Chapter Text
You see, Shiro normally likes spring.
Because spring means higher temperatures. Spring means nature awakens from hibernation, tinting grey and brownish landscapes in hues of green and pastels. Spring also means more hours of sunlight and not sitting in the dark for half the day. In a normal year, Shiro loves every aspect of spring.
But this spring has turned his whole world upside-down.
This spring hits Shiro’s life with the force of a high-speed train crashing into a mountain without enough time to pull the emergency brake.
This spring, Shiro finds himself without his job, without his tiny apartment in a gigantic anonymous city, without his (now ex-)boyfriend and without his grandparents.
Instead, this spring, Shiro finds himself here .
Standing in front of a building he thought he would never see again when he’d packed his bags to leave for college.
Unlike Shiro, the building looks almost exactly the way it did when he left. A wooden dream of a cottage, made of big logs and topped by a red tiled roof. A spacious garden surrounds the building, a green metal fence separating Shiro from the premises. This house had been like a safe haven in his youth, like a tiny wooden castle where time seemed to stop and reality couldn’t get to him.
Right here at the outskirts of the tiny place on Earth that Shiro calls his hometown.
Ironically enough, even this building can’t hide the fact that it’s been ten years since Shiro last set foot into the town.
Time shows in the dust collecting in the corners of the window frame. It shows in the fence, littered in scratches, the color coming off at several spots, rusty metal shining through the dark green. Shiro remembers how the fence has once been shiny after they had spent a whole weekend painting it green just to earn a few extra bucks.
Time also shows in the big wooden sign hanging over the door, loopy purple letters forming the words ‘Marmora Dog Shelter’ .
Nearly as Shiro remembers. The paint has faded, the once vibrant color now dull and scratched. The most obvious difference though, as Shiro notices, is the addition of another board, sloppily nailed onto the original sign, the same purple brushstroke and similar loopy letters, reading ‘& Dog Training’ .
It brings a smile to Shiro’s lips.
He vividly remembers Krolia’s stern face, explaining how she’ll never, ever want to turn the rescue into a dog obedience school, thank you very much , while shovelling another portion of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
It’s a good memory.
The ones about the rescue always are.
They usually involve a lot of dogs, a lot of good food and a lot of laughter.
And the distinct voice of a hothead of a boy, a few years younger than him, with fire in his eyes and a lion in his heart, wild and free.
Shiro shifts from one foot to another as the memories hit him. As much as he tried to push the thoughts away over the past years, the Marmora Dog Shelter was and will always be linked to him .
To Keith.
A sigh escapes Shiro’s lips as his thoughts drift to the image of young Keith. A welcome sight, one that’s accompanied Shiro for the better part of a decade.
Long strands of black hair tousled by wind and his temper.
Deep purple eyes, big and curious, full of awe whenever Shiro told him about his plans to see the stars one day.
The piercing laugh in Shiro’s ears as they rode Shiro’s bike down the steepest hill in town, the feeling of Keith’s arms pressed around his waist, begging Shiro to hit the brakes. Ending with both of them laughing and rolling in the grass at the foot of the hill, breathless and with wide eyes, feeling every atom in their bodies come alive.
The red around Keith’s cheeks as they sat together, watching the night sky from Shiro’s treehouse, huddled in thick blankets and sipping cocoa because both did not like the taste of beer. The way Keith stuttered around his words until he finally confessed that he did not like girls as he thought he was supposed to. The way Shiro smiled at him, putting a hand on his shoulder and offering to help him pick up guys.
But that was ten years ago.
And today he’s here. In front of the dog shelter run by Keith’s mom.
Fate is a wicked thing.
He must look ridiculous, Shiro thinks, a full-grown man standing in front of a fence for twenty minutes straight, hands shoved in his pockets and his foot kicking a pebble back and forth. Looking for any excuse not to enter the building. Not to face Krolia.
Not to face the minuscule chance to meet Keith.
He can’t be here, Shiro tells himself, for the fifth time since leaving his house that day.
They both had big plans after high school. Leaving town and never coming back was high on both their lists. And while Shiro feels the disappointment tug heavily at his heart, he’s sure Keith is living his best life in some college dorm on the other side of the country.
Because there’s no way Keith is still stuck in the middle of nowhere when all they both ever wanted was to see the world and make it into space.
‘Get a grip, Shiro,’ he tells himself for the third time since his arrival. It’s not like he planned on awkwardly standing twenty minutes in front of the Marmora Dog Shelter, discussing with himself if he really, really wants to do this.
“You got this,” Shiro tells himself, again, inhaling deeply and finally stepping towards the cottage.
The first step is the hardest, Shiro finds.
Step two and three are easier already. And step four and five bring him directly to the iron gate, the same old lattice iron door with the crooked handle.
It doesn’t surprise Shiro at all when, after all these years, the door still has no lock.
It squeaks when Shiro opens it to enter the garden. There are no dogs running around and he hears no barking. In the distance, Shiro can make out the sound of paws moving hastily. It seemed to come from the big shed in the back of the yard, where all the dogs are held.
As much as she loved her dogs, Krolia always had a strict “No dogs in the house” policy – except for Trixy the toy poodle, her beloved dog lady who had been half-blind when Shiro had met her the first time. Instead, the rescue dogs were kept in a shed. Well, at least they called it a shed - even though it’s so big it could almost be called a house on its own, with enough space for two rooms full of kennels. Two to three times a day, Krolia would open the kennel and let the dogs play outside.
Krolia had always loved dogs, Keith had told him. Big, fluffy dogs with wolfish features. And the shed in the back of their garden proved perfect to house a few stray dogs abandoned by town folks, dropped at the nearby motorway by strangers from two cities over, or puppies they found in the woods. Krolia’s heart had been too soft to leave the poor dogs to themselves, so they always had a couple of dogs around their house while Keith grew up.
Twenty years ago, after her husband, a firefighter Shiro never had the honor of meeting, had died in fire, Krolia had looked for something to do to distract herself from grieving – And turned the shed into a temporary home for about twenty dogs, finally opening ‘Marmora Dog Shelter’.
To Shiro, walking down the path that leads to the house feels so familiar. It’s barely more than old planks in the mud and he takes the two steps to the porch with a little too much enthusiasm, jumping onto the front porch. It nearly makes him feel like he’s twelve again, running from school to knock on the door and ask if Keith can come out to play today.
Just that Shiro’s not twelve anymore. And still, he can hear his blood pumping in his ears.
Too late Shiro realizes he’s put too much force into his jump.
He manages to land on his feet, but stumbles forwards - right when the door opens in front of him.
The only thing Shiro hears is a surprised yell. He has barely enough time to blink before he finds himself falling, his knees colliding on the floor. He braces himself for the imminent moment of his head colliding with the floor.
But it never comes.
Instead, his cheek is cushioned on something soft. From the corner of his eyes, he recognizes a red-and-black flannel pattern. And a deep voice which most likely does not belong to the porch mumbles into his hair, “What the hell?”
