Archive of Our Own ^beta

Allura knocks on his door at nine in the morning with a box of pastries and a concerned look on her face. Shiro lets her in without a word. He’s been dreading this since he looked at his phone last night.

She leaves her heels on the mat next to the door, glittery silver next to Shiro’s sharp black oxfords and grey trainers. Allura’s already marching into his kitchen in stocking feet before Shiro’s brain catches up and he hurries to take the pastry box from her manicured hands.

Allura reaches down his good coffee before fixing him with a stare and turning the kettle on to boil. Shiro dutifully gets the french press and some plates.

They’re sitting at the kitchen island and Shiro pours the freshly steeped coffee before Allura names the elephant in the room.

“Did you see?”

Shiro’s face twists up. Oh, he saw.

The first review of his latest mystery-romance had been a twitter post complete with an incriminating photo and then the replies had started tagging his professional twitter handle. Then there were pop culture news articles breaking down all of Shiro’s plot errors. Now there’s a hashtag involving his name and Shiro hasn’t picked up his phone since last night.

Allura reaches over and pats the back of his hand. “That bad?”

“I’ve already had three cups of tea today.”

The last pat comes down as a smack on the back of his hand. “Shiro!”

Shiro pulls his coffee cup out of her reach before she can grab it away. “I’ll over-caffeinate if I want, it’s my own fault!” He takes a long sip while maintaining eye contact and Allura throws her hands up in the air.

“If I hadn’t let that slip through we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Shiro’s face falls. “No, Allura, it’s my fault.”

“I am literally your editor, it’s my job to catch things like this.” She sighs into her cup. “And now you’re taking the blame for it because your name is on the cover.”

“I mean,” Shiro says with a sniff. “I did write it. I really, really should have known that including only one long-haired character in the entire plot and then making the main clues to catch the murderer strands of long hair. Oh no, who could those be from? I, the poor reader, have no idea because I’m so invested in the heroine falling for the cute bakery girl that I’m not even paying attention to this incredibly obvious plot device!”

Shiro finishes his rant with his hands thrown in the air, leaning back from the table, half empty coffee cup sloshing a few drops on the floor. His gaze finds Allura’s and there’s silence in the apartment for a few tense moments.

Their staring contest is broken when Allura’s lips start to twitch. Shiro has to put his coffee cup down and then both of them are laughing so hard they have to use the table to hold themselves up.

“I cannot believe you did that! You! It’s not even your first novel!”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, wiping tears from his eyes and trying to ignore the inexplicable lump forming in his throat. “I feel like a pretty shitty writer right now, I’m not gonna lie.”

Allura’s laughter dies almost instantly. “Oh,” she says, reaching across the table for his hand. Shiro’s face must broadcast his thoughts more than he’d imagined. “Shiro.”

“I just,” he leans his head in his hands. “I don’t know, I got too excited? I didn’t think it through? It’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my entire career, who’s going to want to read anything new from me after this?”

He hears Allura sigh, then the sound of more coffee pouring into their cups.

“Maybe you need a break,” she says, sliding Shiro’s cup back to him, then pushing the tray of tarts closer as well. Shiro plucks a chocolate one with raspberries out of the pile. He considers stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, large as it is, but takes a smaller bite in deference to Allura’s more delicate sensibilities.

“Had one,” he says around his mouthful and she wrinkles her nose anyways. Shiro swallows before he continues, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I had one before this book and look what happened.”

She waves him off. “You had a staycation.”  The word sounds funny in her accent, but Shiro manages not to laugh. “Cooped up in this apartment with no real interaction with other people besides Matthew and myself.”

Shiro pouts. “I went out! A little. There were people.” He may or may not have spoken to the cashiers at the grocery store during that time. “And I saw my parents too!”

“Your mother is a gem,” Allura nods. “I don’t know where you’d be without her. But it’s still not what I meant. You need to go out of town.”

Shiro looks around his apartment. It’s modestly decorated, clean lines and neutral colours and some accents Allura helped him pick out when they were still in school. It’s familiar and comfortable and Shiro enjoys spending most of his time here. He’s always been a bit of a homebody - well liked in school but having only a few close friends, preferring to keep to himself on weekends. He’d spend his time writing short stories or silly fanfictions he never shared with anyone until a few months into the first year of his English BA.

Shiro had partnered with Allura, his seatmate and his brand-new best friend at school, for a group project on a series of terrible literature that he no longer cares to remember. He’d meant to send her a scathing parody of one of the short stories on their list towards the end of the project. Instead, he accidentally air-dropped her one of the mini-mysteries he was working on, unfinished but with a similar enough document title he hadn’t noticed the mix up.

He hadn’t even noticed until she’d Facetimed him, giddy and excited and demanding to know the ending. Shiro hadn’t understood until she started explaining the plot, which parts she loved, where she thought the story was going. He’d been embarrassed, but mortification turned into pleased surprise as she gushed for a full half hour about his work before asking him question after question.

They managed to get their project submitted right at the deadline, having almost forgotten in the midst of coming up with the ending of Shiro’s mystery. Allura had already decided she was heading into publishing after completing her undergrad, and insisted that they’d make an excellent team.

Allura has supported him through all of Shiro’s ups and downs and believed in him when he barely thought his work was worth anything. She’s brought him cake and sat with him when he needed someone to talk to, spotted him at the gym when he needed someone he could trust. She’s had his back at every publisher’s meeting and interview, ready to debrief afterwards and work through critique. They’ve been friends for almost a decade and Shiro can’t imagine his life without her.

Sighing, he takes another steadying sip of coffee, cooling now in his hands. His apartment is home, but maybe she’s right. Maybe he needs the distraction of somewhere new. Allura’s expression is lit up when he makes eye contact again.

“Get out of town where?”

Allura’s face lights up in an excited smile. “So, this friend of mine has a villa..”

***

Keith slams his front door behind him, rattling it in its hinges and probably irritating his neighbours but he lacks the space to care about that right now.

All he can think about is that asshole’s face, shocked and twisted up that Keith could even conceive of doing anything less than grovelling to a customer’s complaint. And then for him to have the gall to start getting his asshole friends to leave bad reviews for Kolivan’s restaurant -

Well, Keith hasn’t been sent home for bad behaviour since high school, no matter how Kolivan and Regris tried to frame it as a good thing. Time to cool off, he’d said, take a vacation for a few days.

Keith knows a suspension when he sees it. It ignites another flame of anger in his chest that he tries to tamp down. He clenches his fists and blows out a measured breath between gritted teeth.

It takes him a moment to remember that Kosmo’s at his parents’ place this week, so he doesn’t look up immediately when the floor creaks in the hall by the kitchen.

“Keith? That you?”

The voice jolts him out of his stormy mood. “Dad?”

His father rounds the corner out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “You okay? Thought you were workin’ late. Just dropped by with some dinner, didn’t think you’d wanna cook more.”

Keith feels his brow furrow down again at the mention of the restaurant and he clenches his fists, breathing out through his nose. “Kolivan told me to take the rest of the week off.”

A heavy hand rests on his shoulder and then curls around the back of his neck to pull him in towards his dad. Keith lets his forehead knock against his shoulder and works on the breathing exercises Tex had taught him when he was a kid. He strokes the back of Keith’s neck with his thumb and breathes with him.

“You wanna tell me about it?” he says after Keith feels like he’s calmed down enough.

“I-” the words stick in Keith’s throat and he pulls away with a growl. The tea towel is still slung over his dad’s shoulder but he leads the two of them into Keith’s modest living room, sits them both down on the old couch. It helps, not having to look up from his hands. Keith watches as his thumb stokes across his knuckle, but can’t seem to make himself stop the motion.

“I just- I got angry. Again.” Keith bends over his knees, forehead resting on his hands. This isn’t news. Keith’s been angry a lot over the years. The words tumble out of him as they always do when his dad asks to listen.

“I mean, I don’t get it. What’s so hard to understand about a vegan joint? Like, no, we don’t serve meat? Not even the things like “burgers” or “sausages” or I don’t know, Dad, it literally says “chik’un” on the menu? Like it’s spelled with an apostrophe and a “u”, it’s obviously not meat!”

His dad rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

“I just, I don’t like how they judge everything before even trying it.” He sighs again, most of the anger fading to a general feeling of helplessness. “They won’t even try it and then say shitty things about Kolivan’s restaurant and when I try to stand up for him they just take it out on me instead. I don’t even care about what they say about me, but it makes Kolivan look bad when assholes like them start leaving bad reviews.” Keith scoffs, his mouth twisting in a sneer.

