Thread by @justsayins

#sheith omegaverse

The mall has a staff entrance because it's ridiculously fancy like that. Even though it's "staff" only, Keith still always feels out of place when he uses it. He's too rough around the edges--very aware of his status and where he came from.

https://twitter.com/justsayins/status/1239615366701232129

He's grateful that he only had to use the entrance twice a day, to clock in and clock out. Otherwise he waits outside at the valet booth waiting to park incredibly expensive cars.

It sometimes makes him a little sick that the mall exists at all. That there are people who come here regularly, because spending money (and so MUCH) is just a fun thing to do on a weekend.

But it's a job. Hr knows half the reason he got it is because he's a young omega who leans toward "pretty" and that--that fucking sucks, he's had enough attention from that to last a lifetime, but. It's a job and he needs it. He's learned well enough how to keep his head down.

So every morning he keeps his eyes on the ground as he hurries inside to his clock in station, which works out fine until he slams into a brick wall of a someone and goes sprawling to the ground.

He just manages to bite his tongue on a curse, but then he looks up (and up and /up) and fuck, it's a huge, handsome alpha in a stupidly fancy suit, and he has to be someone important and Keith is so screwed.

The man frowns down at him and leans forward, opening his mouth, and Keith braces, frozen, not sure what to do, no idea what to expect--

it's definitely not a heartfelt, "I'm so sorry," as a hand reaches out, an offering to help Keith to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Keith takes the hand up, because it would be insulting not to. "I'm fine," he mutters, eyes still trained on the floor. "I'm sorry, I wasn't--I'm sorry."

"My fault," the man says. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Keith's ankle kind of hurts, but he's not about to tell this got that. "Yeah," he says again, quickly. "Fine." He shifts, uncertain. "I...I was just going to clock in. Sir," he adds belatedly, because it can't hurt.

"Oh, of course." The man nods. "I won't keep you." He smiles. "Can't be late on the job, right?"

"Right," Keith says, feeling kind of wrongfooted. He hadn't expected a smile. Certainly not one that looked real. "Sorry again."

The man smiles again, and his scent changes. "Please, don't worry about it. Really."

It takes a second for Keith to realize he's doing the alpha "at ease, you're safe here" scent emission, and it throws him for another loop.

He had an education even if it sucked, and he knows that that emission is really hard to do for someone other than family, close friends, or a lover. And this guy can do it on COMMAND. And directing it at Keith.

It should get his hackles up, because he hates anything that takes advantage of his base biology, but the guy doesn't press his advantage. Instead he takes a step back.

"Have a good day," he says, giving Keith another smile that looks...soft. "I'll see you around."

Keith nods and hurries away, away from that smile and the pull off his scent.

It's only after he's clocked in does he connect the dots that the man couldn't have been a customer. It's the staff entrance. He had to be some sort of staff.

He's not sure if that's better or worse, really. But at least he really hadn't seemed mad. Hopefully not wanting to get Keith fired.

Or wanting something else.

***

Keith finishes clocking out and does his usual rush to the door, his best method to keep anyone from really noticing him, but maybe limping a little, because his ankle still hurts from the morning and then he spent all day standing on it.

There's a bench just inside the staff entrance that no one usually looks twice at, so Keith gives himself a second to sit down before he starts his walk to the bus stop.

He doesn't look up when the doors open, expecting to be passed by, but then he hears a surprised, "Oh." in a familiar voice.

Keith looks up.

It's the alpha from before.

"Hey there," the alpha says with a smile. He's still wearing his suit, but he's undone his tie and his collar is unbuttoned. It's unfairly devastating. "Nice to be off work, huh?"

Keith can't get out of talking to him. "Yeah," he says to the floor. "Nice." He doesn't say anything else. Maybe the alpha will leave him alone.

"I'm Shiro," the man says instead of leaving Keith alone. He doesn't hold out his hand to shake, instead doing the way less intimidating, way more polite finger wiggle-wave that doesn't force omegas to make contact with alphas they don't know.

Keith swallows. He doesn't get waved to very often. Most alphas he's dealt with say screw politeness and go right into trying to touch. "Keith," he says.

Shiro's smile grows impossibly brighter. "It's nice to meet you, Keith."

"Uh, yeah," Keith says in the face of that smile. "Same."

Shiro nods. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. I'm sure you had long day. I hope you have a good night."

"Um, yeah. You too."

Shiro waves again and then walks away. Just like last time. Leaving Keith alone.

It's not the worst interaction Keith has ever had, not by a long shot. Even if getting to the bus stop makes his ankle ache worse, even if by the time he's walked the rest of the way home it's throbbing.

He can't help remembering a smile, a calming scent, and being waved to.

***

Shiro's favorite cafe is directly across from a pretty little local park only a block from his work. He likes going there every morning before work, getting his usual latte, picking out a pastry, and then taking a seat by the window.

He's enjoying a chocolate chip muffin one morning when he spots a young man walking over to a bench near there park entrance.

He's pretty, with messy black bangs and a lean figure, but Shiro mostly notices him because he's wearing the uniform valets at his work wear.

The man looks from side to side, as if checking that the area is Dave before he sits down on the bench. Even from across the street, Shiro can see the man sigh, body slumping.

He's struck with the urge to go over and say hello. Offer him breakfast.

Instead, Shiro tries to focus back on his own breakfast. But he still find himself looking up at the man, until it's time for him to get going and head over to work.

Shiro's been working as an SA at Omega, an incredibly upscale accessories store at the local high-end mall for several years now. It's not bad work, and being a well-built alpha who knows how to regulate his scent properly means he's in demand and makes a killing in commission.

He finds himself thinking of the man from that morning as he clocks in. And then has to blink in surprise when he turns a corner just in time to see the very same man hurrying down the hall to the staff exit.

In person, he's smaller than Shiro had first thought, and just as hunched over as he was that morning.

Shiro also gets a noseful of his scent; sharp and sweet and /omega/ and riding the line of anxious and upset.

Shiro quickly swings around to look behind him, ready to deal with whoever was causing trouble, but there's no one there. When he turns back, the omega is gone, his scent just lingering in the air.

Huh.

Shiro makes a note to keep an eye out for him. Just to make sure he's okay.

Shiro sees him again the next morning, though the window of the cafe. The omega is back at the park bench, sitting tucked up tight on one end, as if he's worried about taking up space.

Shiro watches as the man suddenly sits straight up at attention...and then gets to see his while demeanor soften as a woman walks by with a wiggling little dog on a leash.

The dog goes right up to the man's feet to sniff at his shoes, whole body clearly wriggling in delight, and the man looks just as delighted. His smile changes his face, turning it from pretty to beautiful. He asks the woman a question, and when she nods, he bends to pet the dog.

Shiro has to wrench his gaze away in order to get ready to leave for work, and he spends most of his morning thinking about that smile.

***

The omega is there at the park every morning now. He walks over to the bench and sits, sometimes he walks further into the park itself, but Shiro gets to see him every morning.

He already knew the man loved dogs, but it's clearer every day, how happy he is to see one. He also brings seed with him and scatters it for the birds.

By the end of the third week, some birds practically hop into his lap.

Shiro will admit it: he's utterly, completely charmed.

But he also notices other things.

The omega only will ask certain people about their dogs. Everyone else, dog or no, he'll look away from, ducking his head and hunching in on himself.

Sometimes, his eyes will widen and then he'll hurriedly slide off the bench and go deeper into the park.

Usually, right after he does so, Shiro will see another person --often men, often /larger/ men-- sit down where the omega just vacated

and audibly take a deep breath in before looking around.

Shito is not ashamed of being an alpha, but he is often ashamed (and infuriated) by how other alphas will act.

It's one of the reasons he doesn't approach the omega, even though Shiro sees him every morning now, even though they work at the same place.

Until the morning that they collide--literally.

And Shiro meets Keith.

***

Keith wakes up and his ankle hurts, to the point that standing up has him gritting his teeth in pain.

A positive of his little studio apartment; he doesn't have far to hobble to get to his bathroom.

He pops a Tylenol before taking a shower that has him leaning heavily against the wall, then hunts up an ace bandage to wrap his ankle. He's not a stranger to bumps and bruises. He'll be fine.

He pulls on his uniform, downs breakfast, then takes a deep breath and sets out for the bus stop.

It's hard and it hurts, but he makes it. His stop is an early one, so at least there's a seat for him.

As usual, he doesn't listen to music. Plugging in means not being aware of your surroundings.

Keith has learned to always be aware.

Forty minutes later and Keith arrives at the mall stop, half an hour early as usual. As usual too, he takes his usual walk to the park that's not too far from the mall, preferring to sit outside while he waits for time to pass.

The walk takes longer this time, and his limp gets more pronounced, so it's a relief to settle down on his usual bench.

Time drifts.

He decides to start making his way back to the mall a little earlier than usual, because he knows it'll take him longer. He's going to spend the rest of the day on his feet, so best to take it easy while he can.

He gets to the mall and has to duck inside to sit down in the bench to catch his breath. Fuck, that hurts.

"Keith?"

Keith jerks his head up to see Shiro just coming into the alchove. He looks concerned, and his scent almost immediately turns calming. "Are you okay?"

Keith nods. He's always okay. "Yeah, fine." Then to change the subject, "uh, g'morning."

