes fan out against his cheek. He has a faint scar running over his nose, and Keith wonders how he got it.
Shiro's eyes flick up to his, and Keith's face warms, hoping he hasn't been caught staring.
“I was... just wondering about your scar,” he excuses himself lamely, looking away, but it's too late for that. “Still not gonna tell me?”
Shiro shakes his head, and Keith watches him finish eating in silence. He busies himself by watching the swallow of food in Shiro's Adam's apple, following it down to the hollow of his throat and the little “V” of skin that's exposed there. He should have given Shiro a more conservative shirt. Or told him to button up.
What's there to talk about now? The weather? Keith would just rather sit in silence, so they do, all the way home. Until Shiro unwraps one of the Christmas CD's they bought, and pops it in the player.
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening…
In the rain, snow is glistening…
“What's this?” Keith asks.
“‘Winter Wonderland.’ Tell me you've heard it before?”
Keith's sure he hasn't, but something about it sounds familiar. He's been around Christmas music, but never bothering to celebrate the holiday, all of it blurs together. It sounds strange coming out of his speakers.
Shiro nods his head and hums along to every. Single. Song. He tries to hide it, but Keith feels the smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he would join in, if he knew how they went.
The cabin's right in front. They drag the lights out and bring them over to the tree, leaving the rainbow bulbs in a pile on the ground. There has to be an outlet here somewhere. Maybe he can run the cord through a window.
Shiro starts to put up the lights, and Keith thinks, maybe he's been hard on him. He hates werewolves, but he wants to be someone who's open-minded. His hate for this one particular creature doesn't come from Shiro alone, and he shouldn't take it out on him, especially to the extent of killing him. He hasn't done anything wrong.
“Hey, Shiro?” Keith says. Shiro's up on a ladder, trying to decorate the tallest parts of the tree. “I'm sorry I said I'd try to kill you. You were acting in self-defense, you didn't do anything wrong.”
Shiro comes down once he finishes his section and Keith helps him wrap the remainder around the bottom of the tree. Keith has on a winter coat now, and he doesn't know how Shiro's not cold. Maybe it's a werewolf thing.
He puts his hand on Keith's shoulder and Keith tries not to stagger back. It feels warm and heavy. Comforting.
“Keith, I--Thanks, that means a lot to me. But you know I still can't trust you?”
Keith nods, moving onto the next tree. They have a lot of lights; this should keep them busy for the next several minutes. He doesn't expect more from Shiro; he has to protect his own skin. But the air shifts between them after that, and becomes light.
Keith falls while trying to set the lights up around his front porch, and the snow seeps into his jeans almost immediately. He's pretty sure he makes a face, because no one likes a wet butt.
Shiro's face lights up with an idea. At first Keith thinks he's taking joy in his misery, but then he calls out, “Have you ever seen a snow angel?”
“A snow angel?”
“Yeah, you just lie down in the snow like this…”
Shiro flops down next to him spread-eagle, and Keith's eyes are wide. How could anyone willingly--
Shiro moves his arms and legs until he's pushed the snow away on both sides of his body, and then he's helping Keith up with an outstretched hand that Keith takes and lets himself be pulled up, marveling at Shiro's supernatural strength.
“See? An angel.” Keith looks down at the ground and sees the shape Shiro's carved out for himself, an angel with vague wings and a robe. Keith gets down and makes one for himself, then surveys him next to Shiro's.
Keith can tell him firsthand that angels do not look like that, but he sure wishes they did. If they did, they would certainly look more angelic. And good.
“Isn't your back wet?”
“Yeah, but we can clean up later. What's important now is having fun.”
Keith looks back at the house, where the cord is still dangling off the lintel, lights swinging back and forth in the slight breeze. Keith puts his hands on his hips. “Don't you think we should finish the lights first?”
Shiro shakes his head. “Keith. One-track mind.” But they do, and then Shiro shoves a snowball down Keith's shirt.
“Shiro--!”