“That one guy couldn’t even tell the difference between a zucchini and an eggplant but apparently he’s tryin’ to be a food critic? What a dick.”

Tex hums at his side, keeps a steady, warm hand in the centre of Keith’s back. “And all this was today?”

“It’s been the last few days, but it was this afternoon that Kolivan and Regris told me to take some time off. I don't have any shifts scheduled for the whole week and they told me if I needed longer that’s fine too. Kolivan’s taking over running the kitchen again while I’m gone.”

There’s a few moments of silence between them, comfortable and unhurried. Keith enjoys his dad’s presence at his side. He's missed him even though it’s only been about a week since they were together. They would do this when Keith was still a kid, coming home after a fight or a detention or a reprimand at school.

His mom would always get angry along with him, which only made Keith feel worse, but his dad would take the time to calm them both down. After, he would sit quietly with Keith on the couch until he could talk through the problem and Tex could suggest a solution or a way to cope if that’s what Keith needed.

Tex is clearly thinking of something now, his lips pursed and his fingers tapping a particular rhythm on his knee. Keith looks up enough to quirk an eyebrow at him and his dad quirks one back, a grin starting to grow on his face.

“Kit,” he says, not unkindly, “when was the last time you took a break?”

Keith has no idea, and Tex shakes his head when he doesn’t say anything in response.

“I thought so. So, Romelle was over for dinner the other night and I made this baked pasta, y’know? The kind with cashews instead’a dairy? One of them recipes Kolivan gave me, with the spinach. Damn did that turn out good, definitely know where you got your cooking genes from, kid, if I do say so.”

“Dad!”

Tex laughs loudly, tilting his head back against the back of Keith’s couch. “I’m teasin’ kiddo, but it was good. Only the best for my girls, right?”

“You spoil Romelle so much for someone who has such rich parents.”

“You think I don’t spoil you, kit? An’ her folks, you know how they are. I’m sure they care, but not like they should.” Romelle’s well-meaning but distant family has been a sore spot for Keith’s dad ever since Keith met her back in seventh grade when she transferred into his school. She sat in front of him in class and was constantly turning around to ask him questions or borrow pencils or pass notes. Eventually they’d built a friendship around it and Keith still considers her his best friend, more than a decade later. She’d been essentially adopted into his family the first time she visited after school.

“Anyways, Romelle was over for dinner and she and your mama were talkin’ about her parent’s old place? Y’know, their “Norman property”,” Tex makes air quotes around the term, with an eye roll at how pretentious the name is. Keith definitely inherited his sarcastic streak from his dad, and the thought makes him smile.

“Well, turns out her parents had transferred the title to her last winter, sayin’ they wanted a different house down south where it’s warmer. But, they told her through an email that somehow went to her spam folder and she didn’t know until the property taxes started to be deducted from her account.” Keith feels the shift in the couch cushions as Tex relaxes back with a sigh. His arm spreads invitingly over the back of the couch and Keith takes the invitation to lean into his side.

“So, she’s been renting it out here an’ there to make sure she can pay for all those expenses. But she also mentioned she’d do family discounts for us if we wanted to stay there. And if we’d help keep up the garden and do some basic maintenance, mind you. All you’d have to pay for is your flight, and I’m pretty sure your mama and I can help you out if you need it.”

Keith jerks his head up. “What? Just- take off to France?”

Tex nods. “Yeah, for a few weeks. Not too long, just enough to be able to breathe, clear your head. See some new sights. How’s your French?”

Keith starts to laugh. “It’s shit,” he says, but he’s smiling.

It’s ridiculous, this idea, but the more he thinks about it, the more appealing it is. Just taking off and being by himself for two weeks. His parents are a video call away, and there’s people in the village and by the beach, but he’d be alone in the house with no one to bother him. If the kitchen garden is still as full as it was when he’d tagged along on one of her family vacations as a teenager, he might even experiment with some new recipes. The only person who would taste them is him, so if they’re terrible it doesn’t matter.

It sounds really, really good.

“You know?” he says, and Tex smiles victoriously. “I think I’ll call her.”

***

“I’m still struggling to believe this is actually happening,” Shiro calls over his shoulder as he grabs t-shirts out of his dresser drawer. “Who would let random strangers live in their house that is literally in another country? That you have to fly to?”

His phone is propped up against the lamp on this bedside table, Allura on Facetime on the screen. Her glittery nails tap against her cheek.

“My friend has been renting out this house to strangers for six months, Shiro. She said it used to be her parents’. It’s fine.”

The t-shirts go into his suitcase next to the sweaters and joggers already packed. It’s summer, but with the house relatively close to the ocean, he’s been told it can get chilly at night. He’s already decided not to bring a suit, but he does toss in one button down shirt and his favourite pair of jeans that hug his ass just right.

Not that he’s expecting to find anyone when he’s there, but Shiro does like to show off sometimes. Just a little.

Even just to himself in the mirror.

“It’s a good idea, Shiro. You need the break. You deserve it, even.”

She’s right, he knows she is. He tries hard to believe he deserves it, but he knows at least that he needs it. As much as he loves these walls, the past few days since he’s decided to go have felt restrictive, in a way that not even the gym or walks in the park have been able to solve.

He’d dropped Black off at his parents’ place last night, so he doesn’t even have his giant Maine Coon to distract him. He could do with her sitting in his lap and kneading at him right about now. She’s big enough that it’s a full body experience.

Shiro throws a few more pairs of socks in his suitcase just in case, and a few of his favourite books. The case zips shut with only minimal squashing - Shiro’s never been one to extensively overpack, but he is a little extra prepared - and sets it down next to his laptop bag with all of his electronics.

Allura’s amused hum catches his attention again, and he turns back to pick up his phone.

“Are you all set?”

“Yeah, just have to wait for my taxi tonight. Everything’s sorted.”

“You’ve got a late flight?”

Shiro nods. “Mhmm. Ten-thirty, but you know I have to be there like three hours before to get this cleared.” He waggles his prosthetic fingers and Allura nods sympathetically. The few recent times he’s left the country have been with Allura and she understands the rigamarole Shiro will have to go through in the next few hours.

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

“Just think,” Allura says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “By this time tomorrow you’ll be having white wine on the terrace with the French winds blowing through your hair. I wish I was coming with you!”

It makes Shiro laugh - white wine and French wind does sound like something to look forward to, along with a whole house to himself.

Right now, nothing sounds better.

***

As if things couldn’t get worse for Keith, when he arrives there’s another taxi parked in front of Romelle’s parents’ villa. He’s suffered through a horrendous redeye flight, a two hour layover before the regional half-hour plane, another hour’s drive and now this?

There’s a tall, white-haired man standing beside the car scrolling through his phone, two bags of luggage at his feet. For a moment Keith hopes he’s a previous guest just about to leave, but then he waves to the other taxi driver, who pulls away as the man grabs his bags and starts heading up to the front landing.

Keith knows the keys are in a lock box behind the left planter. He’s entirely disappointed when that’s exactly where the man heads, phone in hand with what Keith assumes in the combination to the box.

He really, really tries not to growl but the way his taxi speeds off after Keith’s paid tells him he wasn’t so successful.

“Hey,” Keith calls out, tries his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. He realises a second too late that he should probably try his meagre French to get the man’s attention, but he spins around, enormous iron front door key in hand and blinking in surprise.

“Um,” he says, and thank god there’s no trace of French accent, “Hello?”

“You a friend of Romelle? Or her parents?” Keith probably looks like an absolute mess and as he hefts his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, he realises the man in front of him looks not only fresh and well put together, but he’s also the most gorgeous person Keith’s ever seen in his life. Shit.

“I- Romelle, I suppose. Throughher friend, Allura?” He rocks back on his heels in a moment of confusion. “And you are..?”

Keith opens his mouth to answer but as he steps up to the door his phone automatically connects to the wifi and a slew of message notifications start going off in his pocket. He hadn’t even remembered he’d had the same phone last time Romelle and her parents had flown him out here on vacation, or maybe it just knew? Either way, he pulls it out of his pocket to see six messages and two missed calls from his friend.

So there’s been a bit of a mix up.

Yeah, no shit, Keith thinks as he scrolls through.

I thought Allura told her friend he could stay at the house NEXT month but she said she told him THIS month.

I’m SO sorry you’re prob already on the plane but call me when you get this!!

I think the house is big enough for both of you if you don’t want to come home.