Shiro smiles warmly, but still looking a little concerned around the edges. "Good morning. Ready for the day?"

Keith shrugs and ducks his head. "As I'll ever be." He doesn't know why Shiro keeps wanting to talk to him.

But he's also not setting off any alarm bells. Yet.

And better not to chance getting him angry anyway.

But fuck, he's terrible at small talk. "What about you? Are you ready?"

Shiro grins. "Yeah, I think so. My day's already started out well."

"Oh? Uh, that's nice."

"Mm." Shiro's eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his scent goes /warm/ all over. "I'll see you later, I hope. You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay," Keith says dumbly. /I hope?/

But he can't dwell on it anyway. He's got work to do.

He stands, and winces.

The smile wipes off Shiro's face. "Keith?"

"Fine! I'm fine. Just...stepped wrong." The last thing Keith wants to do is show weakness. Especially to an alpha. Even one who has been nice, and polite, and smells warm. "I'm fine now."

To prove it, he puts weight on both feet, only barely managing to not gag at the pain that spikes up his leg. Bad idea, bad bad idea.

Shiro looks very unconvinced, but Keith can't pay attention to that. "I've got to clock in," he says. He takes a step, and then another.

"Right," Shiro says, voice firm. "I'll walk over with you. I'm heading that way anyway."

Keith reminds himself that this is inconvenient, not something to make unexpected pleasure curl in his gut at the idea of an alpha wanting to look after him.

Fuck--that--/no./

Distract. Distract. "So where do you work, then?"

"I work at Omega," Shiro says easily.

Of course he does, Keith thinks, stomach dropping. The luxury accessory and scenting shop. The sales associates there are almost as high class as the clientele they serve.

"Oh," Keith says feebly. "That's...nice."

Shiro laughs. "I can't complain about it."

Keith nods. He still had no idea why Shiro is even giving him the time of day.

But he continues to do so. Keith clocks in and then steels himself. Is this where Shiro pushes? Is this where he shows his hand?

Shiro puts his hands behind his back and takes a step to the side, giving Keith full access to the door.

"I hope you have a good day, Keith," he says softly.

"Thanks," Keith manages around a dry throat. "Um, you too."

Shiro smiles and does the wiggle wave, and his scent suddenly changes again, calm and warm but also subtly spicy.

It make Keith's cheeks heat, and he hurries away before he can think too much about why.

***

Keith is counting down the minutes until his day is over. He's essentially been standing on one leg for the last couple hours of his shift, because putting weight on his ankle really fucking hurts.

The thought of walking to the bus stop and then having to walk the rest of the way home honestly makes him want to cry a little, but that is a problem for future Keith.

When it's finally time to go, he limps slowly back inside the staff entrance to clock out.

He has to stop and breathe three times on the way there, which does not bode well, considering he's not even close to being done walking for the day.

All he has to do is make it to the bus stop. Then he gets to sit for a while. He'll probably be fine enough to walk home after the break, if he's careful and takes his time. He'll just spend the rest of his evening RICE-ing his ankle.

It'll be fine.

He just about makes it to the building exit before his ankle screams at him to take a break, and he leans heavily against the wall to take his weight off it. God, at this rate he'll miss his bus, taking so long.

He scents someone approaching--an alpha--and quickly rights himself, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and blindly focusing on the screen. He's occupied. Unapproachable. Hopefully invisible.

He realizes the scent as familiar just as he registers the person speaking. "Keith? Are you okay?"

He inhales quietly through his nose. Of course it would be Shiro.

He looks up just longer enough to verify, then ducks his head again. "Yeah. Fine."

"You're in pain."

The tone is hard to interpret. Shiro is starting a fact, not asking a question. He still sounds hesitant though. As if uncertain as to how Keith will react to him knowing.

Keith has never met anyone, certainly no alphas, who have behaved like Shiro does.

But he still can't admit weakness. "Twinged my ankle," he says, trying to shrug. "No big deal."

Shiro looks at him for a long, nerve-wracking moment, and Keith starts to sweat. He desperately hopes Shiro doesn't try to offer to take him home or something.

Shiro might not act like a threat now, but Keith knows better than to take chances. Especially when he's only talked to someone at handful of times. He'll have to turn him down, and if he's /lucky/ then Shiro won't push.

If he's unlucky...

Shiro's big and strong and an alpha. Keith knows how to hold his own, but the cards are currently stacked against him.

His throat is so dry.

Shiro nods decisively. "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back." And he leaves, heading out to the parking garage.

Keith lets out the breath he was holding and slumps. He wants to go home.

But he's going to wait, isn't he.

Thankfully it doesn't take very long for Shiro to return, and when he does, it's with a woodsy burst of calming scent. Shiro wears it like cologne and Keith finds himself trying to subtly take more breathes of it.

He just...he could use some calm.

"Here," Shiro says, holding out... what looks like a collapsible cane. "Would this help?"

Keith stares at the cane. "What?"

"To help you move easier," Shiro says, sounding kind. "I'd like to help you get to where you need to go, but I understand if you'd prefer I didn't."

Keith feels like he's having an out of body experience as he takes the cane. "Why do you even have this?" It's out before he can stop himself, which is--he /knows/ better than to ask questions.

Shiro just smiles at him. "I used to need it. Had a sickness that affected equilibrium. I was lucky enough to receive a treatment that worked, but you never know when you need a mobility aid. I found homes for most of my old stuff, but I got used to keeping this in my car."

"Oh," Keith says quietly, gripping the cane. He hadn't expected that much information. That much openness. "I'm glad you're better."

The smile turns into a grin. "Hey, me too. Now it's your turn, right?"

"My turn?"

"To get better."

Keith gives him a funny look. A rolled ankle isn't exactly serious. "I'll really be fine."

"I know," Shiro says gently. His hands are behind his back again. "You kind of always have to be fine when the world isn't nice to you."

Keith goes hot, because what would this high-class /alpha/ know about that-- and his hands tighten on the cane.

Oh.

Maybe Shiro does know about it more than most.

He chances eye contact.

And Shiro looks for all the world like he's not judging, but that he understands how it can feel when life isn't kind.

Keith swallows and drops his gaze.

"Thanks for this," he says instead of other things he wants to. "I'll give it back tomorrow."

Shiro holds up a hand. "Why don't you give it back to me when you're feeling better. Okay?'

Not questioning Keith's obvious choice to keep working. Not demanding Keith stay home and rest. Not insisting that he knows more about what's good for Keith than Keith does.

"Okay," Keith manages. "In a couple of days then, maybe."

"Take as long as you need," Shiro says. "You know where to find me." Then he winks.

Keith goes hot again, but for a completely different reason. Who actually winks? "Thanks."

Shiro throws him one last smile. "Be safe, okay?" and then he's walking away.

Keith makes it to the bus stop. Catches his usual bus. Makes it home.

He eats his dinner and spends the evening taking it easy as he RICEs his ankle, passing the time with his beat-up guitar and his sketchbook. He decides to go to bed early.

He catches himself wondering if Shiro would be proud of him, for taking care of himself.

It makes him scowl, once he realizes what he's doing. He's never needed anyone's approval before. He certainly doesn't care about making anyone else proud of him.

but maybe it would mean more, a treacherous part of him thinks.

Maybe it would mean more if that person understood how hard it could be to keep trying.

Keith burrows under his covers and tries to stop thinking.

If you know you can't get what you want, there's no point in wishing.

***

After three days of wrapping his ankle, keeping weight off of it whenever he could, and walking so slowly it made him twitchy, his ankle starts feeling better.

It has also been three days of Shiro specifically coming to see him in the morning at valet to say hello and ask how he's doing, and wish him goodnight when they get off work.

Every Shiro comes by it's with a smile, his hello pleasant but not overly cheerful. His goodnight is the same.

"Good night, Keith. Feel better." accompanied by a wash of calm.

The thing is that it... doesn't come off as creepy. Shiro never comes closer, or even tries to touch him at all. He doesn't stick around to overstay a welcome. He just smiles and asks how Keith is feeling and then wishes him a good day.

Keith's the one who, on the evening of day four, says, "tomorrow's my day off." He doesn't know why he's dropping this information. "Soo you won't see me.

"Thanks for letting me know," Shiro says, lips quirked just a little. "I probably would have worried, otherwise."

Keith's stomach twists up at the thought of Shiro worrying about him. Caring enough to worry. "Just a day off," he ends up saying.

"Good." The smile is back. "You could use a rest. Maybe spend some more time off your feet?"

Keith flushes. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Good," Shiro says again. He sticks his hands on his pockets. "Well, I won't keep you then. Have a good night, Keith. Be safe, okay?"

"Thanks." Safe. Shiro cares about Keith being /safe/. "You too."

***

His ankle gets better. He returns Shiro's cane.

Shiro continues to say hi to him every morning anyway, always with a smile.

Sometimes... more often then not now, they talk for a little bit too. Keith's not one for small talk, but Shiro doesn't seem to expect much.

He asks how Keith's night was. How his days off go. Tells Keith about some of the more interesting clients he gets. Asks Keith if he has any stories himself to share.

When Keith mentions spending his free time with art or music, Shiro sounds way too impressed. Flustered, Keith tries to change the topic and ask what Shiro does. What /he/ likes.