And, of course, Keith has to retaliate. He didn't know when he took this on that he would be living with a goddamn puppy.
Kosmo's out, and he chases Shiro around, too, running in circles until he can reach the hem of Keith's shirt, and then he's tugging on Shiro's clothes, slowing him down enough for Keith to ice him back.
“Oh, man, you're fast, Keith,” Shiro says once they're done, both laying in the snow, Keith's head pillowed on his chest.
“I'm a menace.”
“That you are.” They're both breathing heavy, and again Keith's starting to feel the cold. He's going to have to set up another fire.
---
“So, what else do you do around Christmas?” Keith asks, once they're seated by the fire.
“Well, I used to spend it with my family, when we were still together. We'd get each other presents.” Shiro pokes at a log with his stick. It falls and sends up a shower of sparks. “But it's not about that, really. It's about the company.”
His eyes flick to Keith meaningfully.
---
When the sun goes down, the bulbs are beautiful against the night sky, each one a beacon of red, green, yellow, or blue. Each light has its own aura, a haze of colored air around the glass that sparkles with it before the rays dissipate into the night air. Together, they make the house look like a carnival, only with a slightly different color scheme; this one's for the holidays.
Keith stands back from his front door, mouth agape. “It's beautiful.”
Shiro shuts the cabin door behind him, making sure to pull the long planks closed where they scrape over the threshold, and joins Keith out in the snow.
“I've never seen it like this before,” Keith confesses, shaking his head in disbelief. “I haven't had lights on my house since--since--” if he's honest, he doesn't even remember. He and Dad were usually on the road for Christmas. Putting up lights was something the neighbors did. The one time he remembers doing it, he was really young, and Mom still lived with them. “Thank you,” he tells Shiro, enveloping him in a hug.
Shiro's arms encircle him and he can feel their weight on his back, patting it through the layers of shirts and the leather jacket. He feels the lump rising in his throat, but as long as the stinging doesn't make it to his eyes, it's okay.
There's something there that he misses. Whether it's having a mom, or having a home, he doesn't know; just knows that it's contained in those bulbs, and maybe a little bit in Shiro, who bought them for him and helped put them up.
At the foster homes, they would always try to include him out of some awkward sense of obligation, but here, he can feel that he's really valued, needed. Shocking all it takes is being one-half of a two-person Christmas, but hey, he takes what he can get.
He stays in Shiro's jacket longer than necessary, mostly because Shiro's warm and he wants to hide his tears, but Shiro doesn't pull away.
“Merry Christmas,” Shiro says into his hair.
“Merry Christmas,” Keith repeats when he's ready again to give Shiro his space, backing up with a dopey smile plastered to his face.
He walks all the way around the house to admire it from every angle, and he doesn't stop being amazed. “Shiro, this is--this is, wow.”
“I know, isn't this great?” Shiro follows at his heels with his hands in his pockets, a calm smile on his face. “Guess we did a good job.” Keith leans down to pet Kosmo, but he can't take his eyes off the display. Usually he likes it dark so he can see the stars, but this isn't like the other 364 days of the year.
“Wow.”
“Wanna go inside to get some s'mores?” Shiro asks when they've finished gawking.
“Those are a Christmas thing?”
“They can be. Everyone's got a roaring fire anyways, I don't see why not. I bought some chocolate and graham crackers.” Keith stifles a yawn as he heads in. Those sound tasty right now. He could go for a snack.
They’re running low on firewood inside the house, so Keith brings some logs in from the shed. He dusts the soft splinters off his gloves when he’s back in front of the fire, next to Kosmo and Shiro with his Honey Grahams and Hershey’s. Part of him thinks that they should eat dinner first, but there's no mother; they can do what they want. Keith's always been more of a sweets-for-dinner person anyway.
“Could you stop doing that?” Shiro asks.
“Doing what?” His hand stops where it's petting Kosmo, rubbing the fur gently back over his head.
“That.” Shiro points and gestures at him vaguely, and Keith smirks.
“You want me to stop petting my dog?”