KEITH PLEASE CALL ME

OH also Allura says he’s cute so watch out, could be good for you ;)

Keith fights down a blush at the last message, stuffing his phone in his pocket. He’ll give her a little more time to stew after that last message and call her back later.

“Apparently your story checks out,” he says to the other man, and sticks out his hand. “Hi, I’m Keith, Romelle’s friend. Guess she told Allura to tell you you could come next month but the wires got crossed or something.”

The other man takes his hand, his grip strong. “Shiro,” he says. “Nice to meet you. I, uh, hope it’s okay with you that I’m here? I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Shiro still looks uncertain and Keith sighs. “I mean, it’s not your fault. Just, you know, not what I was expecting on top of this disaster of the past few days, not to mention the flights here.”

The other man smiles, ducking his head a little and Keith actually feels charmed by it. His bad mood is dissipating thanks to this stranger shuffling his feet beside the wide cottage door and Keith finds himself actually feeling like this vacation might turn out okay.

“Yeah,” he says, and then waves his right hand a little sheepishly. “It’s a nightmare getting this on a plane domestically, let alone through customs.”

Too late, Keith realises his hand - actually, probably his whole arm? - is metal, a high-tech prosthetic that Keith had not at all noticed when he’d shook that same hand a few minutes earlier.

Keith knows he can be oblivious sometimes, but this is a little much.

“I bet,” he says instead, resolving not to think about that. “One of the guys at the firestation where my dad works has a prosthetic leg and travelling can be hell for him too.” He gestures to the keys still in Shiro’s hand. “You wanna let us in? The house is pretty big, there’s more than enough space for us to keep out of each other’s hair.”

Shiro looks a little relieved at the change of subject and it makes Keith wonder how many people fixate on the arm when he brings it up. It’s not like it’s any of Keith’s business. He gets the door unlocked with the ancient key and then ushers Keith in ahead of him.

The door opens into the main living space, two couches pushed against the wall and across from the large hearth. There’s a small table and two chairs in the side window and a large chest Keith remembers is full of blankets and cushions pushed up against the wall. The kitchen is through the wide doorway on the left of the room, and the one across from them leads to the sun room and the back terrace. Keith still has hopes that the kitchen garden will be as prosperous as he remembers.

Behind him, he realises Shiro is struggling with the latch to close the front door, and Keith turns to help him. It puts him right into Shiro’s space, and Keith finds himself turning red but not feeling unwelcome.

“This house was built in the 1700’s, I think,” he says by way of explanation. “That’s why the keys are so huge, everything is original. It took me a while to figure out the locks the first time I was here, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Shiro asks him to show him a few more times how it works, and Keith does so under the other man’s concentrating stare. It takes him a few tries, but he sends Keith a triumphant smile when he gets it.

“I think there’s a spare key around somewhere, so we can each have one while we’re here.”

Shiro grabs his bags as Keith slings his duffel back over his shoulder. “You seem to know your way around.”

“Ah, yeah. Romelle invited me over with her parents a few years ago for the summer. It’s the only other time I’ve been, but it was nice.”

Shiro has taken his shoes off at the door, Keith notices as he makes no sound as they cross the room. His own boots make loud noises across the floorboards. Shiro waves him off when he mentions it, says he’s used to it, but Keith still hurries back across the room to toe his boots off haphazardly next to Shiro’s neatly lined up trainers.

Shiro has a little smile on his face when he turns back around, still standing still in the middle of the living room. Keith’s heart skips a beat.

Dammit, he thinks as he crosses the room to the door to the second floor stairwell, Romelle was right.

***

Shiro can’t deny even to himself that he was a little intimidated by the dark-haired stranger who showed up outside the villa, as stunning as he was under his irritated scowl. Shiro had almost dropped the heavy iron key when he’d heard the gruff voice behind him, but finding their mutual friends and the mistake on their part back home seemed to put Keith more at ease. Shiro subsequently followed suit.

Which was a good thing, since Shiro really didn’t want to have to deal with finding different accommodations, or worse: flying back home already.

And the fact that Keith seemed to know his way around the house was also a bonus, by the way he could operate the strange 18th century lock and knew where the stairs were hidden behind a door. Shiro didn’t know much about his potential housemate, not yet, but he was curious. While Keith’s attitude had seemed frosty to begin with, he’s proving to be a genuinely caring person.

“All of the rooms are pretty much the same size,” his impromptu tour guide says from the top of the stairs. “So you can choose any. The one at the end of the hall gets good sun in the morning, so don’t choose that if you don’t like getting up early. Also make sure to watch your head when you’re going down the stairs, it’s probably shorter than you think. The ceilings are definitely lower than back home.”

Shiro nods an acknowledgement before he asks Keith where home is and they realise they’ve lived in the same city on the West Coast for years.

“I guess it kind of makes sense,” Keith muses as they stand in the upstairs hallway, luggage still on their shoulders. “Otherwise how would we really get connected through ‘Melle?”

Shiro laughs. “Allura didn’t tell me how they met but it makes sense.” He interrupts himself with a yawn, hurrying to cover his mouth. Keith waves his apologetic look off with a smile.

“It’s fine, the flight sucks. Pick a room?” It looks like Keith’s angling for the room next to the bathroom by the way his shoulders are subtly twisting toward it. That’s fine with Shiro, who has always been a morning person.

“I think the sun’s calling to me,” he says with a laugh, nodding towards the room at the end of the hall. “That’s the one that’s bright in the morning? Sounds perfect.”

Keith makes a face. “Sounds awful. But be my guest,” he sweeps a gentlemanly arm towards the room. The movement bunches some of the muscles in his arm, his plain t-shirt pulling tightly around his bicep. Shiro swallows around his suddenly dry throat and manages a weak smile back.

They both disappear into their rooms for the afternoon, exhausted from the travel. Shiro flops face-down onto the neatly made bed, his bags propped by the modest dresser. He wants to pass out and nap for the foreseeable future but all he can think about is the pull of Keith’s muscles and the sharpness of his grin. Shiro’s heart skips a beat.

Oh no.

***

It’s after six when Keith wakes up, nose in the slightly musty pillow. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, but the bedroom looks identical to when he’d stayed in it the last time he was here. The bed is big and the window is too, the golden light of early evening slanting through onto the floorboards. He manages to pull himself into sitting up on the bed - apparently, he’d passed out right on top of the covers, none of his things put away. At least they’d remembered to lock the door.

Which reminds Keith that he isn’t actually alone in this house. It’s not a bad thing, he thinks, looking out at the clouds and distant trees he can see from his perch on the bed. Not what he was expecting, for sure, but Shiro seems quiet and friendly and Keith can work with that.

There’s a clattering downstairs when Keith finally pulls himself off the bed and convinces himself to put his belongings away. He finds a place for everything by the time he hears the definite sound of a frying pan clanging on the floor and, setting his sketchbook on the nightstand, heads downstairs to see what’s going on.

He finds a little bit of a disaster in the kitchen.

The countertops are full of clutter: an open bread bag, two different cutting boards, and knives haphazardly placed on top. They’re pushed back from the edge, which settles Keith’s knife safety brain. As he steps closer, he can see that the window is open and the breeze is spreading what looks like a turned-over jar of poppyseeds.

There’s a white floof of hair sticking up from behind the kitchen island, and as Keith enters the kitchen fully, he sees Shiro sitting on the floor in front of the cupboards, puzzling over a pile of pots and pans on the tiled floor. Shiro’s hair is speckled with black poppyseeds and Keith finds himself endeared.

A small smile grows on his lips, even though the mess is something he’d definitely yell about in a restaurant kitchen.

“Are, uh, you okay?”

Shiro jolts, turning to look over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. “Oh, hey!”

The response is so genuine and boyish it tugs at Keith’s heart. He squats down near Shiro, resting his elbows comfortably over his knees. “You’ve got, um.” He motions to Shiro’s bangs, where the black seeds have stuck the most. “Poppy seeds,” he finishes lamely.

Shiro runs a hand through his hair, sending a shower of black specks down his shoulders. It startles a laugh out of him, like he hadn’t realised there was anything in his hair at all.

“Did I get them all?”

There are still a few stubborn seeds stuck in his hair and Keith reaches a hand up before he realises what he’s doing. “Uh, there’s a few left.” His hand hovers awkwardly in the air for a few moments before Shiro gives him a smile.

“Do you mind? I can’t feel them.”

Keith does not mind at all. He reaches the rest of the way and sifts his fingers through Shiro’s hair to get the last few poppy seeds. It’s silky soft and the way Shiro’s expression edges towards pleased makes Keith want to run his hands through Shiro’s hair for a lot longer than the few seconds it takes to get it poppy seed-free.

