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That creepy fucking elf is looking at Keith again with its creepy fucking dead eyes in its creepy fucking wooden face.
He hates it. He'd light the damn thing on fire if he could get away with it. That thing is definitely possessed, and it doesn't help that Shiro plays that stupid festive cheer bullshit where he claims that the elf just moves itself at night.
Intellectually, Keith knows that his boyfriend is the one moving the little abomination. It's not like the damn thing is actually possessed and skulks around their house at night like the world's creepiest listening device. If he were to take his knife to it and hack it to pieces – and he's been tempted to a few times – he knows that the insides wouldn't be anything but wood and maybe some cotton fluff. It's just a toy.
But it's still the worst thing ever, and he hates it.
Of course, Shiro thinks it's a cute little tradition, one that he picked up when he was living with an old boyfriend and just kind of continued ever since. Frankly, Keith would almost prefer that he had kept the boyfriend and lost the elf, at least then he could scare off another dude easily enough... this elf-shaped portal to hell knows no fear.
Not that Keith does either. He's not afraid of the little bastard... he just fucking hates it. And he hates finding it in weird and unsettling places, like Shiro is actively fucking with him to see how much it takes for him to say something. Fortunately he's pretty hard to ruffle, he's seen a lot of strange things in his life, but this...
“Shiro!” he hollers out the bathroom door and staggers back, clutching at his chest as he wheezes through his shock, “What the fuck.”
“Yes, dear?” Shiro calls back as he trots down the hall, looking innocent as can be, like he's not slowly turning into a fucking toy-hiding psychopath.
“Why the fuck is the elf in the medicine cabinet.”
Shiro stops in the doorway, a frown scrunching up his face as he peeks in to see the little bastard wrapped around the toothbrush holder, like he's offering it out all helpful... or like he's poisoned the toothpaste and is daring Keith to try it.
“I didn't put him there.”
“Oh right,” Keith grumbles, glaring at him in the mirror as Shiro keeps up with his facade of holiday bullshit, “I'm sure he just crawled into the medicine cabinet himself.”
Shiro squints at him, lips pursed like he's trying to puzzle Keith out – like Keith is the weird one for not wanting to find a fucking elf in his bathroom... but apparently he doesn't feel like picking the fight about Keith's lack of enthusiasm and leaves it alone with a shrug.
“Well, I've got dinner almost ready whenever you're done.” Shiro jerks a thumb down the hallway before turning on his heel.
It rankles in the worst way.
Keith glares after him for a moment, reminding himself that he loves this man from the depths of his soul and one temporary seasonal quirk isn't worth getting into a rare blowout fight over... even if that seasonal quirk means that he's making Keith feel like a crazy person in his own house. Over a stupid fucking toy.
Keith snatches the elf out of the medicine cabinet with a growl, giving it a little shake for good measure before stomping out of the bathroom.
“I'm putting it on the shelf where it belongs.” Keith grumbles to Shiro on the way through the kitchen, earning a shrug for his troubles. “I want one day of peace.”
Shiro shrugs again, and Keith can't help but bore holes through his back with his gaze. The man is perfect. He's wonderful, kind, utterly gorgeous, clean... Keith just doesn't understand why he has to be such a stubborn lunatic about this one particularly annoying issue. It doesn't track with anything else he knows about the sweet and considerate man that he's come to love dearly.
The fucking elf is probably possessed with the miasma of the ex-boyfriend, tainting the air with the vibes of their shitty relationship.
Either way, Keith isn't going to let it poison theirs.
The plate Shiro offers him is piled high with one of his favorite meals, and he accepts it with the most gracious smile he can manage, trying to convey to Shiro how much he loves him – no matter how fucking weird he is. It seems to work, Shiro smiles back at least, reaching out to hold his hand across the table as they eat and quietly chat about their respective days. Work has been busy for both of them, which probably doesn't help... Keith is probably a little more on edge than he would be otherwise, and now that he's looking he can tell that Shiro is obviously exhausted too.
Hopefully a good night's sleep will fix that, just the two of them cuddled up in their little safe haven of blankets where none of life's problems can reach them. They can just turn off their phones and snuggle for a few hours before curling up together and going to sleep by ten, ensuring plenty of sleep for his overworked boyfriend.
In an effort to show his appreciation, Keith snags the plates and quickly washes the dishes, sending Shiro off to relax in bed. It's only right after all, if Shiro makes dinner then the least he can do is tidy up after him – sharing the load in all things.
It also lets him be certain he's the last one near the living room, making sure that creepy fucking elf is still safely on the shelf near the mantel when he goes to bed. He gives it one last glare as he dries his hands, miming two fingers between his eyes and the little bastard as he shuffles down the hall.
Shiro looks delightfully cozy when he slips inside their room and shuts the door behind him, all tucked into the bed with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Keith wants to kiss it, so he does, earning himself a laugh and a smile pressed into his own cheek.
“Hi baby,” Shiro rumbles as he sets his book on the nightstand, making room for Keith to snuggle up close under his arm, “ready for bed?”
“Mhmm.” Keith buries his face into Shiro's chest, inhaling the smell of laundry detergent and the last whiffs of his boyfriend's deodorant – better than any lullaby when it comes to making him feel safe. “M'gonna cuddle you so hard tonight.”
“Can't wait, sweetheart.” Shiro presses a kiss into the top of his hair before clicking off the light and sliding them both down the pillows until they're reclined. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
The bedroom is hazy when Keith wakes, sunlight streaming in through the cheerful yellow curtains that Shiro had picked out for them. A quick glance at the clock confirms that he still has about half an hour before he has to get out of bed, and he happily buries himself back into Shiro's pecs, breathing a deep sigh of contentment as his boyfriend grumbles in his sleep and wraps an arm around Keith's waist.