He runs his hand down Kosmo's back, tangling his fingers in the inch-thick fur. Kosmo sticks out his tongue and pants happily.
“That's not a dog. It's closer to a wolf.”
“It's a hybrid. Still domestic. Besides, he likes it. Don't you, boy, don't you?” Keith asks, leaning down to ruffle the fur on Kosmo's face and boop noses. Shiro rolls his eyes and looks away as Keith continues, leaving off by affectionately scratching Kosmo's head.
He understands why it makes Shiro uncomfortable, but he's just petting his dog. Werewolf or not, it's a normal thing to do. He stops, though; for now, anyways. He wants to ask Shiro a question.
“How did you become a werewolf, anyways?”
“My, uh, boyfriend bit me.”
“Your boyfriend bit you?” He heard Shiro, he just can't believe someone would do something like that, especially to the person they love. This is why no one should date werewolves. Werewolves are shitty--
Shiro scratches his face. “To be fair, he did try to warn me. He told me to stay away from him during every full moon. He would lock himself up, remove himself to the furthest corner of the woods where no one could reach him. But I didn't listen.”
“You followed him?”
“I worried about him. When someone you love tells you they have a serious illness, then disappears for days at a time, what are you supposed to think?
“I found the shack where he was chained up, and I got too close. He didn't look like himself, but I still recognized him like that. I don't know what I was thinking.”
“You were being a caring person, that's all.” Keith shakes his head. He's almost angry now, that someone could do this to Shiro. “Gosh, how could you date someone, and lie to them like that? It doesn't make sense.”
“He was trying to protect us both. He never meant for it to end up like this.”
“See, that's the thing with werewolves, you never--” Shiro's eyes widen and he flinches back from Keith, hurt. “I'm sorry.” He never should have said that. The objective isn't to hurt Shiro, here; it isn't his fault. He wonders if his dad knew, when he was dating his mom.
“S'more?” He gives Shiro his next creation as a peace offering, featuring the first in a series of marshmallows he hasn't burnt. Last night, he had a lot of practice toasting them to a golden-brown like Shiro's, but today he's back at the beginning.
Keith eats the black ones. He kind of likes them, and he's given up on making anything else for himself.
Shiro takes it, and bites into the dry cracker without much enthusiasm. He doesn't even try to stop the gooey ooze from dripping out onto his hands.
“You know, you can pet Kosmo if you want. I think he'd be okay with it.” He and his wolf exchange a glance. Sometimes they have a telepathic connection like that.
“I think I'm okay.” He watches the flames dance, his eyes reflecting tiny circles of white-gold.
“Is he still with you?” Keith asks. He doesn't want to push, but he senses there's more to the story.
“I left him after I was turned. He tried to teach me how to live in this world, but after a few years, I realized that I didn't want to live like him. Shutting myself up and starving. We still feel things, as a wolf. And we remember them once we become human.”
Keith can't imagine what it feels like, to be shut up like that. He's only half-were, so his nights have never been all-consuming.
“I found a way to control myself, after a while. It took a lot of searching, but it gets better with practice. Adam couldn't get it.”
He doesn't ask what happened to Adam, because there's a solemn quality to Shiro's voice that he doesn't want to interrupt. He hardly feels that he has a right to Shiro's life now that he's only known him for two days. Most stories that he knows end in tragedy, but when he sets a ghost or a demon free, he ends them. This is the midst of a tragedy that's still living, and there's no easy solution. He has to give Shiro respect.
He remembers their first night together, when he recognized Shiro's eyes and saw that they were still human. What he saw there were the tight edges of control, of a beast who could still talk and act like he was human, to some degree.
“You're amazing, you know that?” Keith tells him, gazing up at him from the floor of his cabin. He doesn't know why at such a young age his human hair is white, but it must mark him as a very special person.
Shiro doesn't respond, just looks at him with something akin to warmth, or gratitude.