Shiro grins and shrugs. He says he likes to work out. "I know, I'm a stereotype."

"I didn't say anything," Keith mumbles.

But Shiro also loves to learn. Especially about places not yet explored. Space. The deep sea. He loves the stars and thinks bioluminescence is ridiculously cool.

Keith's not sure what else he can do with this information except be amused and a little charmed by it. He's never met anyone like Shiro before.

And, of course, he volunteers. He walks dogs for his local animal shelter.

"It's a nice day to wind down in the evening, or spend an afternoon," Shiro cheerfully explains. "I'll go for a couple hours taking different dogs out."

"It sounds nice," Keith says wistfully. He's never been in a place where he could give an animal a good home.

"Yeah? You should come some time," Shiro says.

The air goes out of Keith's lungs. He doesn't know how to respond and it-

"Or maybe you could do it for a place closer to you," Shiro says. And then he starts talking about some of his favorite dogs, complete with visual aids, thanks to the pictures he always takes.

Keith kind of sort of starts looking forward to work, because it means he gets to see Shiro. And he's not exactly sure what to do with that information.

Of course, even though Shiro is a highlight now, work is still work. And Keith works for the mall guests, which means he spends a lot of his time dealing with people who Aren't like Shiro.

And god, does he sometimes have rough days.

"you okay?" Shiro asks that evening, after Keith clocks out.

Keith takes a deep breath, not even caring that he's not being subtle. He wants a nose full of Shiro's scent right now. "Yeah. Fine."

"Fine like how you're always fine?" Shiro asks gently

"Fine like at least no one's fucking touching me anymore," Keith mutters, trying and failing to keep Shiro from hearing the brunt of how upset he is.

Shiro stills. "What?"

Keith ducks his head. God, he shouldn't have said anything, but Shiro makes him feel comfortable enough that it felt like he could. "Just stupid alpha bullshit."

And then he freezes too, because /Shiro's/ an alpha, and Keith doesn't want to offend him--

He picks up his head to apologize and nearly rears back. Shiro's expression has turned dark and dangerous. "What happened?"

Keith has never seen Shiro look like this or sound like this and his throat closes up because he doesn't know what he did wrong but he does know the he's in trouble.

"I--" he hates how small his voice gets. "I didn't--"

Shiro blinks, and all at once his expression changes, scent suddenly going warm and rich and soothing. "It's okay, Keith" he says, as if he somehow gets that he just made Keith's head spin. "I'm sorry. I'm not upset."

Keith swallows and chances it. "You really kind of are.

"Not upset with you," Shiro quickly amends. "Just upset. No one should be touching you if you don't want them to be."

Keith glares at his shoes, all twisted up. It's not his fault he reacts this way to angry alphas. That they make him feel like he needs to curl up in a ball and protect his soft spots. It's not.

But it bothers him that Shiro made him feel that way.

"I should go. I need to make my bus."

Shiro looks for all the world like he wants to say something, but all he does is nod, scent taking on a melancholic edge. "I understand. Get home safe, okay?" he swallows, eyes averting, not forcing eye contact. "And I'm sorry."

"it's okay," Keith says dully.

Shiro shakes his head, voice sad, but not pitying. "It doesn't have to be."

***

"Sorry," Keith gets out the next day. He'd been up for hours playing over what had happened in his head, and had fine to the conclusion that he had overreacted. Shiro's been nothing but nice. It's Keith who has the hangups. "About yesterday."

Shiro frowns, but clearly from confusion to it doesn't get Keith's hackles up.

Keith hopes Shiro doesn't ask what he's sorry for though. Keith's not sure he KNOWS, exactly. Just that he made Shiro feel shitty, and that wasn't fair.

"thank you," Shiro says after another moment.

"Thank you?"

"For the apology. It really... wasn't necessary, but I appreciate it." Shiro smiles gently, always gently. "You look tired."

Keith shrugs.

"Do you..." Shiro tugs on the cuffs of his perfectly fitted sleeves. "Would you like a coffee or something?"

Keith...had not been expecting that. "What?"

Shiro grins, a little ruefully, Keith thinks. "The mall has a coffee shop." It does, it's incredibly fancy, and partnered with Godiva or something. "What would you like? My treat."

"Uh..." Keith doesn't really go to coffee shops, fancy or otherwise. Money he doesn't feel like spending. "What's um... what's good?"

Shiro chuckles, but it doesn't sound condescending. "I guess it depends on what you like. Do you like bitter or sweet?"

Keith worries at his lip. "A little sweet?"

"Same! Okay, what about flavors? Vanilla, chocolate, hazelnut, mint...?"

"That is... a lot of options. Is coffee supposed to be so complicated?"

Shiro laughs. "I'm sure a lot of baristas wonder the same thing. I'm guilty of liking some complicated stuff myself though."

Shiro's laugh washes over him and Keith finds himself smiling too. He did that. He made Shiro laugh.

"I like caramel," he admits. He sometimes will buy those little bags of caramel chews and dole them out to himself as treats.

Shiro beams. "Caramel it is then. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

"Okay," Keith says, suddenly stuck by the fact that Shiro's going to go buy him a coffee. "Thank you."

Shiro winks. "Thank me if you like it."

(ARE WE READY FOR SOME SHIRO POV)

***

Shiro knows intellectually that there are lots of people out there who have had rough times. He’s one of them, if he is willing to be honest about it.

So it’s not a surprise, exactly, to meet and get to know someone like Keith, who interacts with the world as if he’s always expecting to be hurt by it.

But it hurts, and it’s hard, and Shiro had spent all night kicking himself for going stupid alpha without a thought spared to how--how reacting in such a way might make Keith feel.

And then Keith had forgiven him--/Keith/ had apologized. For being uncomfortable. He’d apologized for being upset. He’d apologized for making Shiro aware of his own behavior.

It had made Shiro’s heart clench a little bit, but he’s also fairly certain that Keith did not make apologies lightly. And… well… 

Keith felt that Shiro was worth apologizing to.

He’d also allowed Shiro more conversation, settling back into the mostly-easy exchanges they’d started to have. He hadn’t closed over or shrunk in on himself. There hadn’t been any more fear scent.

Shiro had made Keith uncomfortable, but Keith had /relaxed/ again. He’d given Shiro a second chance. Shiro had been someone worthy enough to be given a second chance. By Keith, who clearly had plenty of his own hurts.

Keith thought Shiro was worthy enough to open back up again, even after what could have been a devastating mistake, and that knowledge struck Shiro to his very core. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more worthy before.

He’s never felt more like a good alpha either, in the face of a fierce and beautiful omega like Keith, with so much to protect, letting Shiro in past bared teeth to see his softness. It made Shiro want to thank Keith for the gift he was giving.

Shiro has no plans to try to force Keith into anything, nor to try something he isn’t 100% on board with, but he’s gotten to the point where he feels like maybe he could… push. Just a little.

Just to gently test a boundary to see if it’s firm--and thus something Shiro will absolutely respect--or if maybe the wall is up because Keith hadn’t before been able to consider lowering it.

So that morning, as he’s getting ready for work, he decides he’s going to try to take another step forward.

Keith blinks up at him that morning from his usual spot on the bench. He’s obviously surprised to see Shiro, but not taken aback or worried by his sudden presence. It’s so good. “Oh hey,” Keith says. Shiro loves that he will sometimes speak first, now. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here a lot,” Shiro says, the start of what will probably be a full admission later. But for now, “I like this cafe, and it’s close to work, so it’s one of my breakfast spots.”

“Oh,” Keith says. He turns to look at the cafe across the street. “Cool. So you thought you’d say hi?” His smile is slight and shy and warms Shiro to his core. That smile is for him. That little thread of happiness is because of /him./

“I figured I could do more than just say hi,” Shiro says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “If you wanted to join me for breakfast? My treat.”

“Oh,” Keith says again, soft like an exhale, and just a touch wide-eyed. “I… yeah. Yeah, okay. That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” Shiro’s own smile might be a touch too bright, too pleased, but he can’t help it. “Anytime.”

***

It's just another another stupid thing about the biology he's been forced to work with, but omega suppressants are considered controlled substances, so Keith is oh so lucky to have to call both his doctor and the pharmacy every month to get a refill.

And sometimes he's not lucky at all.

"What do you mean I need to make an appointment to come in? I've been on this script for almost a year."

"That's exactly why you have to come in. You need to be re-evaluated. I can't write another script until you get a physical done."

Keith fumes, but what can he do? He makes the appointment. Next Monday. It's currently Tuesday.

And some he can't get his script filled until the day of, he's always been told not to call it in until the day before. Which means he has a pill for tomorrow morning, and then nothing until he sees his doctor on Monday.

Fuck.

No, he tries to tell himself. It'll be okay. He's been on suppressants for years, on this new med for almost eleven months, and he hasn't had a heat in ages. He probably has nothing to worry about. It's less than a week. What could happen in less than a week?

He's fine. It's been his mantra for his whole life, and it hasn't failed him yet. Grit your teeth, keep going. You're fine.

He still feels dread settle in his gut Wednesday morning, as he takes his last pill.

Thursday, when he wakes up and goes about getting ready for the day, he automatically reaches for the pill bottle in his counter. He remembers that it's empty and glares at it. Tries to take a deep breath. It's fine.

He thinks of something else. Positives.

