Archive of Our Own

“You really don’t mind?” Scott asks, hunched over his breakfast but not eating, looking around nervously as if scanning for a threat.

Normally Kip would make a comment about how Scott eats like someone is going to steal his food, but he can feel anxiety coming off Scott in waves and holds back. Kip blinks. “Don’t mind what?”

Scott’s fidgeting. “Me.” He pauses, gnaws on his lower lip. “Being, um. Being a Shifter. You don’t mind?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind, babe.” Kip reaches across the table, takes one of Scott’s hands in his, gives his hand a gentle squeeze. And then he dares ask the question weighing on his mind: “Has someone minded before?”

Scott looks away, avoiding eye contact, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “They’ve been, um, weird about the animal I am. I don’t shift in front of people really. Haven’t since, you know.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Kip knows when Scott last shifted in front of someone else and feels a little sick because that was such a long time ago. Fuck.

“Baby, look at me.” Kip squeezes his hand again and Scott obeys, finally making eye contact. “You could be. I don’t know. You could be a slug or a leech or a mosquito or a hagfish or a lamprey or any other animal and it wouldn’t matter to me because it’s you and I love you.”

Scott, slightly pink in the face, eyes a little wet, gives a small smile. “I love you too.”

Kip stays away from the internet, doesn’t Google anything.

As far as he knows, Scott’s Shifter status is public information, but not what exactly he shifts into. But, if it were public information, he’d be able to find it online. It bothers him sometimes how easily accessible information about Scott is. It feels like an invasion of privacy.

He saw a video one of Scott, maybe 15 or 16 years old, surrounded by microphones, people asking him about his game and then about his parents. His face crumpled. None of the reporters asked him if he was okay.

Kip decided then he’d never Google anything about Scott. So far he’s kept his word and he's not going to break it now.

Kip is well-aware of the existence of Magic, Inhumans, and Shifters despite being a regular ol’ Human himself.

Hell, he grew up and currently lives in New York City, baby! He probably encounters more Magic users, Inhumans, and Shifters on a day-to-day basis than some people encounter in weeks or even months. And in just his late 20s, he’s maybe even encountered more than some people encounter in a lifetime already.

And he’s fully aware that there are some professions that for various reasons may attract more Magic users, Inhumans, and Shifters than others, and professional sports are (allegedly) one of those professions.

(“Allegedly” because no league or organization will ever confirm nor deny finding Shifter status a positive aspect in a player, but the fact of the matter is that there are a statistically disproportionate number of professional athletes who are Shifters compared to the general population.

And then those Shifters in professional sports tend to be large, predatory animals, or at least animals you’d be cautious around.)

Kip just wants to see Scott.

He wonders what animal Scott is, whether he can piece anything about Scott together from that animal.

(Until his deep dive reveals that, actually, there’s very little evidence that there’s any kind of relationship between the animal someone shifts into and aspects of their personality, though it’s a popular belief that there is and there are many stereotypes related to this.

And then he abandons this particular line of research not long after learning that there are people, some Shifters and some not, doing what appears to be Shifter race science and drawing very concerning conclusions based on animal.

And then, after saying he was done doing research, he ends up going down a rabbit hole of Shifter race science and stereotypes and how the manosphere has latched onto there being “masculine” and “feminine” animals and Jesus fucking Christ.)

“I’m not,” Scott begins. His fidgets. Picks at the skin on his arm. A nervous habit. He does that a lot, probably has for a while judging from the small circular scars on both his arms. He wonders if Scott knows he does this. “I’m not the animal you think I am.”

Kip leans against him on the couch. He loves how sturdy Scott is, how warm he is. “I think you’re you.”

Scott swallows, squints, and wrinkles his nose in the way Kip knows means he’s trying not to cry. He’s trying to be brave. “Hockey is…You know how it is.”

Kip nods, waiting for him to continue. He does know how hockey is. Very much so, unfortunately.

“Most of the Shifters I know are people I know through hockey,” Scott continues. “And they’re usually large, predatory animals. Or at least…animals that could fuck you up, I guess. You’d be careful if you saw it. I know that’s a stereotype about athlete Shifters, but it’s been true in my experience. I’m not that.” Picks at his arm. “I’m the orphan and I’m gay and I’m the wrong kind of animal.”

“Baby.” Kip presses a light kiss to his cheek. “Whatever you are is okay.”