Yes, definitely not the wooden planks talking.
The second he realizes he’s pinned an actual person to the ground, Shiro shifts his weight back, bracing himself on his hands.
Just to see a very familiar face lying underneath him, black strands of hair framed by Shiro’s hands.
“Keith?” he says, breathless.
Shiro would recognize this face everywhere. Sharp features, high cheekbones and those eyes . Deep purple and mysterious, a beautiful sight that’s been haunting his dreams, looking up at him wide open.
It’s like Keith has not changed at all.
And yet he has. The deep red slash on Keith’s cheek is new and there are faint lines forming around his lips and under his eyes, dark circles that hadn’t been there ten years ago.
“Shiro, is that you?” Keith says and something in Shiro’s chest drops at the familiar sound of the voice he’s been missing for so many years.
“Yeah, it’s... wow, Keith, what are you doing here?” Shiro answers with the first thing that comes to his mind.
“I could ask you the same,” Keith answers. Shiro can see Keith’s features soften into a smile. And wow, it’s been ten years, but the smile makes Shiro’s knees weak.
“Wow, Keith, you’ve…” Shiro curses his brain for short-circuiting, but apparently, that’s all his mouth can produce.
“It’s really you. It’s...”
“Yeah. It’s…been a while.”
Shiro must sound ridiculous, stammering his words like this. But it’s Keith, here, underneath him.
Oh wait, it’s Keith. Underneath him.
Once the realization hits him, Shiro jumps backwards, offering Keith his metal hand to pull him up in the movement. His pull is a bit too forceful, sending Keith right against his chest. Shiro can feel firm hands press against his chest.
“Oh, you--you’ve changed quite a bit,” Keith says, averting his eyes. There’s a tint of pink around his nose and Shiro is sure he must be imagining it.
Keith is still a head shorter than Shiro, but his shoulders look broad, proud, clad in red-and-black flannel and a black undershirt. It hugs him perfectly.
“Oh yeah, I know, it’s the hair. Premature greying is apparently a thing,” Shiro explains, rolling his eyes. He’s not yet thirty and yet he’s heard the silver fox joke one too many times already. But after the accident that had caused him to lose his parents and his arm when he was fifteen, learning to live with his metal prosthesis, stressful months at college and a job that had him working to the bone, Shiro tried wearing his white floof with pride. It belongs to him now. K
eith rolls his eyes before letting one of his hands wander to Shiro’s arms, squeezing Shiro’s biceps lightly. “I meant this. You’ve… grown quite a bit.”
“Yeah, your mother will be proud, I ate all my veggies.” Keith looks up at him and something tugs at Shiro’s chest. Something warm and bright, making his skin tingle like it hasn’t for years. And it’s definitely not caused by the feeling of Keith’s hands wrapped around Shiro’s bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Definitely not.
Truth is, Shiro had been working out the past months, trying to fill the void in his mind with endorphins and something to do. In the past, a regular workout routine had always helped him keep in shape while he was getting used to his prosthesis, but over the past months, he might have been overdoing it a little too much. He’s noticed all his shirts stretching over his chest by now. And there has been at least one humiliating instance when the button of his dress shirt had burst open from the sheer amount of muscles working underneath the fabric.
“Yeah, I see that.” There’s something along the lines of a smile on Keith’s lips. Shy, reluctant. It vanishes just as fast as it appeared when Keith takes a step backwards, his hands still wrapped around Shiro’s arm. “So, what brings you back into this shithole? Thought at least one of us had made it out for good.”
Shiro gulps.
“Now Grandpa’s gone, someone has to take care of the house,” he answers, the words leaving a bitter taste on his lips. He always knew his grandfather would not live for eternity. But getting the call about his passing was still a bolt to his heart.
“I also needed a change of scenery,” Shiro adds to end on a lighter note as soon as he sees Keith’s face turn into a frown.
If anything, Keith’s hands press against Shiro’s arms, firmer this time. The playfulness is gone from his touch and his voice. “Shiro. I’m sorry about your grandpa.”
“It’s... it’s okay. He was an old man who lived a fulfilled life. A part of me always knew that this was coming. It’s always too soon,” Shiro explains.
Keith looks up to him, letting his fingers trail over Shiro’s biceps again. He’s never been bothered by the metal of his prosthesis. Quite the opposite – when people in high school started to make fun of Shiro’s new arm, Keith had become angry at them, telling Shiro how cool he was, just like a robot from his favorite movie. Shiro still remembers how welcome Keith’s words were back then.
It’s also Keith’s words now that pull him from his memories. “I went to visit him each week to help him with his groceries,” Keith says. “The past weeks he’d been quieter. Like he felt it was his time. Told me he misses your grandma.”
The thought of Keith taking care of his grandfather feels like a bandaid on Shiro’s hurt heart. His grandfather had always liked Keith, treating him like a second grandson. It was only fitting for Keith and him to stay close while Shiro was away.
“Thank you for being with him when I couldn’t.”
Shiro hopes his voice manages to convey how grateful he is. It’s a relief to hear that his grandfather hadn’t been alone for the past weeks and months.
“He always talked about you. He loved you a lot.” As Keith speaks, his thumbs draw slow circles where they are resting against Shiro’s arm.
“Thank you, Keith.”
As he smiles at Keith, his hands find Keith’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. Keith returns the smile, not saying anything. They might be standing like this for seconds or for minutes. Shiro does not know. Because he’s too busy getting lost in Keith’s eyes. Have they always been so deep and beautiful?
Keith clearing his throat pulls Shiro out of his thoughts.
“So, you’re looking for Mom? She’s out of town, but I can call her. She’ll drop everything to come back if I tell her you’re here.” He takes a step back, drawing his hands back and pushing them into his pockets.
“Actually, I was looking for a dog,” Shiro explains, already missing Keith’s hands on his body.
A sly grin sneaks on Keith’s face. “A dog? Well, good thing you’re here. We might have some of those,” he says.
Shiro nudges Keith with his elbow and it comes to him as easy as breathing. Something about being with Keith feels so natural. And definitely not like they haven’t spoken a word for ten years.
“You know I love dogs. Also, the house is big and I’m alone, so some company would be nice.”
“Okay, follow me.” Keith turns on the spot, motioning Shiro to follow him.
As Keith walks in front of him, Shiro’s eyes fall to the casual sway of Keith’s hips. He remembers Keith as a scrawny boy, fresh out of puberty, with legs so long he stumbled over them, and his hair unkempt and too long in the back, always falling into his face.
Not that it was bad, no, the opposite.
Keith has always been terribly pretty. With sharp features and a determined sparkle in his eyes. A shoulder to cry on and always up for mischief. But Keith had also been terribly sixteen and Shiro’s heart aimed for the stars after high school.
But that was ten years ago and this Keith right here grew into his legs and his shoulders, his steps self-assured and his whole demeanor natural, confident. His hair is still long – Shiro only notices the tiny ponytail at the back of his head now that Keith walks in front of him. There are a few strands loose, falling into Keith’s face. And it looks good. Great even. They frame his sharp cheekbones and his purple eyes just perfectly.