He's meeting Shiro for breakfast again. They meet for breakfast every morning now, and it's... it's definitely something Keith looks forward to.

Shiro always insists on paying also, which. Keith doesn't want to read too much into it but

He likes Shiro.

Probably more than he's ever liked anyone.

He gets off the bus and heads to the cafe, and Shiro's there waiting for him, devastating as always in his suit and with a smile.

Keith weakly clutches at his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he trots over to him.

"Morning," Shiro says, soft and warm as always. His smoky-cedar scent is like a balm on Keith's frayed nerves.

"Morning," Keith replies, trying to act normal. He is normal. Everything is normal. Today is just like any other day, and it's going to be a decent day, because if nothing else, he'll have gotten to see Shiro. "What are you in the mood for, you think?"

Breakfast is nice, and Keith feels fine. Shiro seems slightly distracted though, but he also seems to be aware of it. He keeps shaking his head and apologizing for drifting. "I guess I needed more sleep," he says ruefully as they leave the cafe to head to the mall.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Keith says. He knows by now that Shiro does.

Shiro shoots him a sly look. "Pot? Kettle."

Keith flushes and mutters something disparaging and doesn't WORRY about doing so, especially because Shiro just laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

It's still surreal, sometimes, to talk to Shiro and know him and also know he's an alpha but not...care. and not worry. and not be...

not be afraid.

"See you on the other side," Shiro says with a grin and a wave, before they part ways to Shiro can head to his store and Keith can go to the valet booth outside.

Keith sets up to wait, kind of hoping it'll be a slow day. It'll mean less tips, but it's not really in the mood to people.

Shiro doesn't count.

But at least for the most part the guests who come aren't interested in him doing anything aside from park their cars.

He gets older ladies coming to walk the mall for exercise, giggly omegas in a clump, a few alpha women who are happy to toss him their keys and shop. It's easy enough.

As his shift goes on though, he keeps noticing that he's getting...looks. he's not sure. Glances thrown his way by people going in or coming out of the mall.

He doesn't like it, but isn't sure what to do about it. No one's DOING anything, but he feels like he's being pointed and laughed at or something.

It churns unpleasantly in him. He's always aware of his own status, where he came from, how people look at him. It's worse among the rich.

Another car drives up and three men get out, in designer jeans and polo necks, alpha pheromones dripping off of them like cheap cologne. Keith wishes he could just cover his nose and walk away in the other direction.

Instead he holds out the valet ticket. The car's driver, a tall blond, looks him up and down, eyebrow raised, slight smirk on his face.

Keith grits his teeth. He's not a stranger to this type. "Parking today?"

"Mm." The man plucks the valet ticket out of Keith's fingers and catches his hand to drop his keys into Keith's palm. Unnecessary, unwanted contact. Keith only barely manages to keep from snatching his hand back.

Blond still doesn't let go. "Be careful with her."

He says it like a threat. Keith nods. Like he'd do anything else. "Of course. Sir."

The man grins at him and finally releases his hand. He nudges the other two as Keith goes around to the driver's side and gets in.

He holds his breath until he's out of sight, then rolls for the window, keeping it rolled down until he parks the car.

He's very grateful for the fresh air as he walks back to his booth. A few more hours and he can go home.

***

Half an hour until he's off, and Keith can't wait to go home. He doesn't feel good. His head hurts, an ache behind his eyes that makes him want to close them-- but closed eyes means being vulnerable and he can't--

He shakes his head for the umpteenth time. He's at work. He can't drift like this.

He's hot, too many smells--

Too cold, and he wishes he could just curl up in a ball

He wraps his arms around himself, too open, too exposed, and feels like he's floating in chilly waters. He needs--

He needs to go home. He needs to pile all his blankets onto his bed and bury himself in them, never coming out, never letting anyone get him, it's not /safe/--

He gasps, head jerking up. The night air is cooler, he's too hot again, but it doesn't bring relief. It reeks.

Oh.

The three men from before have finished their shopping. They're coming to get the car.

They're laughing as they walk up to the booth. Sharing a joke. It's fine. He doesn't snarl or cover his nose, doesn't glare, doesn't do anything. He's invisible. Not worth noticing. Just some worker bee doing its job.

The blond holds out the ticket.

Keith takes it and doesn't retch when their fingers brush.

"I'll be right back with your car, sir."

The man's smile has too many teeth.

Keith goes to get the car.

The walk to the car is good. It gives him some distance. Getting into the car is less good, because it stinks too, worse than it had a few hours ago.

Keith checks the time, relieved to see that his shift is actually over. As soon as he's done with this handoff, he can clock out.

It gets him through the drive back to the mall doors. He can clock out and go home.

Maybe he'll see Shiro before he does. He usually does now. There see each other every night before Keith heads to the bus stop.

Keith hasn't let himself do more than see Shiro at work. Talk to him at work. He hasn't given Shiro his number yet or invited him over or asked he will be interested in hanging out some evening or on a day off.

He's done none of that, and Shiro's given Keith his time and attention, and nice conversations and breakfasts and--

Distance. Respect. Space.

He swallows and only barely stops from gagging. He wishes Shiro were here now. Certainly he smells miles better than these shitty alphas and their stupid expensive sports car that they probably don't even take care of right.

The blond and his friends are all waiting right there when Keith pulls up, their faces impatient. He has to drive up real slow because they're being stupid and in the fucking way and now he's going to have to smile at them--or at least keep from glaring.

He knows this type. They'll absolutely try to stir up shit if Keith looks at them the wrong way. He's gotten in trouble plenty of times before, because of people like that.

He puts the car in park. Takes the key out of the ignition. It's one of those modern fob types with no teeth. Just a blunt hunk of plastic and a microchip.

His head hurts. He needs to get out of this car.

Keith opens the door.

The blond alpha catches it, fingers curling around the frame. Keith hadn't noticed him get close.

All three of them are close.

He needs to get the fuck out of this car.

"Sorry," he manages. Apologies. Alphas like apologies. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting."

He stands up, pushing forward just a little, trying to get some space. The blond plucks the key fob out of his fingers, still holding open the driver's side door.

Keith turns to go, get some distance, head down, keep moving--

He walks straight into one of the others. Tall, tan, dark hair. White teeth.

His hand closes around the front of Keith's shirt and pulls him forward, off balance, as the third man yanks open the back door.

Keith's vision tunnels.

***

Shiro spends most of his shift waiting for it to be over. Not because it's a bad day-- it's a pretty typical one. But at the end of his shift, he gets to see Keith. And he kind of can't wait to see Keith.

The only things he regrets about their morning breakfast was that he had been so damn distracted. He's not sure exactly why either, it's just...

Something had seemed different.

His mind wanders again, thinking back to it. Keith always smelled good--too good, if Shiro was honest. He was constantly catching himself just about to lean in and try to scent Keith and...

there were so many things wrong with that.

Mostly because Keith hadn't said that Shiro could.

So Keith always smelled good, tempting and sweet and it was only exacerbated by the fact that Keith /was/ sweet. Once he opened up, it was like watching a flower unfurl it's petals. The trust is something Shiro was doing his damned best not to upset.

But today was different.

He can't get it out of his mind and is maybe not as attentive as he usually is, but he's allowed an off day once in a while. His regulars will forgive him, and others might not even know the difference.

He fairly flies out of work once he's off shift, clocking out and then eagerly heading down to the staff entrance, where he always meets Keith now. Where Keith gives Shiro some of his precious time before they part ways.

Nowadays the distance is an ache.

Shiro is an honest man and he tries to be a good one. He knows he wants more--has known it for a while. But does Keith?

A few gentle nudges to see where his feelings stand is one thing, but god, he doesn't want to accidentally push too far. Push for something Keith really doesn't want.

Shiro tries not to read into Keith's scent too much either. Tries to respect his privacy. Tries not to notice how Keith's scent turns sweeter around him, and coupled with Keith's smile--

He gets to the staff entrance before Keith does, which isn't too unusual. He pulls out his phone to wait, but then frowns when he sees the time. Usually Keith is pretty punctual about leaving work once his shift is over.

"They don't pay me to stay late, I'm not going to," Keith had said flatly once, making Shiro laugh. He'd certainly understood the sentiment.

He waits a couple more minutes and then frowns, unsure. Maybe Keith just left without him today? Something /had/ seemed a little off at breakfast. If Keith hasn't been feeling well, it makes sense that he wouldn't want to stick around.

He's never just left before though. Since he and Shiro started meeting, Keith's never just left him without at least a quick goodbye.

Shiro sticks his phone back into his pocket and decides to head to the valet area. Just to check. Maybe Keith got caught up in something.

No harm in checking.

As he heads over, he has to laugh at himself. He knows he's probably being silly. He can already see Keith giving him one of his half-amused, half-incredulous looks. /"Really Shiro? Couldn't wait a couple of minutes? Had to come get me yourself?/

But maybe he'd also give Shiro his shy little smile. /"Thanks, though. It's good to see you."/

Shiro walks through the malls automatic doors into the valet area and two things happen simultaneously.

As he's hit in the face with one of the most violent mix of scents he's smelled in a long time, angry alpha, dripping rage, blood, and desperation--

--and Keith, that's Keith's scent, shot through with panic and terror--

as all those scents nearly bowl Shiro over where he stands, fury overtaking him because that's /Keith/, that's Keith hurting, /being hurt/--

he also watches a car speed away.