---
When they go to sleep, it's silent in the cabin, and pitch-black. Keith can hear every animal that shuffles around in the dark, every wind that howls. Morning has the birds chirping and fresh light streaming in through the windows. Both he and Shiro are on straw mattresses on the floor.
“Shiro--” he rolls over and pokes Shiro where he's sleeping by the other side of the remains of the fire. “It's morning.”
“Oh.” Shiro opens his eyes a crack and stares blearily up at Keith. He looks so soft right now Keith's almost reluctant to wake him, but he does like keeping an early schedule if he's not on a hunt.
That day, Shiro shows him the better parts of the forest. Once they're done, it's late evening. Both he and Keith traipse in the front door, clumps of snow clinging to their feet.
Keith wants to see Shiro blush, so he finds his dog.
“Stop doing that!”
“It's a normal thing to do!” Keith says, rubbing Kosmo's belly where he's rolled over on the floor, paws up and ready for a scratching, “He's a fierce dog, but do you really want Kosmo to go without his daily allowance of cuddles?”
“Just stop looking at me while you do it. It's really weird.”
Keith exhales at his bangs and makes no move to stop petting the dog. “Come pet the dog, Shiro,” he instructs, and Shiro comes over and joins him, barely trying to mask the displeasure on his face. Kosmo is loving this. And he knows that deep down, Shiro loves it too. Keith is half a dog-person, but that doesn't stop him from liking dogs.
“Why am I doing this?”
“Look at him, he likes this.” Keith gestures at Kosmo, who's still panting with his tongue hanging out.
Shiro sighs and keeps petting. “I guess so. Hey, tomorrow's Christmas. Is there anything you want to do, or do you just want me to get out of here?” Keith looks at him wide-eyed. “I'm assuming that thing about not killing me still stands? Or at least giving me a head start.”
“Shiro--!” It's Shiro's turn to look at him now. “Shiro, I'm not going to kill you. I probably couldn't now, even if I wanted to. You stayed in my house. We're practically friends.”
“Friends?”
“If you...wanna be, yeah. Is that too far?”
Shiro smiles, perfectly white teeth showing. “Not at all.” Satiated by the amount of petting, Kosmo rolls over and walks away to go romp around in the snow. They both watch him go, then Shiro turns back to Keith. “So, what do you want to do?”
“I don't know. I haven't celebrated this in about a decade. You're supposed to be the one with the Christmas ideas.” They don't have gifts to open, so that's out.
Shiro sits back on his heels and looks out the window, contemplating the snow. Keith's starting to think he doesn't have anything either, when he shakes his finger.
“Well, we can go into town. They usually have the streets decorated this time of year. If you go to the shopping center, they have a large Christmas tree. They're usually doing something to celebrate Christmas night.”
Keith's been downtown during Christmas, just never stopped to appreciate the decorations. He wants to go with Shiro, he really does.
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“There's nothing stopping us.” If they do go, this really will be the best Christmas ever, in Keith's books. He's never done so much.
And then it hits him: he doesn't want Shiro to go, and he's not sure Shiro wants to either. Clutching the fabric tight around his elbows, he shivers in his thin flannel.
“You cold?”
Keith nods and rubs his biceps, trying to warm up, but Shiro sits down by the fire and beckons Keith over.
Shiro's not wearing a jacket, but Keith's noticed this about full-blood werewolves: they have an elevated body temperature, even in human form. Shiro must experience that since he never uses a blanket or any other device.
He wars with himself, but he breaks upon realizing that denial for denial's sake gets him nothing. Keith goes willingly, and lets Shiro wrap him in his warmth from behind, basically cradling him in his lap.
“Mm.”
Shiro places his chin in the hollow of Keith's neck, and--wow. Keith didn't realize his cheek was this cold until now.
“You are cold,” Shiro teases, voice lilting in the middle. His grip tightens momentarily around Keith's biceps, and Keith adjusts himself contentedly atop his calves.
He feels more like a cat than a dog, preening under Shiro's attention. They both smell like smoke and cedar; he tries, but he can't discern any difference between Shiro's scent and his, even with his semi-enhanced senses.