As they make their way around the cottage to the back of the yard, Keith tells Shiro bits and pieces about his mother, about the town, about some of the dogs they currently shelter. But it’s hard to concentrate on Keith’s words when the sway of Keith’s hips is alluring. When the view of Keith’s backside is definitely not bad. When Keith’s ass looks very pretty in skin-tight jeans.
And Shiro has to shake his head to get rid of thoughts sneaking into his mind. As much as Keith has grown into the handsome man Shiro had always known he would become, he’s not here to flirt with his former best friend.
‘Get your act together,’ he thinks to himself, for the umpteenth time this day. ‘You haven’t talked to him in ten years. And a guy like him is definitely taken.’
“Shiro?” As he looks up, Shiro notices that Keith’s turned around, looking at him expectantly.
Shiro’s hand flies to his head, scratching his hair. “Sorry? Come again?”
“I asked if you had any thoughts on which type of dog you’d like. Pocket-sized? Medium? Or a big one? Lots of fur? No fur? There’s a whole range!” Keith’s arms fly to his sides, emphasizing the variety. It brings a smile to Shiro’s face.
“Something big preferably, with lots of energy. I don’t mind daily activities, I have to keep in shape because of this thing here anyway.” He lifts his metal hand. “So if the dog can join me on my runs, that’d be perfect.”
“Okay, sounds like a challenge. We have a lot of small breeds and a lot of old dogs. Believe me, they’ll only tilt their head at you if you want them to run with you.” Keith pauses when they stop in front of the shelter. “Also would you be willing to spend some time training them?”
Shiro only notices his eyes have wandered back to Keith’s backside when Keith’s hand finds his back pocket, getting out a ring of keys. “There are only a few who are well-trained. If you’re looking for a dog that doesn’t need a lot of training, that definitely brings us down to a few.”
“Oh. I mean I don’t have a lot of experience other than watching your Mom handle twenty dogs at once, but I’d be willing to do a lot of training.” Keith nods approvingly as Shiro explains.
“It’s good that you already have an idea,” Keith says as he unlocks the door to the dog house. “You won’t believe how many people come here and expect us to just hand them a perfectly trained puppy, preferably a pure-breed.”
It’s a familiar sight to Shiro, the long aisle with kennels to both sides, separated by iron panels, each kennel big enough for a knee-high dog to move around in freely. Most compartments are equipped with a blanket or a dog bed, toys and plushies (some more intact than others), and a water dish. There’s a lot of running around and at least two dogs are barking loudly, jumping up the bars to welcome Shiro.
Shiro bends down to one of the barking dogs, a West Highland Terrier whose white fur is covering both eyes. “I don’t really mind the breed. It just has to click,” Shiro explains as he pokes a finger through a whole in the iron panel. The dog licks his finger immediately, tail wagging cheerfully. It’s a very cute sight.
“Don’t be fooled by her cuteness, that old lady is very lazy. She hates walking more than a mile a day,” Keith explains, waving his hand. “She loves people and getting spoiled, though.”
“Very relatable,” Shiro laughs as he straightens himself.
As they make their way down the hallway, Shiro spots a huge variety of dogs. There are some very tiny ones who bark very loudly. There are also very bony ones with very thin fur. In one kennel, he spots an English bulldog with a very long drop of spit hanging from its mouth.
The dog looks about the same size as the Terrier lady he’s spotted before – but three times her weight in muscles and treats. The past owner must have meant well with the dog.
Keith stops his steps when Shiro squats down to offer his hand to the bulldog. His gesture causes the dog to sit up and run into Shiro’s direction, making the iron door rattle as he jumps against it. Forty pounds of dog is quite something, Shiro notices, before the very wet tongue of the dog licks against his fingers through the iron panel.
“Freddy is a darling, he loves kids and food,” Keith explains. “Though he’s the very opposite of a guard dog. I’m afraid he would demand belly rubs from any intruder before going back to sleep.”
Shiro laughs. “I can totally see that.”
As he stands up again to follow Keith, his eyes wandering over two Jack Russel Terriers in one kennel. They seem young and rather cute, very cheerful as they play with each other’s tails. But Shiro’s never trained his own dog before, and starting with two dogs might be a bit too much.
Sure, years of helping Krolia with the shelter dogs helped a bit, but Shiro is not confident in teaching a dog every command and trick on his own. Before seeing the newly added plank to the shelter sign, Shiro had planned to make the most of YouTube tutorials and blogs. But maybe he could ask Krolia to help him train his dog?
“I saw your Mom finally decided to go into the dog training business?” As he speaks, Shiro notices Keith abruptly coming to a halt. There’s a jolt going through his whole body before Keith turns around, his eyes wide and… caught?
“Yeah, right, about that…,” he starts, but never finishes his sentence. Because suddenly there’s a huge shadow in the corner of Shiro’s eyes. The next second, he only hears a happy bark – and Keith lands on the floor, a big and fuzzy creature that looks like something in between a wolf and a dog stands over him, licking his face and wagging his voluminous tail.
“Oh, hey Kosmo!” There’s disgust on Keith’s face and his voice as he shoves the dog away, trying to sit up again.
Helpful as he is, Shiro offers Keith a hand. But before Keith can take it, there’s the sudden feel of wet dog nose nudging against Shiro’s outstretched palm. And ninety pounds of dog pressing against his arm, begging Shiro for scratches.
Who is he to deny such a cute dog his ear scratches?
“Hi Kosmo, nice to meet you,” Shiro says, as he proceeds to pet the dog.
“Kosmo’s mine. Found him wandering along the highway fifty miles from here, drenched in rain. Or rather: he found me,” Keith explains. There’s something soft in his words as Kosmo hurries from Shiro to Keith and back again, asking for pets and pressing his nose against their outstretched hands.
“He’s amazing, Keith. What kind of breed is he?” Shiro asks as the dog continues to circle between them.
Kosmo must be about two feet tall with a thick coat in shades of black and grey, pointed ears, almond-shaped eyes and a dark nose. He reminds Shiro a lot of a wild wolf, with his muscular build and his sharp features.
He’s a beautiful dog.
“We assume he’s an Alaskan Shepherd. Very stubborn and very energetic. Also, he’s currently shedding like crazy, watch your clothes.” Keith chuckles. Judging from Shiro’s pants, it’s already too late for that remark. But Shiro has to get used to dog hairs anyway, doesn’t he?
“Just be careful, he doesn’t trust strangers.”
Exactly at this moment, Kosmo decides to jump onto his hind paws and tackle Shiro with his whole weight – just to lick over Shiro’s face.
“Nevermind,” Keith sighs. “Down, Kosmo.” And the dog reacts instantly, jumping back to all fours before he walks back to Keith and sits down in front of him, his tail wiggling expectantly at his owner.