Shiro's mind clouds over as his body goes cold.

no.

No no no no /no/

NO

all he can see is red

and then he hears the quietest of stifled sobs

inaudible to anyone not an alpha currently shaking apart

from underneath the valet booth.

***

It takes an inhuman effort not to scramble over to the valet booth at once, but the tiny, still-rational part of Shiro’s brain knows that arriving suddenly and still livid is the last thing Keith needs.

And it is Keith. Shiro knows his scent well by now, though he desperately wishes he knew it a bit less well while it was wrapped up in panic and fear and pain.

He forces himself to take a deep breath and center himself. Tries to push aside every instinct screaming at him to go comfort his omega. It’s one more moment away from Keith, but it’s vital to approaching him without scaring him more.

Shiro concentrates, focuses on his scent. Years of work put in while battling an illness and recovery--and the anxiety, depression, and hurt that came with those things--has given him the semi-unique skill of being able to change his scent at will. For self-soothing, originally.

Now he uses that skill to conjure up the most calming scent his body can provide, honey and oatmeal and woodsy-warm. He breathes in and out, slowing his heartbeat and relaxing his shoulders so his body language doesn’t overwhelm.

And then he slowly, with heavy, measured, predictive steps, walks over to the valet booth. He stands in front of it, not yet walking around. 

“Keith?”

There is a quiet whimper and Shiro tentatively moves forward until he’s just able to see around and below the booth, taking care not to crowd too close, not to box Keith in.

He swallows when he finally sees Keith, and desperately works to take even, measured breaths so that anger doesn't cloud over his mind again.

Keith is huddled up in a ball, knees pulled to his chest and arms curled tight tight around his body as he tries to make himself as small as he possibly can. He’s trembling and his knuckles are red and raw.

His eyes, too, are red, face blotchy and streaked with tears, and his scent is a bright sharp burst of a thing, enticing even underneath the stressed adrenaline that seems to have edged its way into shock.

There’s blood on his mouth.

Shiro keeps his same distance as he goes to his knees. Keith’s head snaps up at the sound of more movement, gaze intently focused and still yet glassy. “Keith,” Shiro says softly. “It’s Shiro. Can you hear me?”

A second ticks by, then another, and then Keith nods.

Shiro breathes out. “Okay. Okay, Keith. That’s good. It’s just you and me now. You’re… you’re safe. It’s just you and me.”

Another long moment of silence. Keith swallows and opens his mouth. “Just you?”

He sounds so small. “Yes. Yes, yeah. Just me. Just Shiro.”

“Okay,” Keith says quietly, ducking his head. Not in fear--

in shame.

Shiro hates hates /hates/-- and can’t right now. He can’t be upset, right now. “Can you come out? We can go somewhere else.” Somewhere not here. Somewhere not full of scent and memories of whatever happened.

“Okay,” Keith says again, barely an exhale.

Shiro shuffles back a little to give Keith more space, and when Keith moves to stand, Shiro can suddenly see his shirt flapping open, missing buttons. Like someone had grabbed onto his collar and yanked, tearing them loose.

There are bruises blooming on his arms, bright purple finger-shaped streaks.

Shiro wants so badly to gather Keith up and hold him close and let him shake.

He doesn’t touch him.

But he’ll die before he puts Keith on a bus like this. “Let me drive you home?”

Keith shudders but nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”

Shiro quickly leads Keith though the parking structure, working to keep his own kind blank. He keeps catching himself looking over his shoulder to make sure Keith is still there.

Keith moves silent, like a ghost. His shaking has stopped-- moving seems to have helped some. But he wavers on his feet as he follows, Shiro forcing himself not to reach out to steady him, to try to offer touch that Keith couldn't possibly want.

Shiro keeps noticing the thick, sweet smell of him.

He hates himself for noticing.

They get to Shiro's car, and Keith seizes up for a moment before he visibly forces himself to relax and get inside.

Shiro takes a deep breath-- and inhales Keith's heady scent unfurling in the enclosed space.

He exhales quietly and starts to breathe through his mouth. "Can you tell me your address?"

The drive is silent. Music doesn't seem appropriate. Keith isn't talking--of course he's not talking, and Shiro knows he shouldn't push, but any distraction-- "I could tell you about my day, if you want."

"yeah," Keith says, the first sound he's made since they started driving. "That'd be... good."

Shiro prattles in in excruciating detail to fill the time and drown out the silence. Keith's expression is still far away, but even just a slight lessoning of tension--

"Is this you?" Shiro asks, when they get to a rundown apartment building among several others.

"Yeah." Keith's voice is quiet and dull. Flat.

Shiro can't leave him alone yet. "I'll walk you up."

Keith looks up at him, something achingly vulnerable in his expression.

"If that's okay," Shiro quickly amends.

Keith looks away. "That's fine." The way he says it, Shiro knows he's done something wrong.

But he can't leave Keith alone yet. He can't.

He'll just walk Keith to his door. Then he'll leave.

Just walk him to his door and make sure he's safe and he-- he won't reach out and touch, he won't--

Keith leads him up four flights of stairs and to the very end of a hall. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and fumbles with them, trying to fit them into the lock.

His hands are shaking.

He drops the keys, and they jingle as they hit the floor.

"Fuck," Keith bites out as he kneels to pick them up and then stays down. "Fuck." It comes out like a sob.

Shiro watches helplessly as Keith buries his face in his hands. "Oh, Keith..."

Keith glares up at him, eyelashes wet. "Don't." His voice cracks. "Don't-- you won't even touch me."

Shiro sucks in a breath. "Keith--"

Keith shakes his head. "No, it--fuck, it doesn't matter. Of course you don't, I-- I didn't-- fuck, I didn't--"

"Please let me," Shiro whispers, voice hoarse. "Please let me hold you."

Keith sags, letting out a little forlorn sound as his eyes squeeze shut, body listing towards Shiro. Shiro is on his knees gathering Keith up into his arms between one breath and the next.

"It'll be okay," Shiro manages, trying not to sob himself as Keith clutches at him, face buried into Shiro's neck.

The words come stronger as Keith clings. His omega needs him; Shiro is nothing if not solid. As he murmurs assurances, Keith whimpers and tries to press closer, so Shiro holds him tighter and gently rocks him. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. You're safe. You're okay."

***

Keith doesn’t remember how he actually gets into his apartment, nor does he fully register stumbling across the little studio to his bed.

He does know that he’d made some stupid, desperate noise when Shiro had moved to pull away, only mollified by swift promises that Shiro wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t leaving, it was okay, he was coming in too.

Now Keith yanks at his shirt, wanting the thing off off /off/ because it’s got scent smeared all over it that he really doesn’t want on his body anymore.

He balls the shirt up and then stares blankly at the fabric in his hands, unsure what to do with it. He doesn’t want the thing stinking up his laundry.

Shiro gently tugs on the shirt until Keith relinquishes his hold. “I’ll take care of it,” Shiro says softly. As if he understands the scent thing, he adds, “Why don’t you go take a shower? Do you have a soap you like?”

Keith nods. Being scent-sensitive, he’s picky about what he puts on his body. The nice stuff is more expensive, but it’s one little luxury he shells out for. 

“Good,” Shiro praises. “That’s good. Go and use your favorite, okay?”

Keith nods again. It’s a good idea. And he can--he can make himself walk away from Shiro. He doesn’t have to cling like this. Shiro probably doesn’t want him to anyway. Keith knows he reeks.

He can make it to the bathroom. A shower sounds good.

“I’ll be right here,” Shiro says.  “I won’t leave, I promise.”

Keith takes a breath and goes.

He does feel better once he’s stepped under the spray, and the relief that overtakes him when he soaps himself up, washing away the last remaining scents of the afternoon, is almost overwhelming.

And if he crouches down in the shower to sob out his frustration, at least Shiro can’t hear it over the noise of the water.

The tears are hot and angry, because he feels so stupid, so fucking stupid. He should have known better. He should have done something differently. Stupid fucking omega status and stupid shitty medical system and whatever fucking nonsense his body has been pulling today--

His knuckles hurt and he blearily looks down at them. They should be wrapped, probably, but it’s not something he wants to deal with. At least none of them split.

The bruises on his arms are darkening, splashed like watercolors on his skin. He’ll need to wear long sleeves for a few days. And his face feels tender, like it might be bruising too, but he still has foundation and concealer left.

Little things, little cover-up things, all the little ways to show he isn’t hurting. How he’s fine and invisible and business as usual. Not worth noticing. Never worth noticing, /please god just leave me alone/.

It’s been working. It’s not like he’s forgotten how, but it’s been working and it’s been a while since he’s had to make evidence disappear.

Well, he thinks bitterly, reset that counter back to zero.

He turns off the water when his teeth start chattering even under the warm spray. He’s too cold and--and curling up in bed sounds good.

He doesn’t have much in the way of blankets, just two lighter ones and a comforter, but they’re good enough for him and the comforter is warm and he’s so, so cold.

He towels off and then pulls on the clothes he brought in with him. A hoodie, old and worn and soft.

The fleece pajama bottoms he found at a thrift store. Slightly too big for him, so he has to cinch in the waist and they pool at his feet, but worth it for how warm and comfortable they are.