His cheeks are pink when Keith draws his hand away, but Shiro still gives him a smile in thanks.

“So, uh,” Keith coughs a little, fighting down his own blush as best he can. “You looking for something?”

Shiro raises a hand to scrub self-consciously through the short hairs of his undercut. Keith’s traitorous brain supplies him with an image of scratching his own nails through that undercut as well as petting through the fringe but he pushes the idea away.

“I was thinking about making some dinner,” Shiro starts, surveying the forest of pans on the floor. “I found some bread and there’s cheese in the fridge, so I was just going to make a quick grilled cheese, maybe see if there’s some vegetables available. But the only frying pans I can find are huge - and cast iron.” He gestures morosely to the massive cookware on the floor. No wonder it made such a loud sound.

He means to say that he thinks the small pans are in the drawer beside the stove but what comes out of his mouth is, “You’ve never cooked with cast iron?”

Shiro just shakes his head.

Keith reaches out and hefts the large pan, standing to bring it over to the stove. “Mind if I make two?”

Shiro’s face lights up. “Sure! I’ll help, let me just.. put these back.” He starts to tidy the mess of pots around him, managing to fit them all back into the cabinet while Keith finds the essential grilled cheese requirements in the fridge.

“Oh, a pretty decent cheddar too. Not too sharp.” He places it on the counter and spots a suspiciously familiar blue-and-white bottle settled under the kitchen window. It can’t be Keith’s, because he’d brought along the extra-large size, knowing how much dairy is regularly consumed in the north of France.

“You’re lactose-intolerant too?”

The question seems to startle Shiro, who looks up from setting the last pot in the cupboard. Keith points to the bottle of lactose pills on the counter. “Mine are still upstairs.”

“Oh!” Shiro laughs and gets to his feet. Keith’s starkly remembered that this guy has a good six inches on him as he has to look a lot further up when they’re standing this close. He quickly darts over to the stove. “Something else we have in common,” Shiro continues. “Imagine if you ended up being vegetarian too.”

Keith turns a surprised look over his shoulder, still reaching to turn on the flame. “I am.”

Shiro blinks at him. “You’re not.”

“I really am! Pretty much my whole life.”

“Really? I wasn’t always but it isn’t new for me. Glad we don’t have to worry about keeping food separate or anything,” he smiles at Keith. “It’s a bit of a relief actually, to not always have to explain my food choices.”

Keith abandons turning on the stove for a moment before turning back around, his hip pressed against it. “My mom has a red meat allergy and she can’t stand how greasy poultry is, so she’s never eaten it much. My dad had to learn a whole different menu when they got together, but our house has been mostly vegetarian ever since. And my uncle runs a vegan restaurant so there’s no shortage of recipes and ideas for new meals in our family.

“Is your dad a chef?”

Keith laughs. “No, he’s a firefighter. He just likes cooking as a hobby.”

Shiro grimaces. “Wow, I don’t think I could cook as a hobby. I mean, I’m not bad at it, but it’s a little stressful sometimes.”

Keith turns back around to get a little butter in the pan. He’s got the bread buttered and the cheese sliced, ready to go in the pan when it’s up to temperature.

Shiro’s giving him a quizzical look when he turns back around. Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I was just wondering why you haven’t put them in yet.”

“Because the pan needs to heat up?” When Shiro blinks at him, he continues, “so that the bread can toast evenly? You get a better product if your cookware is at the right temperature when you use it.”

Shiro nods along to the explanation, watching as Keith spreads the butter in the pan a little, watching it melt and then adding the two sandwiches in layers when it’s ready. “How’d you figure that out? Cooking shows?”

“I’m a chef, actually.”

“Oh jeez,” Shiro says, wide eyed. “Here I am telling you how to cook.”

Keith huffs a soft laugh. “It’s fine, really. I’m always looking to pick up more tips.”

“No, I’m the worst person to pick up tips from! You’ll have to go back to school just to unlearn!”

It makes him pause, sandwiches sizzling in the pan. “I didn’t go to school. Just learned from my uncle.”

There’s silence in the kitchen for a few moments, not quite tense but not as comfortable as before. Shiro speaks up, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He flips the sandwiches maybe a little aggressively. “It’s fine.”

“No, I can tell you take a lot of pride in your art. It doesn’t matter how you learned it.”

When he looks over his shoulder Shiro’s got a bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles from the fridge, held out like a peace offering.

“Thanks,” he says, directing Shiro to the cupboard he thinks still has plates in it. They’re only one off. “It’s not really an art, but thanks. I wouldn’t be anywhere without Kolivan. He’s taught me everything.”

“Are you kidding? Cooking is definitely an art. You’re definitely capable of greatness.”

The faux-boastfulness of that statement gets Keith smiling again and he dredges up the confidence to boast back. “Maybe I’ll make us dinner tomorrow and you can see for yourself.”

Shiro flashes a grin bigger than he’s seen today. “Can’t wait.”

As they sit down at the kitchen table and dig into their sandwiches and cold pickles, Keith thinks, are they flirting?

***

Shiro sleeps better than anticipated in the new space. He’s often up late into the night, plagued with ideas for novels he just has to write down or unsettling dreams he finds he needs to wake all the way up from in order to shake. He developed a midnight snacking habit out of it in his teens. Shiro tries to keep a supply of carrot sticks and hummus or kale salad in the fridge at home so he’s not eating just cake that late at night.

He misses the weight of Black on the pillow beside his head, her low purr rumbling in his ear, but he only wakes once that first night and the soft sounds of the wind in the trees lull him back to sleep in much the same way.

The first fingers of dawn find his room at almost six-thirty, nearly a full hour later than when Shiro usually wakes at home. The combination of late nights and early mornings don’t tend to bother him too much.

Shiro hadn’t set any alarms on purpose, just in case sleeping in a strange bed proved to make him more restless than he already was. He’s trying not to judge himself too harshly on his inability to adapt well, and letting his body try to sleep as long as it needs is a good first step.

And it feels good to wake with the sun. Shiro opens his eyes in time to see the light spill out from the thin curtains. The bed is placed in just the right spot so the rays don’t blind him, but fan out over his bare chest, catching the sprinkling of white hairs and turning them gold.

It shocks him to think that he’s only been in this house one day, but he feels comfortable. The thought makes him a little giddy, and he stretches in bed, a wide smile stretched across his face.

Until, that is, his arm knocks into the headboard and both feet slip off the end of the mattress past his ankles and he’s reminded that this bed is maybe a little smaller than his own back home. Well, it can’t all be perfect.

Perfect, he thinks as a flash of dark hair and luminous eyes and a sharp smile flits through his mind. His new housemate. Can’t forget about that.

Shiro refuses to think about what it would be like to share this tiny bed with Keith, no matter how tempting the prospect. They’ve only just met yesterday, they deserve time to get to know each other before Shiro thinks about things like that. No matter how gorgeous he is.

And he may just be the most gorgeous man Shiro’s ever seen in his life.

It’s definitely not the vacation he’d anticipated when he’d agreed to Allura’s idea, but he’s not complaining at all. Maybe it’s a little surprising how well they’ve clicked, unexpectedly having another person in his space has never been something Shiro’s coped with well. But, Shiro thinks as he reaches over the nightstand to unplug his arm, Keith’s presence is comfortable. He feels safe.

His right arm attaches into his shoulder port with a twist and a click and Shiro sets in to his morning mobility exercises. They’re rote by now, moving through stretching and flexing the fingers and joints until he’s satisfied with how the prosthetic feels.

There’s a fair amount of floor space in this room and Shiro had mapped his morning workout into the available space the night before. It’s grounding and familiar as he works through his usual push ups and crunches, getting out the exercise band he’d brought along for some additional stretches. It feels good as his muscles move through another set. He’s not breaking much of a sweat at the moment, but that’s all right.

He might go for a run later on. Maybe. Maybe some jumping jacks will do for cardio instead. If Shiro can get away without having to go for a run this whole trip, he probably will.

The thought makes him huff a laugh as he pushes up through his last set, feeling his triceps just start to burn. His stomach growls in the next moment and Shiro lets himself get up. A quick stretch later he’s choosing a comfortable outfit for the day and quietly sneaking down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up.

Keith’s door next to the bathroom is still closed, no sounds inside that Shiro can hear. He closes the bathroom door softly to avoid disturbing him.