“We assume he was raised in a kennel. Whenever he’s stressed, he starts running in circles, which is a sign of hospitalism. It’s something that often appears with dogs who grew up in small spaces without any stimuli,” Keith explains, his eyes fixed on the dog. “It basically means he’s lacking a lot of things young dogs should learn.”
From his back pocket, Keith pulls a dog treat. Instead of holding it between him and Kosmo, he draws his hand to the side and Shiro can see Kosmo’s initial struggle to look at Keith instead of the piece of meat. After a few seconds, the dog’s eyes focus on Keith, staring at him as if the treat didn’t exist.
It’s then that Keith hands him the reward.
“Not only does he have a hard time socializing with other dogs, he also wasn’t used to the sound of cars or trucks. So when I found him on the motorway, he was the picture of misery. He’s still not used to everything, but we’re getting there,” Keith continues to explain.
“Guess talent with dogs runs in the family, huh?” Shiro smiles.
“Well, if you say so…” Keith says, scratching his face. “But we’re not here to talk about Kosmo. Come on, let’s get you a dog.”
Shiro nods, patting Kosmo’s head a last time before turning back to the kennels. From what he’s seen so far, he’s still missing the ‘click’ he’s searching for. Maybe it’s like relationships and that moment never happens?
As Keith motions Kosmo to leave them alone, Shiro sighs. He might try and get to know Freddy a little better. At least he seemed eager and easy to train.
“Okay, this might sound a bit crazy, but we might have the perfect dog for you. She arrived at the beginning of winter, but we couldn’t find someone willing to put a lot of time into training her.”
Keith’s words catch his attention. “Tell me more,” he says.
“Her former owners dumped her off in front of the shelter, in the middle of the night when it was snowing like crazy. Mom woke up from the sound of something scratching at the gate.” Keith sighs as he motions Shiro to follow him to the back.
“Wow, that sounds terrible.”
“Yeah, she definitely didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” Keith adds and stops in front of the door to the second room in the shed. “I have to warn you, she’s usually very calm and friendly, but she’s also very territorial – we have to keep her away from the other dogs to keep them safe.”
“What do you have in there? A lion?” Shiro jokes. The smile on his lips is mirrored on Keith’s.
“Might as well be. No, she’s a Malamute mix, three years old and a little hothead,” he explains, stepping into the next room.
“Say hello to Atlas.”
There’s only one kennel in this room, and Shiro remembers how it was used in the past to keep difficult dogs apart from the other ones. And right in the middle of said kennel sits a dog.
A beautiful dog, with wolfish features that look similar to Kosmo’s, and big round eyes the color of chocolate. Even when she’s sitting upright she reaches Shiro’s thigh with ease. Her long fur is dull, but it burns in all shades of red and brown, a stark contrast to the white of her face and white spots around her paws and her belly.
Her eyes focus on Shiro, never leaving him as he makes his way towards her iron cage. She might be a bit dirty and her fur is ragged, but her gaze is proud and attentive, judging the intruder.
Shiro is in love.
“She’s very stubborn,” Keith’s voice comes from the door. “We can’t give her to people with kids because she might be aggressive towards them. She also has a lot of energy and needs long walks and mental activities. I’m sure she will love joining you on your runs. You would have to do a lot of training with her, but I’m sure she’ll be an amazing companion and a perfect guard dog.”
“May I?” Shiro points to the lock on the kennel door. It takes Keith only two steps to get next to him and open the kennel for him.
“Her name is Atlas?” Shiro asks, his eyes never leaving the dog’s. As he walks towards the Malamute, he lifts his hands to let her take in his scent. Without breaking their eye contact, Atlas stands up and walks over to Shiro, sniffing at his hand. Her ears flick down and her tail tilts up.
Behind him, Shiro can hear Keith take a hurried step towards them – but he’s not fast enough for Atlas.
It’s with an ease that Atlas jumps, pressing her strong fore-paws against Shiro’s chest – and making Shiro stumble backwards, sending him flying to his ass when 70 pounds of wolf-dog take him down.
“Atlas, no!” Keith yells, but Altas doesn’t care. Instead, she bends forward – and licks Shiro’s face in a wet stripe. Her tail is wagging happily as she looks at Shiro again. The way her mouth is open looks a bit like she’s smiling.
It warms Shiro’s heart.
“Hey Atlas, would you like to go home with me?”
Atlas wags her tail, nudging Shiro’s cheek with her nose.
And Shiro turns to beam at Keith.
“Well, I think I found my dog.”
*
“I have to look over her documents and she has a shot scheduled for tomorrow. Also, I’m sure Mom wants to see her off. So if you could pick her up on Tuesday, that would be great,” Keith explains, handing Shiro back his ID.
There are a few sheets of freshly printed paperwork in front of him, the name Atlas and a number next to it prominent on the first page.
As children, Keith and Shiro had hardly spent any time in Krolia’s office, dreading boring paperwork. It was way too much fun trying to bathe the dogs or chase them around the property.
Seeing Keith sitting in the office chair like Krolia used to do makes Shiro terribly aware of how much time has passed since he’s last been to this house.
Because there was hardly any space left in the dog house, Krolia turned a room in the house into some kind of office for administrative work. Shiro remembers papers and folders stacking up on every surface – it’s an unexpected sight when he enters the office and the only folder he spots lies open in front of the computer.
It’s a clear sign that digitalization has found its way even into this tiny town.
“That’s perfect, gives me time to get a dog bed and everything I need,” Shiro says. He mentally calculates how much time he will have to go shopping for dog items between waiting for his furniture to be delivered and setting up his stuff in the empty house.
“Oh wait, here’s a list.” Keith bends down to open one of the drawers to his left, pulling out a sheet of paper. “These are items you should buy before Atlas moves in with you. She needs a leash, a dog bed, two bowls and a box for transportation. And a couple of other things.” Keith then proceeds to bend to his right where he opens another drawer to pull out yet another sheet.
“And here’s a checklist of things you should take care of in the house. Are your plugs dog-proof? Do you have anything laying around that could hurt or poison Atlas? Things like that,” he explains, handing Shiro the paper.
“I know it’s a lot of information, but I promise you it will be worth it.”
“Thank you for your help, Keith. It’s much appreciated.” Shiro’s eyes skim the pages in front of him. Most of the advice seems logical at first glance. And yet, something in his gut feels off.
“So, happy shopping?” Keith says, handing him the last batch of paperwork, a contract documenting the adoption process, signed by Keith and him.
He’s a dog owner now.
Seeing the name of his dog – his very own dog – black on white paper still feels unreal. He’s spent the past few weeks thinking about this moment, about finding and adopting a four-legged companion, one who would best-case stay with him for many years. But seeing Atlas felt right. A bit like love at first sight. He shouldn’t worry.
Still, there’s some nagging voice in his mind.
Keith must notice his pondering, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. “Do you need anything more?”
“I…” Shiro starts. It feels dumb to voice his concerns now that he signed all the contracts. “Do you really think I have enough experience for her? Do you think she’ll be happy with me?”
There’s a wrinkle forming between Keith’s eyebrows as his gaze fixates on Shiro.