He leaves the bathroom and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he sees that Shiro is still there. He’s taken one of Keith’s two kitchen chairs and placed it beside the bed to sit in.

Shiro has stripped off his suit jacket and tie and has rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He’s got a glass of water in one water, and he holds this out to Keith when he tentatively approaches.

“Drink something?”

Keith takes the glass and downs it, something small and fragile unfurling within him when Shiro smiles in response.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, setting the glass down and climbing onto his bed. He wants to bury himself in his covers, but he also doesn’t want Shiro to think Keith doesn’t still want him around. He settles for wrapping his comforter around himself and huddling up within it.

Shiro raises a hand and swiftly drops it back into his lap, and Keith is all the colder for the not-quite loss. He only just focuses enough to hear Shiro say, “I took the shirt and tied it up in a plastic bag. I’ll throw it out when I leave, okay?”

“Don’t leave,” Keith bursts out. He’s reaching for Shiro before he can think twice, scrambling forward to grab at Shiro’s wrist.

The contact is electric and he suddenly goes /hot/. “Sorry,” he gasps, trying to make himself let go. Instead he tugs on Shiro’s arm. “Sorry, I--”

Shiro’s eyes quickly track over his body, and Keith flushes further. He uncurls his fingers from Shiro’s wrists and wraps his arms around himself to keep from reaching out again. It’s a thing he does often, when alone--try to gain comfort from the meagre pressure.

He wants Shiro to hold him again. Shiro was so strong and warm and safe. Arms sure. The hold just right.

He pushes his hands over his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

There is a silence that is broken by Shiro scooting his chair just a little bit closer.

“Keith,” Shiro says carefully. “I know it’s a lot amid everything but…”

Keith holds his breath.

Shiro swallows. “--are you in heat?”

The scattered pieces of Keith’s mind click into place one by heart-pounding one as realization settles heavy in his gut.

Fuck.

***

“I didn’t--I don’t--” it’s hard to breathe and he wants Shiro to touch him and it makes sense, it makes sense that he’s feeling so awful and getting more attention, god he’s so-- “I haven’t had one in years. I--”

He knows he’s panicking because he doesn’t have even a little bit of an idea of what to expect. He’s been on meds since he was allowed to be on them. Trying different things and going down from two heats a year to one til he didn’t have them at all. 

“Keith--”

The only reason he switched medications at all was because the last one made him deliriously sick twice a year and his doctor wanted to try something new.

“Keith--!”

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck--

“Keith!”

Keith jerks up to look at Shiro. He knows his eyes are wide, that he’s barely sucking in air but “I can’t-- Shiro, I /can’t/.”

“Keith,” and Shiro looks so upset, god, fuck, why is Keith such a mess, why is he managing to ruin this one good thing-- “Can I touch you?”

Keith nods at once, listing toward Shiro like he can’t help it. Maybe he can’t. He certainly /feels/ like he needs it, needs Shiro’s solidity and comforting presence, and Shiro’s never made Keith feel like any less of a person just because he’s an omega.

Shiro’s always treated Keith with respect, keeping a careful distance. Never trying to push for anything, never even--never touching Keith, never making any kind of move past cordial, friendly interaction…

Keith’s body locks up. Shirt only touched him before because Keith had begged him to.

Every instinct is screaming at him to finally finally close the distance and be… be fucking held, but he /can’t/ if Shiro doesn’t-- If Shiro’s only doing it because Keith’s hurting.

Shiro is the nicest, kindest, gentlest alpha--no, /person/--that Keith has ever met, and he knows for a fact that Shiro would offer himself up without hesitation to make someone else feel better. Shiro’s already gone out of his way helping Keith home and… doing everything else.

He refuses to make Shiro stay with him. His pain is not Shiro’s burden to bear. 

Keith can deal.

“It’s okay,” he forces himself to say, around a throat threatening to close up. “I-I’m fine.” Fine, fine, he’s always fine.

He’s freezing again, so cold it hurts. Shiro’s right there radiating warmth. He curls in on himself, tucks his arms in tight, and doesn’t reach out. “I don’t--I don’t need--I’ll be okay. You don’t have to.”

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice isn’t hard, but it’s firm. Authoritative. Keith looks up at him underneath his bangs. “Keith, answer me honestly. Do you want me to leave?”

Keith doesn’t say anything, shivering. Shiro doesn’t want him to lie, so he just won’t say anything at all. 

He refuses to acknowledge hot, hot tears.

Shiro’s lips part and he reaches out, slow but with purpose. Keith doesn’t breathe, barely moves, until Shiro’s left hand cups his face, thumb wiping away the wetness on his cheeks.

“Keith, please,” Shiro says, and it sounds so much like begging that it makes Keith’s stomach twist. He’ll do it. Whatever is making Shiro sound like that, whatever Shiro asks of him, Keith’ll do it. Even if it means never even looking at Shiro again.

He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s practice. It’s not that he can’t stand to look at Shiro when he tells him goodbye.

“Keith.” The thumb swipes over his cheek again, more of Shiro’s touch, Shiro’s scent. It takes all Keith has not to nuzzle into it. “Sweetheart, please let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” Keith gasps. It’s his mantra, and he clings to it. It's all he has. “I’m fine, I’m sorry--”

Shiro’s hand leaves his face, taking a whimper with it, but the next moment the bed suddenly dips, and all at once Shiro’s arms are around him, one hand curled around Keith’s back, the other threading through his hair.

Shiro’s breath is a warm puff against Keith’s cheek. “Do you want me to let you go?”

Shiro is holding him, so, so warm, and it feels safe and comforting and he smells so good, and being surrounded by his scent makes Keith’s head stop hurting and the cold recede and--

and Keith crumples. God, he’s so far from fine. 

“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Please don’t.”

Shiro tells him not to apologize. He promises that he won’t leave if Keith doesn't want him to. He promises that even if Keith doesn’t want Shiro to touch him anymore, Shiro still won’t leave him aone.

It’s laughable that Shiro would think Keith would want to stop being held. Shiro is pretty much the only person that Keith would ever want touching him. And god, Shiro’s hold is /gentle/. Like he wants to treat Keith carefully.

Considering that Keith feels like he’s going to shake apart, the thought is… nice.

It’s nice.

Silence falls as Keith tries to catch his breath and tries to think while the room is still spinning. Shiro has pulled him fully into his lap, and Keith keeps noticing all the ways that they’re making contact.

He’s hyper aware of how he’s sitting sideways to better curl into Shiro’s chest.

He can hear Shiro’s heartbeat like this. It’s strong. Fast.

It gets even faster when Keith starts to tremble again. He lets out an involuntary whine as his stomach growls, then cramps, and he tries to press further into Shiro, like Shiro will make things stop hurting.

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Shiro asks quietly.

Keith tries to remember. Thinks back. “I… I had breakfast with you.” He’d had a blueberry scone, which was one of his favorites at the cafe, and he’d even eaten the whole thing.

“Nothing since then?”

Keith shakes his head. He hadn’t been feeling good. Hadn’t felt like trying to stop to eat. Usually he ate in the park, but just the idea of making the walk over had soured his stomach even more. “I didn’t want to.”

“We both just worked a full day,” Shiro says. “I know I should probably eat. It wouldn’t hurt if you had something too.”

Keith opens his mouth to protest, because he’s still not hungry, but then the rest of the sentence registers. Shiro hasn’t eaten. Oh--oh no--Shiro should definitely eat. “I have food,” he offers timidly.

He doesn’t eat fancy or anything, but he knows how to take basics and make something filling. He doesn’t experiment much, because messing up means wasted food, but he knows enough now to have variety in his meals.

“Why don’t we have something small now,” Shiro suggests. “A snack for both of us, and then I’ll order us dinner for a little later. Sound good?”

Keith bites his lip. It sounds good. And means Shiro will be staying longer but--

“Or we could just see how you’re feeling after the snack,” Shiro says. “How about that?”

“Yeah,” Keith manages. He can be a human person and actually vocalize. “That sounds good. Um. Okay. Let me… let me see what I have.”

“I’ll come with you,” Shiro says, when Keith doesn’t move. It makes Keith breathe easier, even if the kitchen is literally just steps away. Knowing that Shiro will be closer, instead of on the bed and further is… better.

It also means that Shiro is kind of looking over Keith’s shoulder when Keith pokes his head into his fridge, mind coming up empty on what’s actually inside it right now.

“Oh hey,” Shiro says brightly, pointing at Keith’s celery. “Do you have peanut butter? Does celery and peanut butter sound good?”

It does, because it’s one of Keith’s favorite snacks. Celery is cheap enough that he can buy it and not feel bad, and he loves the bright green crunch of it. And besides that, it’s a comfort snack. Which is kind of exactly what he needs. “Yeah, yeah. It does.”

“Great.” Shiro smiles at him and plucks the celery off the shelf. “Do you mind if I wash it and cut it up and everything?”

“Are you sure?” Keith can be a person. And it’s his apartment. He’s the host. “I can do it.”

“I’d like to,” Shiro says, like an admission. “If you don’t mind.”

Keith's certainly not going to deny Shiro something so small. The thought of doing so makes his stomach hurt worse. “Okay. If you want to.”