With one hand trailing on the ceiling as he makes his way downstairs a little later on, Shiro ducks through the doorway. He’d remembered what Keith had said, but the ceiling really is a lot shorter on the way down; he definitely would have smacked into the doorframe if he hadn’t been careful.

The kitchen is warm and well-lit at this time of the morning. The clock says it’s just nearing seven-thirty and Shiro is ready for breakfast. The fridge isn’t exactly full, but there’s some fruit along with granola in the cupboard, and Shiro’s brought some tea along. That should be good until he can get to the store for groceries.

Or, they can go to the store together. The thought comes to him as he’s closing the fridge door, setting his prize of grapes and strawberries on the counter. Maybe Keith would like to go with him? That way he can get anything he needs for their dinner date.

He smiles, young and boyish at the thought: a date with Keith. In their house! Well - in the house. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Shirogane, he chids himself, but he’s still excited. He’s only known him a day but already Shiro wants to know him better.

On a more practical note, he thinks next, maybe Keith will know where the store is. Then Shiro won’t have to embarrass himself with his awful accent and stuttering lines from his French guidebook.

He takes his plate of fruit and small bowl of granola topped with a small, daring spoonful of yoghurt over to the kitchen table. It’s lit up in another sunbeam like his bedroom was.

The house is quiet as he eats. The kettle boils on the counter, Shiro makes his tea, and still the house is quiet. It’s the comfortable quiet of knowing another person is around, Shiro thinks around a smile and a strawberry. Not something he’s felt outside of his parents’ house in recent years.

He’s moved into the living room by the time Keith creaks open the door to the main floor an hour later. Shiro stuffs down his initial swoon at the other man’s slightly rumpled and sleepy appearance and offers him a little wave instead.

“Morning,” he says, unable to keep a small smile off his face. Keith turns to him as though just noticing he’s there.

“Oh,” he says, letting the door fall shut behind him. “Hi.”

Shiro fights down the urge to brush off any potentially remaining granola crumbs or whatever else is making Keith stare, but he jolts himself away with a shake of his head. His voice is a little sleep-rough and he coughs. “Uh, hey, morning. Didn’t expect you up yet.”

“Oh, I’ve been up about two hours,” Shiro assures him. Keith makes a disgusted face before shaking his head and schooling his expression.

“Sorry, that’s rude,” he starts, but Shiro’s quick to reassure.

“It’s okay! I know not everyone’s a morning person. My own mother won’t speak to a soul before she has her morning tea, I used to get so many glares as a teenager if I tried to ask her a question pre-caffeine.”

It gets a smile on Keith’s face, one that brightens his eyes and wakes him up a little more.

“You still hungry? Not sure what’s in the kitchen..” Keith half-turns towards it, eyeing the fridge and pantry like they’ll reveal their contents at his will.

“There’s fruit and granola,” Shiro offers. “And I think I saw some eggs too. But don’t worry about me,” he adds quickly, remembering the other half of Keith’s question. “I’m happy to wait until we can go and get some groceries. If, uh, if you wanted to go together.” Shiro offers, realising it might sound like he’s commandeering Keith’s time. They aren’t technically on this vacation together.

Keith, at least, doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s eyeing the door to the backyard this time, head cocked to one side. “How do you feel about omelettes?”

“I like omelettes,” he says eventually, starting to give up on not asking Keith to cook for him.

“Great, anything in the garden you don’t like?”

“I don’t even know what’s in the garden?”

Keith half-turns back. “Neither do I. Anything I shouldn’t pick though? If it’s there or not?”

Shiro hesitates for a moment and then says, “Green peppers. I can’t stand green peppers. Everything else is probably fine.”

“No green peppers,” Keith says, heading to the door to retrieve his boots. “Got it. Be right back.” He’s stuffed his feet into his boots and is out the kitchen door before Shiro can say another word.

It’s a few minutes before Shiro lets his curiosity get the better of him and he gets up to peek through the kitchen window. Keith is crouched down in between two rows of plants, a bundle of leaves on his lap and popping a cherry tomato between his lips. He ducks away before Keith can look up and catch him, but even as he does the image of a happy gardener stays with him.

He’s across the room and writing up some character notes before Keith comes back inside and he’s so engrossed he doesn’t notice the world around him until Keith sets a small plate on the table beside him. He’s retreated back to the kitchen with his own plate, nose buried in his phone before Shiro can properly thank him but the taste of the spinach and tomato omelette lingers on Shiro’s tongue into the afternoon.

***

Keith is surprising himself, if he’s honest. He’s rarely managed to enjoy anyone’s company outside of his own family as much as he’s enjoying Shiro’s. They’d made it down to the grocery store yesterday, stumbling through basic conversation with the cashier and attempting to accurately translate all the product names in the shop. They’d definitely found a few things neither of them could identify, a couple of which Keith tossed into the cart to experiment with later on in the week.

Shiro told him a little bit about his life back home, his friends and his job as a writer. Keith didn’t recognise any of the titles of his books, but Shiro assured him it wasn’t a problem, he wasn’t that big of an author. He sounded a little relieved about it, in fact, but Keith figured it was just so he could be treated as a regular sort of guy.

Mystery-romance novels sound right up his mom’s alley though, so maybe he’ll ask her if she’s heard of them when he talks to her next.

Right now they’re taking a walk around the property and through the kitchen garden. Keith’s not a gardener per se, but he knows his way around plants enough to be able to weed and take care of the vegetables. The fruit trees mostly take care of themselves.

Keith’s already picked some apricots and has some plans to try his hand at a quick apricot jam later this afternoon. He’s holding a basket of them at his hip while they stroll around the house. Shiro asks some questions about the building and its history and Keith has to admit he doesn’t know much. They spend some time speculating, imagining what the grounds could have looked like two hundred years ago, how the people would have dressed, what they would have eaten.

“You thinking about writing historical fiction next?” Keith jokes as they pass around the front of the house. “Branching out?”

“I mean, maybe,” Shiro considers, and to Keith he actually sounds serious. “Something different might be a good idea. Historical-mystery-romance.”

“Sounds niche,” Keith laughs. “I’d read it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Keith smiles as he adjusts the basket on his hip. “I don’t read much, but I like weird niche stuff like that. Gets me out of my head.”

“I feel like I spend too much time in my head, sometimes,” Shiro admits, head tilted up to the blue sky. The sun is warm today, wisps of white clouds stretched high. “Especially when I’m trying to write. Which is, I guess, part of the reason I’m out here. Need to relax.”

Keith breathes out a sigh through his nose. “I get it. It’s the same for me. Been really stressed and I just needed.. somewhere else to go. Here’s pretty far removed from home.”

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Shiro says again. Keith waves him off.

“I wasn’t going to send you back home, even if you weren’t a friend. Can’t say it isn’t nice not to be alone.”

They’ve made it around the kitchen side of the house, the messy garden spilling out over the land in front of them. There’s still a few more areas Keith wants to tidy and weed out, maybe fix a trellis or two, but those are problems he’s going to start on tomorrow. There’s some vegetables he’s going to grab for dinner later but for now they continue along the far side.

Shiro stops by the small shed on the property, morning glories creeping up one side of it and climbing beans on another. He reaches for one of the purple-blue petals, stroking it softly with his thumb. “Any secrets in this garden I should know about? Something to make this potential niche novel more interesting?”

“That’s the tree Romelle dared me to kiss her under,” Keith blurts out, gesturing to the elm they’re standing near. He stills for a moment, body locking up. He can’t believe he said that out loud.

Shiro makes a strange, choked sound but seems like he’s recovered when Keith manages to turn a concerned look over his shoulder. The flower petals seem a little crinkled. “Sorry, I- um. That’s-that’s good, I guess?” He looks a little unsure.

“It wasn’t not good, I guess, it was fine? But I’m not really sure if that was because it was ‘Melle or because she was a girl.. Either way I’ve only kissed guys since then.” Keith really needs to get a handle on his brain to mouth filter.

“O-oh. Great! I mean- that’s- I’m glad you’re comfortable?” Shiro’s face is pink. Keith ducks his head a little, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, but he’s smiling.

“Anyways,” Keith says, turning away before he says anything else stupid. “I’ve got some jam to make, and you have a ridiculous plot to get started on. Come on, maybe if it’s still nice out later we can eat on the patio.”

“How sophisticated,” Shiro laughs, but follows him inside.

***

He’s not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, but Shiro is so distracted watching Keith putter around the kitchen he’s written all of three sentences in his word document. He’s only known him for two days but Shiro feels like they’ve been friends for ages. It’s comfortable in this house. Comfortable and distracting.