“Shiro,” he says, determined. “Please believe me when I say that we’ve had Atlas for months now and a lot of people were interested in adopting her. She’s a pretty lady and the breed is quite popular.”
Shiro can’t help but nod along. Atlas is pretty, with her button eyes and her fluffy face.
“But we never met someone she opened up to that much. In a matter of seconds.” As Keith speaks, he sorts the papers on the table.
“You said she needs a lot of training. She’s my first dog, what if I do something wrong?”
“Shiro, I saw the way you taught Jimmy the Chow Chow how to sit back in eighth grade. I never met a more stubborn dog than Jimmy. And the way Atlas just trusted you completely? You’re a natural.” Waving his hand to emphasize his point, Keith bends forward – as much as the desk between them allows.
“Keith.”
“Of course, training her will be a lot of work, but I’m sure you’ll do great. Believe me, I’m still feeling like I’m doing everything wrong with Kosmo, after two years training him.” The way Keith gazes at him pulls at Shiro’s heart. How could Keith become even more beautiful over the years?
“Also, you are not alone,” Keith explains, his words soft, making Shiro melt into his chair.
It makes him realize how much he’s missed his friend.
“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro says as he stands up. “See you next week?”
“See you next week.”
It’s hard to keep his eyes from looking at Keith, but in the end, Shiro turns towards the door with a small wave.
Once his hand finds the door handle, Keith’s voice stops him in his tracks.
“One more thing, Shiro.”
Shiro looks over his shoulder, seeing Keith stand next to his desk, casually leaning his hip against it.
“Huh?”
There’s a warm smile on Keith’s lips, one that Shiro hasn’t seen in years.
“It’s good to have you back,” Keith says.
“It’s good to be back.” Shiro smiles back at him.
And, yeah, he thinks. It really is.
*
By the time Friday comes around, Shiro not only has most of his furniture set up, he’s also read every article about raising dogs there is on the internet. Twice.
He’s also bought every item he needs for Atlas to move in. And then some. Or well... The whole house is filled with dog supplies. He might have gone overboard the slightest bit, but he decided he’d better have two dog beds – one in the living room near the fireplace and one in the master bedroom upstairs – just to provide options for Atlas. His job in the city might not have been the most exciting, but at least it left him with enough money to live a few months without having to rush into finding a new one – and get only the best supplies for his dog.
There are several dog toys laying in a basket next to the couch, a broad assortment suggested by the girl in the pet shop who had the time of her life providing Shiro with a sufficient starter kit for dog parents.
“Give your girl a variety of chewing toys,” Romelle said, as she had introduced herself with a jump in her step, making her blond pigtails swing with every move. “Malamutes love to play.” She then proceeded to fill Shiro’s shopping car to the brim with toys, treats, a lovely dark red leash and the matching safety harness, two dog beds, brushes and tons of stuff Shiro’s never heard of before but was very sure he needed after Romelle’s lengthy explanation.
Romelle had even given him a quick rundown on the feeding options, making Shiro’s head ache. He would definitely have to read into how he wanted to feed Atlas again. The internet had so far provided him with a battleground of opinions, ranging from “ NOTHING BUT RAW MEAT” to “well, dry insect food is okay.”
He decided to ask Keith for help with that.
“Dry food is your safest option for the start,” Romelle explained when she saw Shiro’s puzzled look in the food section. “Most shelters only feed dry food because it’s cheap and easy. So your girl will be used to that anyways. Also, she will have to get used to living with you – which can cause an upset stomach. So I’d suggest dry food or rice and chicken for the first weeks. After that, you can test some options.”
Shiro just nodded along, planting a small bag of dry food by the brand Romelle suggested into his shopping cart. And another one, just in case.
Having all the supplies for Altas delivered gave Shiro a lot of time to settle into the house. His grandparents had left Shiro with a perfectly intact two-story house with way too many rooms for one person, a big living area with a working fireplace, and a tiny patch of garden with a giant oak tree that had Shiro’s treehouse in it.
As a child, Shiro had loved this house. After his parents had died in the accident and his grandparents had taken him in, the house had always had a timeless charm to it, with massive wooden furniture and creaking stairs. But now that he’s spent ten years in his own apartment with his own furniture – modern, clean, cozy – Shiro found that maybe it was time to say goodbye to the solid timber wardrobe and get one that felt more like him. Still cozy, but more neutral and modern. One that went along with a few pieces of furniture he brought from his old apartment.
His biggest concern is still the kitchen.
Living on fast food and takeout might have helped him through college, but once Shiro had graduated and found an apartment, he started to look into cooking his own food and eating cleaner. So when he noticed that his grandma’s 25-year-old kitchen equipment had long passed its due date and the old gas range was more of a fire hazard than anything else, Shiro decided to get a completely new kitchen.
The downside of getting a new kitchen was measuring everything. Then measuring it again just to be sure. And finally deciding just to call a professional to measure the kitchen and provide him with suggestions for the new furniture. Two hours later, Shiro had the plans for his new kitchen in his hands and an installation date two weeks from now. Just enough time to get by on takeout and without setting himself on fire while trying to figure out the gas stove.
Between unpacking moving boxes, ordering a new kitchen, and trying to find a perfect place for two dog beds, Shiro hardly has time to catch his breath before Tuesday rolls around.
‘ DOG!!! ’ his calendar reads. He’s marked the day in, circled it three times, and added dog ears to the circle. Shiro might need an extra coffee that morning, thoughts about what could possibly go wrong keeping him from sleeping the night before.
When he parks his car in the driveway of ‘Marmora Dog Shelter & Training,’ his hands are shaking. He’s not sure if it’s from only running on two coffees or being nervous, but it doesn’t matter when Krolia pulls him in a strong hug, one that nearly lifts him off his feet. He’s always admired Krolia for her strength, but Shiro figured it was from carrying seventy pounds of dog around on a regular basis.
“We missed you,” Krolia says, putting her hand on Shiro’s shoulder. And suddenly he feels like he’s ten again. The only thing missing is Krolia offering a cup of her famous hot chocolate to him.
“Missed you too,” he answers. Because he means it.
Atlas has missed him as well. Or so it seems. Because the moment they enter her room, she jumps to her feet, her tail wagging fast. Shiro can barely enter her kennel before she jumps him, pressing her big paws to his chest and licking over his face.
“You want to go home, Atlas?” Shiro asks, carefully wrapping his arms around the dog.
And Atlas barks, cheerfully.
“Wow, she really loves him, huh?” Shiro can hear Krolia from where she’s standing in the doorframe.
“I told you so,” Keith explains.
Krolia whistles, clearly impressed. “Well, who could blame her?”
Shiro hears Keith growl, “ Mom ” but he’s too invested in pressing his fingers into Atlas’s soft fur to follow their conversation further.
Keith and Krolia help Shiro put the safety gear and leash on Atlas to lead her to Shiro’s car. While Keith holds the leash, Krolia hands Shiro a box. “This is her favorite blanket and her favourite plush toy. She will be lost the first nights at a new home, so having something familiar will help her calm down. There’s also a bit of the dry food she’s used to – just for the first days,” she explains.