Shiro full-on beams at him and goes to Keith’s little sink, while Keith fetches the peanut butter out of his small pantry. Then, with nothing to do, he stands awkwardly behind Shiro, waiting for him to finish and feeling like he’s itching inside of his skin.

It feels good to know that Shiro’s going to eat. And it feels nice to think about how Shiro wanted to make sure Keith ate, too. Like they’re taking care of each other. Instead of just Keith sucking Shiro dry.

It makes the buzzing in his skull settle slightly, but while he doesn't want to leave Shiro’s side, Keith finds himself continuing to look longingly at his bed.

The covers aren’t right, and there isn’t a good place for him and Shiro to be, and it doesn’t feel like there’s /enough/ bedding.

“Can I--”

He stops. Is he allowed to ask?

Shiro glances over at him and gives him an encouraging smile. “Can you what, sweetheart?”

Keith flushes at the name. He feels as though Shiro has used it before, but this is the first time he’s fully aware of it being said, and being said deliberately. It makes a different sort of warmth curl through him.

He doesn't know how to address it, so he doesn’t at all. “Can I fix the bed?”

“Of course. Do whatever you need to feel comfortable.”

Right. Right, yeah. It’s /his apartment/. He can do what he wants to his bed.

He’s allowed.

While Shiro starts snapping the celery into smaller pieces, Keith goes back to his bed. He pulls all the covers off and tries to remake it the way he wants it to be, but it looks… sad. With his three blankets bunched up, even with his smaller bed, it looks bare.

He has a second set of sheets. Maybe that’ll help? He goes to fetch them, even the pillowcase, and shoves them onto the bed too, pinching and pulling at the fabric to try to get things right.

He takes a step back to look it over, frowning at how it still feels kind of empty. He doesn’t want it to be empty. Especially if… if he’s going to be sharing it with Shiro, he doesn’t want it to be wrong. He doesn’t want it to be not good enough.

He jolts when he hears footsteps approach, turning to see Shiro a couple feet behind him, holding plate covered in celery in one hand and Keith’s jar of peanut butter in the other, a spoon pinched between two fingers. “Mind if I just set these down here?”

‘Here’ seems to be the kitchen chair Shiro abandoned earlier. Keith nods, watching as Shiro puts the food down, then grabs the two empty glasses and goes back to the sink to fill them with water.

Keith’s still fussing with his bed when Shiro returns a moment later, smiling at him. “Did you make a nest you like?”

Keith blinks and turns back to his bed. Is that what he’s doing? Making a nest? “I don’t know,” he finds himself saying, cursing himself for choking up a little at the admission. “Is this what it means to make a nest?”

He’s done it before, he remembers. Given into the need to swaddle himself, until he was crying from frustration at how sick and empty and unwanted he felt. But he’d never put a name to it before. No one had ever taught him how.

Shame claws at his throat.

Shiro’s scent changes for a scant second, a bitter note of anger before it smooths back out to calm. “I’m not upset at you,” Shiro says quickly, as if aware that Keith’s hackles have started to rise back up. “I’m just… upset.” He looks down. “I’m upset you've had a hard time."

Before Keith can reply--he’s not even sure how to--Shiro looks back up, making sure to catch Keith’s eye. “But not upset with you. Never with you. And certainly not for this.”

Keith’s words stick in his throat again, so he settles for a nod. He glances unhappily back at his bed.

“Why don’t we eat,” Shiro suggests. “And we can work some more on your nest once we’ve finished?”

We. Keith hadn’t even considered the possibility of Shiro helping. It eases him. Notalonenotalonenotalone
notunworthynotalone-- “That sounds good,” he manages. “Thank you.”

***

For all that Keith’s thoughts and wants and warnings are jumbled up in his head, he still goes hot with embarrassment when Shiro sits down on Keith’s poor excuse for a nest, hanging back because there is… a very specific place he wants to sit.

He still doesn’t know how this all works, or what he’s allowed to ask for, and he doesn’t want to be too greedy.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, knuckles still hurting from the wrong kind of attention.

That’s the attention he’s used to.

Keith is bitterly glad that he grew up scrappy, because if nothing else, he learned how to fight with bared teeth.

But it means he's all rough and tumble now, bruises and black eyes, and he…

he needs to sit down. His head hurts.

“Do you want to come here?” Shiro asks, after Keith has stood still for too long. 

He does. He wants to.

He takes one step forward, and when he does, Shiro holds out his arms.

Keith flushes for an entirely different reason, letting out a sound he’s never heard himself make before. This weird little chirpy-trill.

He’s all set to be mortified, especially as Shiro’s eyes go wide, but then all at once they soften. “Oh,” Shiro breathes. “Yeah, that’s right. Come on over."

Keith goes.

It feels so much better to settle back into Shiro's lap, against his broad chest. He can’t stop himself from taking a deep breath in, and all at once he starts feeling better again. Just this touching and Shiro’s scent and he hurts less.

“Why does this make me feel better,” he asks, not quite a grumble. He doesn’t want Shiro to get the wrong idea, because he’s being amazing, but Keith is bothered by this sudden knowledge that alpha proximity really does help.

He’d chalked the idea up to stupid sensational media, because certainly no alpha being close has ever been a good thing before, but… Shiro is different.

“Do you know anything about the proximity theory?” Shiro asks, shifting just enough to slide the plate of celery closer. He’s chopped the logs into bite-sized pieces. Keith doesn’t reach for one yet.

“I don’t know what that is,” he says bluntly. “My education was one hundred and one ways not to make an alpha mad.”

“I--what?”

Keith rubs his cheek against Shiro’s chest. His shirt is that kind of high-quality soft and Keith has the sudden, impulsive thought that it would be nice to add to the nest. “Hundred and two ways, maybe.”

Shiro tenses up momentarily before relaxing again. “It’s based on scientific finding that part of why untreated heats can be so bad for omegas is because they don’t feel safe. So when they’re around someone they trust, the pain eases. Their body is able to relax.”

“So it’s gotta be around an alpha they feel okay with?” That at least explains why Shiro is special.

“It’s anyone.” Shiro sounds sad. “It doesn’t have to be an alpha. Any close proximity by someone the omega can trust can help with heat pain. Between that and medications, the whole alpha-omega thing is archaic. We’ve evolved past that.”

Ha. Keith doesn’t say anything, but something about him must project unhappiness because Shiro adds, “Alphas especially. We’re not mindless. We should be able to control ourselves. There aren’t excuses for those that don’t.”

“If you say so,” Keith mumbles, not wanting to think much more about it.

“Why don’t we drop the subject? But if you have any other questions, please ask them. I won’t be mad.”

“‘Kay.” Keith rubs his face into Shiro’s shirt again.

Shiro gives him a reassuring squeeze with the arm he’s got wrapped around Keith and reaches out with the other. He picks up one of the celery bites and holds it up to Keith’s mouth. 

Keith opens without thinking.

He’s immediately flooded with an almost overwhelming sense of pleasure, and he only doesn’t gasp with it because he’s busy chewing. But everything is suddenly heightened, and he can feel every point that he’s touching Shiro sending sparks skittering along his skin.

His fingers tighten in Shiro’s shirt and the sound he makes is too close to a whimper for comfort. He swallows hurriedly, only to find Shiro holding out another bite of food, and the unbridled joy is no less intense the second time.

“Why--?” his voice breaks at the continued onslaught of wanted and belonging, and he has to push his face back into Shiro’s chest.

Shiro must set the food back down, because then both of his arms are around Keith. “It’s okay,” Siro says gently, breath tickling Keith’s ear. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s a lot. And I’m guessing you didn’t choose to have this heat.”

“None of my feelings make sense,” Keith grits out. “I keep reacting--I don’t know why--”

“Keith…” Shiro’s voice is even and careful. “When was the last time you shared a heat with someone by choice?"

Keith’s not expecting the last two words and he hates that he’s grateful for them. “Haven’t,” he mutters.

A pause. 

“Never?

“No.”

More silence. Keith has no idea what Shiro’s thinking. He tries not to feel nervous about the confession. Then again, if Shiro leaves now, it’ll still have been probably the best experience Keith has ever had, in terms of anything remotely resembling intimacy, bruises and all.

Instead Shiro's arms tightens around Keith. The increased pressure is amazing and Keith wonders hazily what it would be like to have Shiro lie down on top of him. To just be blanketed.

“Okay,” Shiro says on an exhale when he releases Keith all too soon. “With your permission, I’d like to ask a friend of mine for help.”

Keith turns to ice.

Shiro’s large palm comes up to cup his face. “No, no, shh, no, baby, not like--just to bring us some things that I think will help make this easier. He won’t even stay around to hand it over, if you don’t want him too. He’ll just drop everything at your front door and leave.”

Keith starts to breathe again, but Shiro’s asking a lot. He’s asking Keith to give a stranger his address, and to trust Shiro enough to allow another person to get near him, especially like this.

But Keith wants to trust Shiro. He desperately wants to. It’s been weeks of Shiro being nothing but good and kind, and it’s still incredibly scary but, “Okay. You can call him.”

“Thank you.” Shiro sounds like Keith gave him a fucking /gift/. “Thank you. Okay. I’ll text him, alright?”

“Kay.”

“While I do that, can you eat a little more for me?”

“Yeah, okay.” He’ll try.