Keith’s got his hair in a ponytail and an apron tied around his waist and the easy way he handles a knife has butterflies fluttering in Shiro’s stomach. The rolled up sleeves and strong forearms aren’t exactly helping, especially combined with Keith’s early statement in the garden. Shiro is resolutely not thinking about what it could be like to kiss Keith. Not even for research.

Shiro adjusts his headphones in his ears and tries to focus on cafe sounds and the plot outline he’s working on. It’s probably not something he’ll ever get deeply into, it’s mostly a brainstorming session right now. He’ll figure out if it’s worthwhile to keep once he’s actually got some words on the page.

It’s been easier to write the last few days. He was thinking about it last night lying in bed, feet dangling off the end as he stretched out all the way. His hand bumped the headboard as he stretched overhead and Shiro realised he felt - relieved was the first word that came to mind. He can write, and it doesn't feel like a chore. He doesn’t feel trepidation sitting down at his computer or in his journal at night.

He’s excited. He doesn't have another story, not yet, but something is starting to stir in the back of his mind.

He’s not worried about reviews or critics or his readership. He feels almost free with the words, putting down ideas onto pages and not worrying about if they go anywhere. He’s created fragments of worlds and scraps of dialogue, all manner of different settings, but he’s noticed he keeps gravitating to the same design for a main character.

Dark eyes, black hair, a sharp smile. A little bit of an attitude, but a heart of gold.

And now, with Keith on the other side of the room, humming a soft tune while he works and entirely in his element, Shiro knows how enraptured he’s become. Sneaking another look at him, Shiro admits he’s breathtaking.

All he’s doing is pitting apricots, setting the fruit aside in a large glass bowl. But there’s a small smile on his face, like he’s coming up with ways to use the finished jam. Like he’s brainstorming ideas, just like Shiro.

Shiro wonders if he finds the same sense of freedom. Keith had skirted around the topic, but his body language has been growing looser and overall he’s seemed happier than the first few days. Shiro even made him laugh recently and he can still hear the rich, deep tones of it. He’s gorgeous, and he’s been making Shiro feel things he hasn’t felt in a long time. He gets a little lost in his thoughts, smiling down at his blank screen long enough for the screensaver to turn on.

“Getting any writing done?” Keith asks from the kitchen with a smile in his voice, like he can tell Shiro isn’t. He’s moved on to stirring the fruit in a pot on the stove but leaves it to start bubbling for a moment.

Shiro stretches his arms out to the sides and then overhead, popping his spine a little. “Not a word,” he laughs. “Think I need a distraction.”

“Want to make some linguine with me?” Keith asks, pulling a pasta machine out from one of the lower cupboards. “This jam won’t need much attention for a little while.”

Shiro is closing his laptop lid and is out of his chair before Keith finishes speaking. It makes him laugh, smiling bright as he sets the machine on the counter and reaches again for the spoon in the fruit pan.

“Yes,” Shiro says, moving quickly into the kitchen to wash his hands. He’s awful at cooking, but for Keith? “I definitely do.”

***

Keith’s been feeling good the last few days, better than he’d even hoped when he got on that plane. He’s been experimenting in the kitchen, tending to the garden, and has filled more pages in his sketchbook in the last three days than he has in months. He’d arrived expecting to find some focus, to relax but not really get fully immersed, to still feel lonely and separate from everyone he loves.

Shiro’s changed that.

The house is warm with his presence, smoothing something in Keith he didn’t even know was rough. It’s obvious enough that Tex picks up on it right away when Keith calls home. He’d spoken to his mom the second day he’d been here, but hasn’t been able to connect with his pop until now.

It takes all of five minutes before he mentions Shiro, and then it’s at least fifteen minutes more by the time everything he’s thinking has tumbled out.

“I like him, Dad,'' Keith says over their video call. “A lot.”

It’s late and Keith's whispering because of their difference in time zones but his dad just starts to laugh. It comes through his headphones in a wash of rich sound that makes him feel better, even though he's being teased.

“I dunno why you’re tellin’ me and not him, kiddo,” his dad says with a grin, leaning his chin on one hand. Keith pouts, blushing up to his ears. His dad coos at him like he did when Keith was a kid, unable to resist Keith’s cute pouting face. He never got away with anything in that house.

“Hey,” his dad says, brow wrinkling. He’s always been able to tell when Keith needs help, needs him to be serious. There’s never been a problem Keith couldn’t go to his dad about, whether or not they were able to come up with an answer. Sometimes all he’s needed is for someone to listen to him. His dad always has an ear for Keith.

“You really do, don’tcha?”

Keith tucks his knee up under his chin, wrapping his arms around his shin and resting there. “Yeah.”

“You gonna tell him?”

Keith hides his face in his knee.

Tex chuckles on the other end of the line. “That’s what I thought. Never seen you so happy. Looks good on you.” He looks off to the side when something catches his attention off screen. “Damn, that’s your mama callin’. Promised I’d pick her up for a date tonight, since you’re out of town and all that.” He winks at Keith who rolls his eyes at his parent’s antics.

“Thanks dad. I’ll talk to you next week, same time?”

His dad hums an affirmative. “And you know, kiddo, you can always call sooner. If you need anything. I’ll always be here, and your mama too. We miss seeing you.”

Keith smiles into his knee. “I know. I will. Love you, dad.”

“Love you too, kid. Be good.”

The call screen flashes closed as his dad hangs up and Keith tugs his headphones out of his ears with a sigh. With the way things are going, he might be calling his dad every night after this. He closes his laptop lid with a soft click.

There’s some movement downstairs and he can hear the clinking of dishes as Shiro must be tidying up his latest midnight snack. A few minutes later the old stairs creak as Shiro drags himself up them, apparently done writing for the night.

Keith heaves himself up from the desk and sticks his head out the door to wish him a good night. Shiro has his laptop under his arm as he’s heading down the hallway, shadows starting under his eyes. He smiles tiredly at Keith, pausing and leaning against the wall opposite Keith’s room.

“Have a good chat?”

“Yeah, I did. I see my dad a lot, we’re really close.” He doesn’t mention what they talked about. He hopes the light is low enough that Shiro can’t see his blush.

Shiro hums. “I should probably call my parents too. See how Black is doing, let them know I haven’t got lost over here.”

“Probably not now,” comes out of Keith’s mouth before he can stop the dumb statement, but Shiro chuckles.

“I’ll call tomorrow or something. You’re right, it’s pretty late.” Shiro pushes away from the wall and gives him a little curled-fingered wave. It’s far too cute for this late at night. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Night, Shiro,” he says, resisting the urge to wave back. “Sleep well.”

Shiro’s smile is soft as he reaches his door. “You too,” he says and closes it behind him.

***

He doesn’t manage a video chat but he does remember to text his mom in the morning. He knows he won’t see an answer for at least six hours. It’s possible she may not have gone to bed yet, but back home it’s late, even for her, and Hana Shirogane will sleep in as much as anyone will allow.

It’s after lunch by the time he gets any messages back, and he’s spent the morning and early afternoon sitting outside under some of the trees in the backyard, a mix of sunbathing and jotting down pencil notes in his notebook. His shoulder had been aching last night, so he decided to leave the prosthetic plugged in for the morning and give himself some time off from working too much.

Keith hadn’t said anything when he came down the stairs without it, just a quick glance and a question if he was sore. He admitted to seeing Shiro rubbing at his shoulder a lot yesterday, and it made Shiro feel warm to know that Keith was more interested in his health than his appearance.

Though the way his eyes followed Shiro when he wore his favourite jeans the other night and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt has Shiro thinking that maybe Keith is interested in his appearance too.

His mom jumped all over him the moment he mentioned Keith in their texts, especially once Shiro admitted to liking him - a lot. And he thinks, maybe Keith is also interested? But he doesn’t want to be too forward.

So you’re going to swoon around the house like some Victorian heroine until he sweeps you off your feet or are you going to go after him and sweep him off his first? she texted back.

His mom always did know how to appeal to Shiro’s competitive side.

So maybe Shiro’s going to flirt a little more, just a little, and see where things go.

He’s been wanting to see the beach, still not having managed to get down to the water’s edge. He broaches the idea to Keith mid-afternoon and, both interested in a hike, they take off.

It’s about a half an hour walk following directions on Keith’s phone, but soon they see the waves of the English Channel lapping against the shore.