Shiro nods along, putting the box on the passenger seat.
“Did you bring a dog crate?” Keith asks. “I’m sure she’ll love to ride shotgun, but that will take some time.”
“Yeah, in the trunk. Hope it’s big enough.”
“So Atlas, ready to start a new adventure?” Keith turns to the dog, leading her to the back of Shiro’s car before he lifts her into the box, ruffling her fur one last time. “Be nice to Shiro, he only wants the best for you,” he says before closing the crate and the trunk.
Krolia waves at Atlas before she turns back to Shiro. “So, how does it feel, Shiro? Becoming a dog parent?”
“Weird? I’m nervous? But mostly I’m looking forward to living with her.”
“You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?” Krolia smiles.
It fills Shiro with pride to hear such a compliment from Krolia, a woman who was one of his role models back in his youth.
“Thank you. Really. For trusting me with her.”
Krolia steps forward, a leaflet in her hands.
“Have you considered taking dog training courses? Keith will surely be happy to have you in one of his courses.”
“Keith’s courses?” Shiro’s eyes wander to Keith who’s currently trying to fix some pebble on the floor between his feet.
“Oh, he hasn’t told you? Keith has branched out and now offers dog training. There are open groups twice a week, but he also offers private sessions.”
“Mom.” Keith groans, rolling his eyes.
“What? You’re the best trainer in town and Atlas deserves the best training. Plus it will be good for you. To catch up on old times,” Krolia explains, handing Shiro the leaflet. “You’ll get a discount, of course,” she adds.
The leaflet shows a picture of Kosmo, smiling at the camera next to some information about the courses.
Keith averts his eyes, shuffling his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Please don’t force Shiro,” he says between his teeth.
It’s so typical for Keith to take himself back, not wanting to force a decision on Shiro. He really hasn’t changed that much, Shiro finds. But over the years of their friendship, Shiro had learned to navigate Keith’s modesty, knowing how to handle it.
“If it’s okay for you,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not,” Keith says, his gaze turning softer. He points to the leaflet in Shiro’s hands.
“This has my number on it. You can... Just text me and I’ll send you our appointments. And please never hesitate to call in case you need any help with Altas.”
“I will make sure I will.”
*
There’s an error message popping up on his screen when Shiro types in the number.
‘You already have this number in your contacts,’ the warning reads.
It redirects him to contact information about Keith – the ones Shiro has kept on speed dial for ten years. Even the profile picture is a ten year old picture of Keith, taking Shiro down memory lane.
It’s a nice picture of Keith, one where he gives Shiro the finger for trying to snap a picture of him. The resolution is crap, but the picture reminds Shiro of the summer they spent fixing the dog house. It was so hot they’d been working without shirts and Krolia came by every half hour or so to spray the dogs and the boys with cold water from the garden hose to help them cool down.
Shiro changed his phone over the years and lost a lot of messages in the process. So he’s happy there aren’t any old conversations with Keith appearing on his phone once he opens the messenger app.
He types a short message to Keith, ‘ Hello, this is Shiro :) ’ before pocketing his phone and turning to Atlas in the back of his truck.
Getting Atlas out of her crate is the first challenge. Carrying her weight over to his front door is another. At least she’s perfectly still in his arms, her ears pressed to the sides.
Once he’s inside and the door is closed behind her, Shiro sets her down and unleashes her. He doesn’t remove her harness – just in case.
There’s a bowl of water and food close to the entry, but Atlas ignores it. She’s padding through Shiro’s living room and sniffing at the furniture while Shiro is hanging his jacket on the coat rack behind the door.
Keith had told him to give Atlas some room and time to explore the house by herself, making herself at home. So Shiro sits down in front of the fireplace, his phone in hand, scrolling through dog blogs and searching for dog toys, his eyes peeking over his screen now and then to check on his dog.
She seems curious and not at all frightened by the new surroundings. At one point, he hears the sound of her paws on the kitchen floor, and, yes , Shiro thinks, he can definitely get used to this.
It takes about twenty minutes before Atlas dares to drink some water. From where he’s looking up over his phone, Shiro can see that she’s curiously sniffing at the dry food but won’t eat.
She also doesn’t seem to like the stairs. There’s only so much Atlas can explore on the ground floor, so she ends up standing in front of the sofa, staring at Shiro. He experimentally pats the empty space beside him – and to his surprise, Atlas jumps up, curling herself up beside him, her eyes fixed on Shiro.
Shiro’s heart sings.
He snaps a picture of his fluffy roll, sending it to Keith with the comment, “Blessed.”
In return, he gets a thumbs up from Keith.
They sit like that for a while, Shiro reading on his phone and Atlas lying beside him. She doesn’t sleep, but she seems a bit calmer than before, not feeling the urge to pace around. It’s amazingly domestic, spending time with a dog like this. With his dog.
And everything seems perfect to Shiro.
Until it doesn’t anymore.
Until Atlas suddenly jumps up and starts pacing the floor, steady circles while her gaze fixes on Shiro.
“Do you need to go outside?” Shiro asks.
Of course, the dog doesn’t understand his words, but it’s worth a try.
Atlas doesn’t answer, but her pacing continues.
So Shiro puts her on her leash and heads for the door.
All of a sudden, Atlas is snarling, bending down into an attack position – and she starts barking loudly.
Completely puzzled, Shiro tugs at her leash to get her to move and walks her outside – where the barking stops. Instead of pacing around or barking, Atlas waddles through the small front yard, sniffing at some bushes and patches of grass before she squats down to pee.
‘What an awkward way to tell me you need to go out, ’ Shiro thinks, raising an eyebrow when Atlas comes back to him, something that looks like a smile on her face.
Once she’s done exploring the yard, they go back inside.
Shiro has hardly time to slip out of his jacket, when he hears Atlas growling again. She’s facing the door, looking at Shiro as she bares her teeth.
“You need to go out again?” Shiro asks, putting on his jacket again before leading the dog outside.
But Altas only sniffs at the bushes, pads a tiny circle around the doorway and lies down in front of Shiro, looking up expectantly.
“Don’t you need to pee?” Shiro asks her, trying to find an answer in the dog’s face. Atlas only flicks her ears and bends her head to the side as if waiting for his command.
It’s brisk outside, with strong wind, and Shiro does the only thing that comes to his mind: He leads Atlas back inside.
He’s barely taken two steps into the living room before he hears the familiar growl again, followed by a loud bark. With a sigh, he heads for the door again.
And again – Atlas does nothing but inspect the garden gnome before lying or sitting down in front of Shiro, watching him.
Shiro repeats this at least two times more. Once they are inside and Shiro hangs up his jacket, Atlas starts barking and doesn’t stop until they are outside.
“Please, Atlas,” Shiro begs when they leave the house for the fifth time.
But there’s no answer. Atlas’s big eyes look up from where she’s sitting next to him on the doorstep, perfectly polite. And Shiro sighs. All the articles and still Shiro has no idea what to do.