He crumples, sniffling. “I’m always wrong.”

Kip moves so he’s sitting up straighter. He’s pulled Scott down so Scott’s head is against his chest. It’s awkward given their height difference, but he knows Scott likes having his head on Kip’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “You’re not wrong, baby. I promise you’re not.” He runs a hand through Scott’s hair. “You’re not wrong, I promise.”

Kip isn’t a violent person, or at least he doesn’t think of himself as one, but he wants to kill whoever has made Scott feel this way. He wants to grab them by the collar of their shirt. He wants to shake them. He wants to yell at them while looking them in the eye and telling them that Scott isn’t wrong and how dare they make him feel like he is how dare they.

Kip finds himself on Reddit again, except this time he makes a throwaway account. He can’t believe he’s doing this, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything.

Kip groans as he scrolls through his notifications.

He didn’t expect his post to get so much traction. Well, maybe in the grand scheme of Reddit or the internet in general it’s not a lot of traction, but it’s still more than he expected. The replies are maybe one-fourth helpful replies, one-fourth people arguing with each other, and the remaining half are either unhelpful replies or people calling him a faggot.

Going to the internet is, as always, a mistake.

It all comes to a head a week later when Kip comes home from a grueling day of teaching—God, he hates the intro level courses so much—and is greeted by silence.

“Hello?” he calls down the hall. “Scott?”

A weird thump. Quiet. It sounds like it’s coming from down the hall, maybe near his home office or the bedroom.

Not even bothering to take off his backpack, Kip grabs an umbrella from near the doorway, his heart pounding, and creeps down the hallway. His hands shake and he hopes he doesn’t have to use the umbrella as a weapon. He really doesn’t want to use the umbrella as a weapon.

Another thump.

It’s coming from inside the bedroom.

The door is closed.

No no no no no no, Kip thinks, horrified that something has happened to Scott. Not Scott. Jesus Christ, not Scott.

He stands to the side of the bedroom door, his back against the wall and the umbrella clenched in one hand, ready to swing, if need be, and slowly opens the door.

Nothing happens.

Kip creeps out from behind the door, umbrella at the ready.

Kip’s heart is pounding so fast he swears he feels dizzy.

There’s something on the bed. On Scott’s side of the bed. It’s small. Furry. Round.

He nearly brings the umbrella down on it when the image clears in his mind.

Scott is supposed to be home. If Scott isn’t in the living room or making dinner, he’s likely taking a nap in bed. Scott’s clothes are in a pile next to the bed. Scott’s phone is on the nightstand. The small furry creature is on Scott’s side of the bed.

Kip blinks.

“Scott?”

A rabbit—the smallest, roundest, softest looking rabbit Kip has ever seen—opens its eyes and looks up at Kip before wiggling its little tail, and Kip could just die.

Kip laughs, not at Scott, but out of relief. He sits on the bed, not even caring that he’s in his “outside clothes” as Scott calls them. “Scott, you gave me a heart attack!”

The rabbit—Scott, Kip corrects himself—hops up and onto Kip’s lap.

Kip was right; Scott is extremely soft.

“But you’re so cute!” Kip says to a red-faced, embarrassed Scott after their heart-to-heart in which Kip once again affirmed that he’d love Scott even if he were, like, a leech or something—no offense to any leech Shifters out there—and wanted to kill whoever made Scott feel so bad about his animal. Which is a bunny! A small, round bunny!

Scott covers his face with his hands. “I’m not cute!”

“Baby, pleaseeeee,” Kip begs, even pouting a little. “You’re so soft! And round!”

“I’m a professional athlete!”

“You can be both a professional athlete, and soft and round!”

Scott sighs before giving in. “Ugh, fine.”

Poof.

Human Scott gone. Bunny Scott on the couch in his place.

Kip scoops him up and places a gentle kiss right on the top of Scott’s little bunny head. “Love you no matter what.”

Kip gets a quiet click-click-click in response, a sound called chittering produced by clicking teeth together that indicates contentment in rabbits, a behavior Kip will become very familiar with.

(Along with binkying, a jump and twist that also indicates happiness, and looks a hell of a lot like Scott’s jumping over the couch routine.

Kip looks up from his phone and his rabbit research. “Scott, have you been binkying this entire time?”

Scott, red-faced, looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Awww, that’s cute!”

Scott grumbles but doesn't argue.)