The wind picks up this close to the water and whips Keith’s hair into his eyes. He calls for Shiro to hold on for a second and when he turns, Keith is gathering his hair back into a stubby ponytail. It’s a good look, and Shiro has to turn back to facing the sea so his blush doesn’t give him away. The cool sea breeze helps dissipate the heat in his cheeks a little before Keith catches up.

“I think I was expecting it to be a little warmer,” Keith says as he falls in beside Shiro. “But I like this temperature, actually. Not too hot. It’s different.”

The waves lap at the shore, calm today, and the sea is a sparkling blue. A few clouds dot overhead as they meander down the beach. It’s picturesque.

They head out along the beachfront, the dark sand firm under their shoes. Shiro looks out over the waves, hoping to catch a glimpse of a seal or even a dolphin in the water, but he isn’t that lucky. The seabirds dip and dive in the air, sometimes landing on the water and sometimes ducking under.

Keith’s hands swing at his sides as they make their way over the densely packed sand. Shiro imagines brushing the back of his hand against Keith’s, the warmth of his skin against Shiro’s, the feeling of his fingers sliding between Shiro’s own.

The wind tousles Keith’s bangs and Shiro wants.

Keith brushes his hair back with his fingers, leaning up towards the afternoon sun. His face is so content, eyes closed, brows relaxed. Shiro wants to see him this comfortable all the time.

When he opens his eyes again, they widen in surprise. For a heart-stopping moment Shiro thinks he’s been caught staring, but Keith’s looking past him, smiling.

“Oh, hey! It’s that guy,” he says, voice soft and enamoured. Shiro turns to see who it is and spots a grey cat perched on a boulder a ways away. Its green eyes are watching the birds intently, on the lookout for any daring to come closer.

They’ve seen this cat before, a grey tabby that prowls around, teasing birds and walking along stone walls to meow at anyone who might have some food. As they get a little closer it yawns in their direction, and then takes off into the grass towards the village.

“We’re not good enough company, I guess,” Shiro jokes. Keith snorts behind him.

“Doesn’t know what it’s missing,” he teases back, though Shiro gets a distinct feeling Keith’s teasing him instead.

The sun is on the horizon by the time they make it back to the house. The golden light washes over Keith’s face as he laughs at Shiro’s dumb jokes, both of their attempts to pronounce French phrases out of Shiro’s book.

“What do you want for dinner?” Keith asks as he fishes out the heavy iron key. “I should probably get started soon.”

“I’ll help,” Shiro offers, pushing the door closed behind them and latching it. He turns the key on the other side. “I’ll be your sous-chef.”

When he turns Keith’s eyebrows are in his hairline. Shiro bites his lip. “Or, uh, or not?”

Keith blinks and then shakes his head. “No, no it’s fine. I was just thinking that I’m probably meaner to my actual sous-chef that I could be to you. Let’s just cook together, I think it’ll be more fun just to be a team.” His grin is soft and small and it fills Shiro’s heart almost to bursting.

“That sounds great,” he says, smiling back. They stand by the door grinning at each other until Keith coughs.

“So, what do you want for dinner?”

Shiro blinks and then raises a hand to scrub at his undercut. “Uh, how about a stir fry? We picked up tofu the other day. And I’m really good at making rice.”

“Alright,” Keith says as he leans down to untie his boots. “Stir fry it is. You get started on the tofu and the rice and I’ll go grab a few more veggies from the garden.”

He toes out of his boots to cross with them to the kitchen door and slip them back on, tucking the laces inside rather than tying them. He’s out the door before Shiro is finished taking his trainers off, setting them neatly on the mat.

Keith shoulders his way back in through the door while Shiro is measuring out the rice, tipping it into a strainer to wash. The tofu is on the counter pressed between two plates and a heavier book. Keith sets down a whole cabbage, two carrots, a small zucchini, and a handful of green onions.

“Do you want to get started on chopping some of the vegetables?” Keith asks. Shiro turns to him while still washing the rice.

“I was thinking I’d make my mom’s teriyaki sauce if you want? We have all the ingredients.”

Keith’s face lights up. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll get started on these, then.” He grabs a knife from the block, testing its edge.

They work quietly together in the kitchen, not speaking often as they focus on their tasks. Shiro takes more than one moment to enjoy the way Keith’s forearms and hands move dexterously though the vegetables, comfortable in this environment. He thinks he sees Keith sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye but he turns away before Shiro can be really sure.

They leave the dishes for later when the cooking is done, and Keith leaves Shiro to plating while he takes wine and chopsticks out to the small table on the terrace. It overlooks the garden but also gets the last light of day, and there’s a string of fairy lights strung up overhead. It bathes the area in a soft yellow glow. This isn’t the first meal they’ve shared out here. The weather has been kind to them the last few nights.

There’s that soft smile on Keith’s face again when Shiro brings the dinner out. He’s illuminated by the lights and Shiro takes care to ensure their bowls don’t fall from his suddenly numb fingers. He’s known it since they met, but Keith is beautiful.

They sit on the terrace until the stars shine overhead.

***

The rain had come on by ten. Keith had noticed the clouds gathering outside his window when he’d woken earlier that morning, covering the sun and letting him sleep longer than he usually does.

That may have also had something to do with how late he and Shiro were up last night, dinner and glasses of wine on the terrace and then tea and close-to-midnight snacks by the fire after they finally came inside.

With the last few days of their shared vacation coming up fast, they’ve been spending more time together, even just while Shiro is quietly writing by the window and Keith tidies up the kitchen from last night’s dinner and snacks.

They’ve fallen into each other’s orbits, Keith thinks as he watches Shiro type in his favourite window seat. Shiro is such a welcome presence in his life that Keith has been trying not to think about what will happen when they head back home in two days.

Will they keep in touch? He doesn’t know where in the city Shiro lives, it could be across town or it could be in one of the surrounding suburbs, but they’ve also lived their whole lives without interacting so who knows if they’ll even see each other again?

He doesn’t have Shiro’s phone number, Keith realises. He could probably get it from Allura if he asked Romelle to ask her. She’d probably do it.

Or he could ask Shiro - but would that be too forward? Maybe Shiro’s just looking for a friend, someone to hang out with on vacation and then remember fondly at home. Maybe Keith’s been misreading everything.

Shiro seems fairly oblivious to the crisis Keith is having in the kitchen, which is exactly the way he wants to keep it. Keith needs to get his feelings under control before he jeopardises the best relationship he’s ever had, friendship or otherwise.

He’d gone on this vacation to try to calm down, to get a handle on his emotions and get a fresh start. He’s found all of that in the man sitting on the other side of the room and the thought of not ever seeing him again has Keith’s heart in his throat.

The rain coming down outside echoes the way his heart feels. Occasionally Shiro will turn and look out at the bleary road, empty of neighbours and vacationers and Keith can see him smile out of the corner of his eye. Like he’s enjoying this safe space with the two of them inside.

They’d had tea together this morning in the living room, bread and Keith’s apricot jam as a light breakfast. They’d talked about nothing and Shiro had smiled at him, light and open and happy even though the weather was dismal and turning worse.

Keith is struggling to imagine going home without him. He’s found so much joy in this unexpected holiday the idea of leaving and going back to that angry, lonely place scares him. It isn’t something he’ll have to deal with immediately, but - it is. He’s going to be a terrible friend if he keeps this up and avoids Shiro for the rest of their time together. He knows he will if he lets himself get in his head.

He needs a distraction, and the garden is the perfect place for it. It’s raining but it’s not torrential. There’s a slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees and the sound of raindrops echoing down the chimney is calming. Keith tugs on his boots and slips quietly out the door.

There’s a light mist settled over the garden despite the later hour. It’s cool enough today that it hasn’t evaporated off. Keith rubs his hands along his bare forearms, thinking it might have been a better idea to grab a sweater before going outside, but he trudges along.

He finds the same basket he used for gathering apricots a few days ago where he left it by the side of the house and props it on his hip as he steps down the flagstone path into the garden. He’s got plans for quiche this afternoon and there is some basil around the end of the garden with his name on it.

Vine-ripe cherry tomatoes and a long zucchini also find a home in his basket. He and Shiro had had fun late last week digging through the garden and looking up all the French words for vegetables in Shiro’s guidebook, trying to pronounce them with terrible accents. It’s become an inside joke now, and Keith now looks at the zucchini and thinks courgette. Shiro makes such a cute face when he’s saying the word.

Keith bites his lip and twists a head of lettuce out of the ground. They’ll have a salad with their quiche. The raspberry canes are fruiting now, a few of them muddled with oil and lemon will make a good dressing. Some small carrots and a large radish get thrown into the basket alongside everything else.