As a last resort, his finger hovers over Keith’s number in his contacts.
He feels stupid. He’s had a dog for an hour and he’s already calling Keith like a maniac. But he has no idea what to do.
“Shiro, is something wrong?” Keith’s voice comes over the phone and Shiro huffs about how right Keith’s gut feeling was.
“Yeah, you can say so.” He explains the situation to him as best as possible.
“Does she try to hurry outside?”
“No, it’s just.. barking. And she’s calm once we’re outside.”
“Hmm. I have an idea. Would it be okay for me to come over?” Shiro’s heart jumps at Keith’s offer.
“Yes, of course, that would be great,” he says.
“Be there in ten,” Keith answers before he hangs up, leaving Shiro and Atlas standing in the garden.
Atlas doesn’t seem to mind the wait. Shiro has opted for a long training leash so Atlas can move freely. And she uses the time to explore the front yard a bit further, chasing a squirrel and finding a spot where she starts digging.
Ten minutes fly by like nothing, Shiro finds, because watching Atlas enthusiastically digging through his yard is very alluring. The happy barks she lets out every time she looks at him are nothing compared to her low growl at the front door.
So it actually surprises Shiro when Keith pulls up in his driveway in a pickup truck, a little out of breath as he walks up to them. His hair is tousled, the first two buttons of his flanel are undone and his sleeves are rolled up, making it seem as if Shiro called him when he was busy, probably working with the dogs.
And Shiro can’t help but notice how, despite his disarray, Keith looks good . Something about the lone mountain man look is really appealing to Shiro.
Seeing Keith’s face like this in his front yard would, on any other occasion, make Shiro’s heart skip a beat. Now he’s only exhaling a sigh he didn’t know he was holding.
“Thank you so much for coming over.” Keith waves it off before kneeling in front of Atlas. Her tail is wagging as he scratches her behind the ear.
“There’s our culprit,” Keith laughs. “Shiro has you for an hour and you’re already worrying him. We can’t have that, can we?” His voice is soft and Shiro melts a bit at the sight of Keith being so open and kind to Atlas. Shiro knows Keith cares a lot for her, so it’s even worse he has to disappoint Keith like this.
They enter the house and in an instant, Atlas faces the door, snarling and growling, her ears pointed upwards.
Keith lifts his hand to his chin, concentrating on the dog in front of them. Atlas’s barking grows louder and Shiro has a hard time holding her on the leash.
“I don’t think she wants to go outside,” Keith says, eventually. “Something about the door seems to really disturb her,” he adds.
“About the door?” Shiro’s eyes fall to the door. And to the old coat rack right next to the doorknob.
And something in Shiro’s mind clicks.
“Okay, wild guess, but just let me try something, okay?” Keith moves towards the stand and picks it up, carrying it towards the kitchen.
Atlas’s gaze, as well as her barking, follows Keith’s movement. She completely ignores the door, fixating on the coat rack next to Keith.
Keith huffs, squatting down to get on eye-level with Atlas who’s still growling.
“Yeah, just as I expected. She doesn’t like your coat rack.”
Keith’s words take Shiro completely by surprise. And he tells him so. Why would an inanimate object scare his dog?
“Dogs are easily irritated by silhouettes,” Keith explains. “It seems she’s afraid of the shape because she doesn’t know it.”
Keith takes one of the scarves wrapped around the stand and places it on the floor. He then takes something out of his back pocket. In an instant, Atlas stops barking, carefully eyeing Keith instead before she trots over, sniffing at the treat in Keith’s hand first and then at the scarf on the floor. She’s hesitant, but the growling has stopped.
Keith rewards her with the treat before he looks up at Shiro.
“Can you come over here?” He asks and Shiro walks over to his coat rack.
“We have to show her the stand is not scary. Can you place the scarf back on the hook?” Shiro does exactly as he’s told. Atlas steps closer, cautiously sniffing at Shiro’s leg and the stand, growing braver every second.
Keith gives her another treat.
Once she calms down, Keith tries to take Atlas outside and back inside again. She accompanies him without barking. Even another round with the coat rack at its former place doesn’t seem to scare her anymore.
“Wow, that was.. sorry Keith, you must think I’m stupid.” One of Shiro’s hands finds his hair, flustered by the fact that he didn’t get how Atlas was barking at the coat rack and not the door.
But Keith puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he says, his words soft and a smile on his lips. “It’s perfectly normal to be worried. I know that too well. Couldn’t sleep at all the first night I had Kosmo. In the middle of the night I couldn’t hear his breathing and I thought he had died.”
Shiro laughs. He could picture Keith as the caring dog parent so well. He’s only met Kosmo once, but the sheer devotion Keith put into taking care of Atlas and trying to understand her needs is enough to make Shiro’s knees weak.
“Thank you, Keith,” he says. Because he means it. Because he has no idea what he would have done without him. No online articles had prepared him for Atlas being afraid of his winter wardrobe.
Keith smiles at him, warm and soft around the edges, just like Shiro remembers. The laughter lines around his lips are making him even more beautiful, adding an aura of maturity to the young hothead Shiro remembers.
“Always.” The word rolls from Keith’s lips and Shiro is sure he can actually feel something hit his heart with the force of a brick. It really isn’t fair for Keith to sneak back into his heart like this.
Though, maybe, Shiro has to admit, his adoration for Keith had never fully left.
Shiro only notices he’s been staring a second too long at Keith when Keith clears his throat, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“So, how’s Atlas doing when she’s not barking at your coat rack?” he asks, patting Atlas. She’s the perfect height to reach from a standing position. “Has she used her bed yet?”
Shiro shakes his head. “She’s just been pacing around before jumping up on the sofa with me.”
Keith’s hand finds his chin again. The pondering pose really suits him well, Shiro thinks before he tries to navigate his thoughts back to his dog. Atlas really is the more important part here.
But being professional is so hard when Keith looks this good.
“She will probably want a safe space for the night.” As Keith talks, he walks into the living room, inspecting the dog bed. And Shiro follows him.
It’s a short walk, the entryway opens directly into the wide living room from where they stand, only framed by the stairs to the right and the kitchen to the left. Shiro’s grandma had insisted on an kitchen opening to the living room and Shiro’s always loved how it bathed the kitchen in perfect light.
The sound of paws on the wooden floor tells Shiro that Altas is following after him.
Once he stands in front of the room, Keith turns towards Shiro, one eyebrow raised. “Can you get her blanket from the crate for me?”
The crate! Shiro had completely forgotten about the crate!
“It’s in my car, I’ll get it in a sec,” Shiro says as he stumbles on his feet, making his way to the car. How could he forget the crate with all of Altas’ belongings? No wonder she hasn’t touched her food yet.
When Shiro comes back into the living room, Keith is placing a trail of snacks leading to the dog bed. He takes the blanket Shiro hands him and puts it on the dog bed in the living room.