He loves him so much, every sleepy inch of him.
But, as always, the thirty minutes are over far too soon and Keith has to drag himself out of bed, shaking Shiro awake so he can get the first shower while Keith makes them both breakfast.
The creepy little fuck is still on the shelf where he left him when Keith shuffles out into the kitchen – and when he finishes making the pancakes, and when he packs them all up to-go for the both of them.
Shiro emerges all dressed and fresh and devastatingly handsome, as usual, hurrying out the door with a kiss to Keith's forehead and a thank you.
And then it's just Keith and the demon. He gives it a final glare as he heads down the hall to take his own shower, scrubbing off the bad vibes coming from it and throwing on his work clothes before shuffling out the door. At least the little fucker can't bother him at work.
Work, which is, of course, a fucking nightmare. Everyone and everything chooses today to test his patience, bombarding him with stupid emails that he doesn't need to be copied on and questions that a four year old should know the answer to. It's a miracle he doesn't absolutely lose his shit on someone during the ordeal – all he wants to do is go home and faceplant into his husband's lap until he successfully suffocates himself in musk.
But of course, nothing goes his fucking way, ever.
The place is dark when he opens the door and kicks off his shoes – apparently Shiro is having the same type of day he had. Sighing, he flicks on a light and shuffles to the kitchen to grab two packets of instant noodles and some frozen veggies, not feeling like expending any more effort than absolutely necessary after such a train wreck of a day. He's barely upright when the noodles are ready, slumped halfway over the counter as he drains them and dumps the seasoning and veggies in.
It's not much of a meal, but it's better than going to bed grumpy and hungry. Normally he'd try to wait for Shiro, but his last text went unanswered so he's probably on his way home now and wouldn't want Keith to sit here hungry on his account.
He's good like that. So good to Keith... so sweet and perfect and he loves him so much and-
…
The fucking creepy little toy is not on the shelf.
The shelf that Keith left it on.
The shelf that Keith specifically checked before he left, that had the wretched thing on it when he shut the door after Shiro had left, meaning that Shiro had specifically returned home just to move the fucking creepy-ass elf that Keith is inevitably going to find in some horrifying place later.
That bastard.
The doorknob rattles as Shiro finally makes it home, looking like he's been raked over the coals as badly as Keith has – but at this moment Keith has very little sympathy for him. What kind of psychopath leaves work in the middle of the day just to move a fucking demon elf, forcing himself to work late because of it?
“Really, Shiro?” Keith can't help but spit out, despite knowing that he's coming dangerously close to picking a fight he probably doesn't really want.
Shiro glances up at him, startled by the venom in Keith's tone as he toes off his boots. “Keith?”
“Really. The fucking... come on.” Keith can feel his temper rising, stabbing at his noodles even as he tries to count to ten so he doesn't say something he'll regret. “Can I not just have one day of peace with that thing?”
Shiro's mouth goes hard, like it does when he's biting back sharp words. “I don't know what you're talking about, and I've had a hell of a day... can I just eat dinner in peace?”
The scoff comes out before Keith can stop it, and Shiro's eye twitches in response.
“Be my guest.” He flaps a hand at the stove and hopes a nasty little hope that the noodles are cold.
Shiro hesitates at the table after making himself a plate, like he doesn't even want to sit next to Keith, but he ultimately drops down into the chair and starts shoveling in food without making eye contact, like Keith is the unreasonable one here.
It's infuriating.
Keith lets him swallow the last bite before jabbing a finger at the empty shelf. “Where did you put it?”
Shiro scowls at him, rolling his eyes. “This again? It's getting old, Keith.”
“Yeah, Shiro, it is,” Keith grits back through a clenched jaw, willing himself not to fly off the handle. “If you just tell me where he is now before I find him somewhere awful maybe I won't get pissed at you again.”
“At me?” Shiro rears back, the picture of indignation, “I'm not the one moving the elf!”
“Come on!” Keith throws his hands into the air and pushes back from the table, frustrated beyond belief. “Look, I'm done with this stupid game, okay? It was cute, I get it, you like your elf and it's a relic of another time or whatever, but I'm fucking sick of it. It's creepy and I hate it and I don't want it around.”
Shiro shakes his head, taken aback by the intensity of Keith's outburst. “Keith, I swear to you. I promise. I haven't moved him... I thought you were doing it.”
Keith's anger melts, leaving him cold as he turns to look from his boyfriend to the shelf and back. “Shiro... I hate that thing... I've literally never touched it except to move it out here last night.”
“Well I haven't been either,” Shiro insists, crossing his arms stubbornly.
“That's not... this is impossible.” Keith drags a hand through his hair, gaze darting wildly around the room like it might come popping out at them from anywhere. “How does it keep showing up?”
“I don't know.” Shiro shakes his head and comes to stand near Keith, reeling him in by the waist to wrap a comforting arm around him. “But I'm sorry you thought I was doing that to you.”
“Me too,” Keith mutters into his chest, “but... I don't want to sleep tonight until we find him.”
Shiro nods, sliding his hand down to clasp Keith's tightly. They clear the apartment like that – hand in hand, room by room, until they find the little bastard perched jauntily on their dresser, polishing a tiny pair of glasses he didn't have that morning. Keith growls and goes for the knife tucked away inside his nightstand – but Shiro catches his arm.
“Keith, wait!” His grip is firm, and Keith prays that he isn't going to have a sudden change of heart as his boyfriend turns him around to stare into his eyes. “We should burn him instead.”
Keith loves this man.
The apartment is quiet when Matt strolls in the next afternoon, whistling as he twirls his spare key around a finger. It doesn't take him long to find the charred remains of his little friend scattered over the patio and onto the fire escape. A snort escapes him and he grins as he pulls out another – identical save for the red eyes – and places him neatly on the shelf.