It doesn't matter that Shiro is a werewolf. It's just one night. It doesn't have to go anywhere.
And then Shiro lifts his head up, alert.
“What is it?”
“You smell funny. Like werewolf.”
Suddenly, Keith goes cold. “Well, yeah, Shiro, I've been hanging out with you all day. What else would I smell like?” His voice is thin now, nervous.
Shiro shakes his head. “No, there's something else on you.” He squints. “What else have you been doing? There's something...”
Keith stares at his lap.
“Keith, are you even human?”
It's silent in the cabin as Keith finds the best way to break the news. He hasn't lied to Shiro, but it's as good as that. The fire crackles in the background.
“I am. Half-human.”
“And the other half?” He wants to elaborate, but the words won't come out. That's all he can say.
Shiro pulls him closer and rocks him tight. “Why didn't you tell me?” He sounds ecstatic, so Keith pushes him off.
“Because I'm not what you think I am. My mother was a werewolf, sure, but I grew up with my dad. I'm a hunter.”
“Why can't you be both?”
“Because our worlds...don't mix. Do you know how many people I've seen that they killed? My mom left early. I was eleven when my dad told me he married a werewolf, and then...he died. After he spent a lifetime raising me as a hunter, I thought all of you were bad.”
Keith hugs his knees to his chest, and very quietly, he says, “I hated myself.”
Shiro's eyes light up and he leans forward.
“Keith--do you know long I've spent searching for another werewolf? We don't live in packs, like the media portrays it. Finding another like you is incredibly rare, and one who isn't bloodthirsty--even rarer. I never thought I'd see it again.”
“But I am.”
“Am what?”
“Bloodthirsty.”
Keith's killed so many people, monsters, demons--he thinks he's doing the world good, but sometimes, he doesn't know. He's tried to do his best: get a job, live a quiet life, but he can't. He was raised in this, now he's addicted to it: life on the road, the power of rituals--the thrill of the hunt.
So he deceives himself and pretends that's his human side coming out, and maybe it is; there's human hunters, too, tackling beings from the other side and living on the edge of town. He just tells himself that as long as he doesn't fall in love with one like his father did, he can be one of them. He can be human.
But now he's doing that, too, and--well. He's been ashamed of himself for a long time.
“Keith.” Keith looks over from where he's staring at the fire, and Shiro's face is open, nonjudgmental. “You spared me. You didn't even know who I was. You're telling me right now that you hate us, but you didn't kill me.”
“You told me that you didn't do anything.”
“I didn't, but there are creatures that do. And you get them.” Shiro lays back and pillows his head on his hands. “That doesn't sound bloodthirsty to me, that sounds like a damn good hunter.”
Shiro's shirt rides up on his stomach, baring a strip of skin that Keith desperately needs to touch. Shiro smirks, and if Keith's not mistaken, he's--inviting. He has to reevaluate this whole thing, maybe his dad wasn't as crazy as he thought, and also--the heart wants what the heart wants, right? Don't people always say that?
“Can I kiss you right now?” Keith asks. He half hopes that Shiro will reject him, because it doesn't seem real.
“Go ahead.” Shiro tips his chin up, and Keith captures his mouth where his lips are parted, just the right amount of space to let him in. Shiro's fangs slide out, and Keith lets his hand wander to the hem of his shirt to push it up. Shiro's skin is smooth, like slabs of clay.
He falls in like he's drinking wine, or a good glass of champagne. The liquid bubbles in his throat, and the warmth oozes to every part of his limbs. He thinks he hiccups, and Shiro smiles, which only makes him love him more.
“I don't want to love you,” Keith says into his mouth, between kisses.
“Then you should have left a long time ago. Don't you know I'm inherently lovable?”
Keith slaps Shiro playfully on the thigh and pulls away, but Shiro gets up and reaches for him again, eyes following his lips.
“I meant to. I really, really wanted to. But you feel like home.”