There’s a few more things he wants to do to tend this garden before he leaves, hopefully to help it thrive for the next guests and the next time Romelle is able to visit. He’s distracted enough crouched in the dirt making plans that he doesn’t notice the visitor until they’re brushing up against his leg.

“Oh!” he startles, almost dropping the basket. The cat looks up at him and meows.

“Hello,” Keith says, reaching one hand out. It's the same cat they saw at the beach yesterday, padding closer to rub up against his shins. It’s followed them a few times when they’ve been out for a walk but this is the first time it’s come all the way up to him. “I don’t have any food for you.”

It purrs up at him. Keith reaches a hand out to scratch its ears. “You are cute though. Shiro’s going to be jealous he isn’t out here to see you. Two cuties together.” He stops, a blush rising to his cheeks as he realises what he’s just said aloud.

The cat seems to listen though, and it’s not like he hasn’t confessed secrets to Kosmo before. No slobbering licks to the face to comfort him this time, though. The rumbling purr from the cat is a nice change.

“He is cute,” Keith says to the cat still leaning into his ear scratches. “Don’t know why I got so lucky. Probably just thinks of me as a friend or that weird guy he met on vacation, not, I don’t know, anything more than that. You think he’d let me take him on a date back home?”

The cat just tilts its head, green eyes glowing in the grey light.

“I bet you only speak French, don’t you,” he laughs. The cat yawns.

The rain hasn’t let up, still falling softly over the misty garden and house. Keith hadn’t really noticed, focussed as he was on the garden, but the realisation that he’s getting soaked rolls over him. It’s time to be getting back inside before he gets too wet.

“Sorry you can’t come inside, kitty,” Keith says as he stands and brushes off his thighs. His hair is dripping onto his collar, he’ll probably have to change his shirt. “The shed might be dry though, if you want to stay warm in there.”

The cat butts its head against Keith’s leg and dashes off. It has Keith smiling and he turns back to the house.

Shiro is standing in the open door.

The basket almost tumbles from Keith’s suddenly numb fingers, but he manages to keep hold of it. Shiro looks shocked, eyes wide and pink lips parted. A wave of dread washes over Keith as he realises Shiro heard everything he’s just said.

Somehow the fact that he was telling all of that to a cat is the least of his worries. Shiro doesn't seem like the type of person to tease him about talking to animals. Everything else, though.

“Shiro! I-”

He stops, unsure what to say. What can he say to fix any rift he’s caused?

He doesn’t get the chance. Shiro is stepping out of the doorway, onto the flagstone, into the rain without even any shoes. His socks are soaked through in the four steps it takes to get to Keith, who’s frozen still.

Shiro takes the basket from him, sets it aside on the flagstone path. He steps closer to Keith in the next breath, hands reaching for Keith’s forearms. He’s trembling a little, but his hands are warm.

“I didn’t realise you’d gone outside,” he says, breathless. “I looked up from the draft and you were gone.”

“Sorry,” Keith whispers. The raindrops are beading on his lashes as he looks up at Shiro.

“I kept thinking that this was a dream,” he says instead, one hand reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair from Keith’s forehead. His eyes widen. “That one of these days you’d disappear. I’ve been dreading going home without you.”

“Me too- Shiro! I’ve been trying to figure out how to- to ask you-”

“On a date?” Shiro cuts in, a pink blush high on his cheeks as he cups Keith’s jaw in his warm hand.

“-for your phone number,” Keith finishes, flushing too. “And then a date.”

Shiro laughs. His smile is wide as he tilts his head back in the rain. “You can have it, of course! Keith! I can’t believe I got to meet you. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Keith shakes his head, reaching out to place his free hand on Shiro’s chest. His heartbeat is fast. Keith slides his other hand into Shiro’s and squeezes.

“I’m the lucky one,” he says. “I haven’t been happy like this in so long.”

Shiro’s face turns sad. His thumb brushes along the swell of Keith’s cheekbone, brushing the rain from his skin. “Keith.”

“It’s okay,” he says, but Shiro shakes his head.

“I want you to be happy,” he says. Keith bites his lip, then reaches for Shiro’s cheek.

“I’m happiest with you,” he whispers.

Shiro’s lips are on his, a brief, soft press before he’s pulling back. Keith’s stunned enough he didn’t have a chance to kiss back.

“Sorry-” makes it out of Shiro’s mouth before Keith cuts him off.

“Don’t apologise,” he says, eyes shining. “Just do it again.”

Shiro groans into the kiss and this time Keith kisses back. It’s slow, syrupy, and Shiro’s lips are warm against Keith’s. He can taste the apricot jam on Shiro’s tongue and it has him smiling into the kiss. Rainwater slips between the two of them but it’s not important, not when Shiro is standing here, is holding him, is kissing him. It’s everything Keith’s been wanting.

“So this means I can see you again?” he asks when they pull apart. “When we go home?”

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes, and then moves closer to lean his forehead against Keith’s. It’s a firm, grounding press and Keith’s smile grows as he feels Shiro’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “Please. I want that. I want to take you on dates, cook dinner with you, go for walks with you. We can have wine on my balcony. You can meet my cat.”

“You’ve thought about this.” The joy is bubbling up inside Keith. “You want all of that?”

“I do,” Shiro says, swinging their joined hands together before slipping his fingers out from between Keith’s and catching him around the waist instead. “You’re all I can think about.”

A fat raindrop lands on the top of Keith’s head, jolting both of them into realising how soaked they are. It makes Keith laugh again, but he feels buoyant with it. It’s raining and they’re leaving soon, but Keith is only excited.

“Let’s go inside and dry off,” he suggests, remembering the late lunch he was going to make. “And you can keep telling me about these dates you want to take me on.”

Shiro spins him under his arm once before they actually make it inside, laughing and splashing in the small puddles in the few steps to the house. He catches him in another kiss that becomes two and then three before they duck in from the rain.

***

“Have you got everything?” Shiro calls up the stairs as he’s finishing tidying up the last dishes in the living room. Everything is washed and put away, blankets are folded and the hearth is neatened. It looks exactly the way they arrived. “Baby?”

He can hear Keith huffing on the stairs and he pulls open the staircase door to reveal Keith descending with all four of their bags in his arms. He must make a face because Keith blows the hair from his eyes and scoffs.

“I got it, Shiro. All packed.”

He manages not to slip on the last step even as he refuses to give Shiro any of the bags to carry over to the door.

“So cute and stubborn,” Shiro calls after him. “My big strong man.”

Keith huffs and sticks out his tongue at him.

Shiro had changed their flights after their confession in the garden, finding them seats together on a flight leaving not much later than they’d originally intended. It gave them another night together, one they’d spent cuddling and kissing on the couch by the fire before moving upstairs to Shiro’s room. The bed wasn’t exactly big enough for both of them but Shiro now has the memory of Keith above him, nude as they moved together in the moonlight. It’s given him a new appreciation for not only the breadth of his new boyfriend’s shoulders, but also the tight trim of his waist and the strength in his thighs and hands.

Shiro is doing his best not to think about these things before getting into a taxi and then several airplanes with Keith, but he isn’t doing a very good job.

Keith sets the bags down by the door and sighs, setting his hands on his hips. “I think I’ll miss this place,” he says.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, coming up behind him to thread his arms through Keith’s and catch him around the waist. Keith’s hands find his as they hug each other in the doorway.

“Yeah,” he says, twisting to offer Shiro a smile over his shoulder. He’s so beautiful. “All this time, just us? Was great. Feel like I could do it forever.”

Shiro hums. They rock side to side for a while as they’re waiting for the taxi to show up.

“We’ll just have to come back,” Keith decides. “Romelle owes me.”

Shiro smiles into his dark hair, smitten. “Does she?”

“Of course.”

The sound of car wheels on gravel outside breaks them apart but Shiro gets one more kiss on the top of Keith’s head before he ducks away to shove on his boots.

Shiro locks the heavy door behind them as Keith trots all their bags over to the car. The key turns twice in the old iron lock and he fits it back into its hiding spot in the lock box behind the left planter.

Standing back up, his love is stuttering through a half-French conversation with their cab driver to explain where they’re headed, but he smiles at Shiro when he catches his eye.

Shiro takes his hand as they get in the back seat. As they pull away from the villa, he leans over to brush his lips against Keith’s cheek. Allura was right, he thinks as he settles back into his seat and watches the house disappear behind them. All he needed was here, after all.