“We now have to give her some time. Let’s wait a bit to see if she accepts the bed,” Keith says and Shiro nods along, hanging on his lips. The way Keith speaks about dogs feels so natural. Shiro’s sure he could spend all day listening to Keith talk about how to train his dog.
As Keith turns towards Shiro, there’s a frown line between his brows. “I’m… uhm…” his voice quivers. “It might be easier for Atlas to accept her bed with me around. Since she already knows me and stuff,” Keith explains. And it’s the opposite of a problem, having to spend time with Keith.
So Shiro gestures to the sofa. “Please make yourself at home.”
Shiro has to bite his tongue. The way Keith sits comfortably on his couch, in his red flannel and with his hair falling around his cheeks is just too cozy. Shiro only notices now that he’s not wearing his hair in a ponytail, Keith’s long strands pooling in his neck and falling over his shoulders. And wow. He could get used to the sight of Keith sitting on his couch like that. But it still feels highly inappropriate, after everything that’s happened.
Oh, how Shiro wishes Keith would actually call this place his home. But Shiro’s barely back after ten years of radio silence and he’s sure there are more important things in Keith’s life than an ex-military guy with a missing arm and a broken heart who had his life turned around in a matter of months.
So Shiro’s eyes find his dog instead, watching Atlas where she’s sitting next to the sofa, eyeing the trail of snacks suspiciously.
At least he’s got Atlas now, Shiro thinks. It’s a good start to a new life. A new, old life. Because everything in this town is just like ten years ago and completely different at the same time. So having a loyal companion at his side to navigate the mess his life became feels like a perfect decision to Shiro.
“Eyes on me,” Keith says, breaking Shiro from his thoughts. Well, he doesn’t need to be told twice to look at the handsome man in front of him. “We, ah… we have to ignore Atlas. So she won’t feel forced to use her bed.”
So Shiro’s eyes focus on Keith. And he can swear there’s a tint of red on Keith’s cheeks.
“So uhm,” Keith starts. “Still a lot to do here?”
Shiro leans back into the couch. “Yeah, the kitchen won’t arrive before next week. At least I have a bed and a closet. To be honest I haven’t looked into a few of the rooms. At some point the house was just too big for two elderly people to keep clean, so they shoved everything in the rooms they didn’t need.”
“So your old room is a garbage dump now?” Keith says, smirking. His expression is awfully appealing.
Shiro shrugs. “Actually that’s the only room they hadn’t touched. I swear my old bed still has the same bedding on it.”
“The one with the stars?”
“Uhm.” Shiro nods.
“Classic Shiro,” Keith says and Shiro didn’t know Keith’s grin could make him even more beautiful, but there he is, casually stealing Shiro’s heart by remembering his favourite bed sheets.
Just when he’s about to counter Keith’s snarky remark, he can see movement in the corner of his eye. He does his best not to follow Atlas with his eyes, but he tries to be sneaky about it.
Atlas heads for the snack trail, curiously sniffing at the treats before they disappear into her mouth. She is careful, with slow movements and a crouched stance, as she makes her way through the living room, picking up one treat after the other.
It takes her a short while to get to the bed, but she nuzzles at the fabric – before she flops down onto the dog bed, curling into a crescent.
Shiro beams.
“Is she in the bed?” Keith asks, not wanting to turn around to ruin the moment.
“Yes!” Shiro nods enthusiastically.
“Praise her!” Keith says. “Let her know it’s what she’s supposed to do.”
“I’m so proud of you, Atlas!” Shiro says, catching his dog’s attention. It’s enough to make her stand up and walk over to Shiro, looking at him expectantly.
He offers her his hands and she presses her wet nose against his open palm. A cold and wet dog nose is definitely not the best feeling in the world, Shiro thinks. But it’s a cute gesture, warming its way into Shiro’s heart.
“Good girl. We’ll get you there,” he says as she nudges her snout into his hands.
She lets out one short and happy bark, letting Shiro curl his fingers into the thick fur around her neck. She then jumps up onto the sofa into the space between Shiro and Keith as if it was the most natural thing.
“Oh,” Keith says, as he lets his fingers sweep through Atlas’s fur. “Maybe she just likes your sofa better than the bed.”
They share a smile. One that makes something in Shiro’s chest flutter.
Yes, Shiro thinks, he could definitely, definitely get used to sitting on a sofa with Keith, one dog (or several dogs) lying between them, both of them just enjoying the moment. It’s the perfect picture in Shiro’s head. And maybe he should talk to Keith about all of... this .
Whatever this is.
“Keith, I..:” he starts, but he gets interrupted by Keith’s phone chiming. Keith looks at it, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, it’s only Mom, asking about dinner,” Keith explains, one of his hands still buried in Atlas’s fur.
His words make Shiro aware of the time in an instant. He hasn’t paid attention to the time since the moment Keith appeared on his doorstep. But the warm hues of the sunset creeping into the room tell him it’s way past dinner time.
“Wow, it’s late. I’m sorry I held you up so long,” Shiro says the second Keith has finished typing his reply. “I would offer you dinner, but well, I don’t have a kitchen at the moment.”
Keith looks up at him from his phone, silent for a second as if he’s contemplating.
“Are you in the mood for pizza? A friend of mine makes the best pizza in town,” he says eventually.
“You mean the only pizza in town?” The teasing feels right, feels so much like them, Shiro notices. Like they used to talk ten years ago.
“Well, maybe.” Keith grins at him before he checks his phone for the restaurant’s menu.
“So, are you still ruining your pizza with pineapple?” he asks. And Shiro throws a pillow at him, causing Keith to yelp.
“Okay, one pizza with ham and one abomination, my treat.”
Yeah, Shiro thinks as he laughs. It’s just like old times .
The pizza doesn’t take long to arrive and Shiro assumes it might be because nobody in this small town is in the mood to order pizza on a Tuesday night. But he won’t complain. Not when he spends the evening with Keith on his sofa.
It somehow feels like a dream to Shiro, because they are laughing over pizza in the living room of the house he now owns. It’s the same pizza, the same guys, the same old jokes. Only now they are ten years older and Keith is ten times more attractive. And there is a dog lying between their feet, snuggling into Shiro’s hands.
Shiro has spent the past ten years dreading the moment he would meet Keith again, having nothing to say or stumbling over his sentences and excuses.
But it’s the opposite of awkward when he asks Keith about the dogs at the kennel. Keith starts to smile and tells him all about his dog training lessons. And, honestly, Shiro thinks, he can’t wait for his lessons with Keith to start. Because there’s definitely a lot of catching up to do.
The sky is pitch dark and filled with stars as they say their goodbyes, Keith waving at Atlas and Shiro from his truck before he disappears down the road, leaving Shiro with his own dog and a hopeful heart.
Even though the circumstances around him moving back home are definitely not the most positive, Keith has somehow managed to bring something positive to his ‘homecoming’.
For the first time since he arrived back in his hometown, falling into bed that night doesn’t feel like a high-speed train crashing into a mountain.
In fact, for the first time, Shiro feels hopeful.
*