Shiro shifts enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. He doesn’t move the arm from around Keith’s waist and seems to be intending to text one handed. Keith tries to swallow around how inordinately happy it makes him.

He reaches for a piece of celery and pops it into his mouth.

“Good job,” Shiro says. He sounds so /pleased/. “Thank you.”

Keith rides the high that gives him into eating about a third of the plate before he realizes Shiro still hasn’t had anything. That’s… that’s bad. Shiro needs to eat.

“You too,” he says, holding the next piece of peanut butter celery out to Shiro.

Shiro looks up from his phone. This close, Keith can see his pupils dilate, can feel his heartbeat pick up again. “Right,” Shiro says hoarsely. He clears his throat.

But Shiro’s arm is still wrapped around Keith, and his other hand is holding his phone. And he doesn’t move.

Hesitantly, Keith presses the celery to Shiro’s lips, and Shiro opens his mouth to take it. Keith can’t look away as Shiro chews. Shiro took it. He took the food Keith offered.

Shiro swallows and just looks at him. Keith can feel the thump-thump of his heart. Is it supposed to be this fast? “Thank you, Keith.” 

"Yeah," Keith says shakily.

Shiro's phone buzzes and he jolts a little, giving Keith a smile before turning his attention back to the phone. But the fingers curled around Keith's waist tighten for a moment before relaxing again.

Keith tilts his head, parsing this, and then grabs another two pieces of celery. He pops one into his own mouth before turning back to Shiro, who looks up, startled, then beams and snag the morsel with his teeth.

Another uncontrollable trill bubbles out of Keith.

In this way--Keith still perched on Shiro's lap--between the two of them, they finish the rest of the plate.

***

Keith starts to shiver again once they’ve both eaten, as if now that that imperative has been fulfilled, his body has remembered that it wants other things. He still doesn’t feel like his nest is right though, and he doesn’t want to be in it until it is.

When he manages to voice this, Shiro nods understandingly. “We’ll work with what we have for now. A nest doesn’t just have to be made of blankets. Do you have any other soft clothes you really like?”

Keith does, and that’s a good point. He heads over to his chest of drawers and starts going through the most worn things he has, pulling out a T-shirt and holding it out to Shiro for inspection.

Shiro knows what a nest is supposed to be like and he said he’d help, so Keith tries not to feel weird about it.

“That looks great,” Shiro says, taking it. Keith flushes at the approval. “Why don’t we grab a few more?”

Keith nods and quickly sorts through the rest of his stuff, eventually pulling out two hoodies and another couple shirts, all of which he eagerly shows to Shiro first, and then hands over once Shiro gives the okay.

It means that Shiro’s arms are full of Keith’s clothes when it’s all said and done, and he’s the one who carries things back to the bed. “Okay,” Shiro says. “Let’s figure out where you want everything to go.”

It’s easier, somehow, with Shiro there. Just his presence while Keith works… helps. The next time he turns to get another clothing item from Shiro though, Shiro’s arms are empty.

Keith sags with disappointment. The nest doesn’t feel done yet.

He can’t stop himself from eyeing Shiro’s shirt. He knows first hand how soft it is. It would be perfect to lay on his pillow.

Shiro huffs out a tiny chuckle, but his expression is fond, not mean. “I can give it to you, if you want it. I don’t mind.”

Keith’s lips part. “You don’t?”

“As long as you don’t mind me being around you in just an undershirt.”

“No, that’s--that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Alright.” And so Shiro unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it before offering it out to Keith. The undershirt fits tight across his chest and shoulders, and the way Shiro’s arm flexes and his bicep stands out when he holds out his shirt is--

Keith licks his lips and tears his eyes away, taking the offered piece of clothing. “Thank you.” He immediately goes to fuss with his pillow and tries not to think too hard about it, or that Shiro is watching him do it.

“It looks good,” Shiro says warmly, when Keith finally steps back and surveys the bed.

“Yeah,” Keith says faintly. He did it. He made a nest and Shiro helped and maybe it’s not the /best/ nest ever, but it’s his. And Shiro thinks it’s good. That’s good. That’s good. It’s good. He was good.

“Keith?” Shiro asks, and his voice sounds very far away.

“I-I think I need to lie down.”

Keith crawls into his nest, making very sure that his head is in the perfect position on the shirt that’s his current pillowcase. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

But relaxation doesn’t come. Instead he’s suddenly ten times more tense.

Shiro is far away.

Keith made a nest and Shiro even said it was a /good/ nest, but his alpha hasn’t--hasn’t joined him in it. The nest is good, but Keith’s the one in it. Even if the nest is good, Keith is ruining it for Shiro.

His alpha doesn’t /want/ him--

“--eith?”

Keith jolts, opening his eyes. They burn, but he’s ignoring that. “Yeah?” His voice cracks, and he ignores that too.

“Which did you want me to do?”

“H-huh?”

He keeps expecting Shiro to be upset or disappointed in how bad at this Keith is, but Shiro just gives him another smile. “Do you want me with you, in your nest? Or do you want me to stand guard?”

He didn’t even know there were /options/. And the thought of Shiro guarding him is...yeah, incredibly appealing, but it doesn’t hold a candle to more contact. “Here,” Keith says at once. “Here, with me. Please.”

“Of course.”

Shiro climbs fully on the bed, kneeling next to where Keith is stretched out. He looks massive on Keith’s small mattress. There isn’t a whole lot of room, with the full mostly big enough for Keith. “Do you want me to hold you again?

“Yes,” Keith breathes. Yes, yes, that’s exactly what he wants. To be held in his nest, held and protected and wanted, yesyesyes.

Shiro rolls on his side next to Keith and makes to gather him up, but some instinct leads to Keith grabbing at Shiro, pulling him down until Shiro is fully on top of him. Shiro makes to brace himself, but Keith is single-mindedly insistent until Shiro further settles his weight.

“That better?” Shiro asks, a touch amused but not mocking. He props himself up just enough that they can still look at each other. He finds Keith’s hand with his free one and laces their fingers together.

Keith’s in a nest with Shiro and his heart is beating so fast, and Keith’s is too, /safe safe held protected safe wanted wanted safe--/

A quiet rumbly-sound starts up in his chest, another noise he can’t remember ever making before. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath at it, which completely squashes Keith’s courage to ask what it means.

“Is that for me?” Shiro is quiet. Awed.

“It’s… it’s good?”

“So good,” Shiro says in a rush. “So good, Keith. You’re doing so good. Can’t believe you’re trusting me like this, thank you. God, you’re so perfect.”

Keith’s never been called perfect before. Never been praised like this ever, and coming from Shiro, it warms him to his core. Shiro thinks he’s good. Shiro called him /perfect/.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re so good, so perfect. You’re being so perfect for me.”

/safe praised safe safe praised wanted safe desired wanted praised safe/

The last of the tension drains away and Keith goes boneless underneath Shiro.

“Alpha,” he gasps, baring his neck as his brain turns foggy.

***

Shiro had been 22 when he’d lost his arm to his disease. At the time, it was sacrificing his arm that prolonged his life. It was his final consent that took his arm from him, but it also hadn’t been much of a choice at all.

Keith has been given the same kind of choice. He was in heat whether he wanted to be or not, and he had been given the opportunity to either accept Shiro’s help, or go it alone.

And fuck, after who-knows-how-long not having a heat and /never/ having a positive experience while in heat--not to mention what had happened earlier that day? Shiro’s very aware that Keith is probably hating his body’s betrayal and must be out of his mind terrified.

Which means Shiro cannot, under any circumstances, chance fucking this up.

That’s what he tells himself, as he stares at Keith’s bared neck, a slim, pale offering just asking for loving attention. Keith is trusting Shiro to see him at his most vulnerable, trusting Shiro possibly more than Keith has trusted anyone, and Shiro /needs to get a grip/.

But Keith also whines the longer Shiro stays still and doesn’t move, rolling his head until he can look up at Shiro again, eyes cloudy but obviously distressed. “No?”

Scenting someone’s neck is an intimate experience. The other person is allowing you to get close to an incredibly delicate spot and is either asking you to mark them, or trusting that you won’t. Shiro doesn’t even know if Keith knows what he’s offering. “Keith, I--”

“You don’t have to,” Keith rasps from underneath him. “I-It’s okay if you don’t want to. I know I’m not very--This is… this is fine.”

He whimpers then, body starting to shake from assumed rejection, and still he continues to offer Shiro a way out. Like he has been since all this started. “This is good enough. I-I’m okay. You don’t have to.”

“Of course I want to,” Shiro says helplessly.

Keith stills, eyes bright. “Then please? Please, I-I’ll be good.”

Oh, /fuck/.

The thing is… the thing is that Shiro is riding a fine line between what he can allow himself to do and what will keep Keith from hurting, both right now as well as in the future when his heat is over. He wants Keith safe and distress free and comfortable.

Happy, if he can possibly manage it.

God, hearing him /purr/--

Learning right after that Keith didn’t even know what purring was… it’d just about broken Shiro in two. To know Keith had possibly never felt secure enough to purr before.

And he’d purred for Shiro.

“You’re already good,” he says. “Oh sweetheart, you’re already so, so good.”

It’s hard to help the pet names that keep rolling off his tongue. Even harder when Keith seems so shyly pleased to hear them. Now, Keith closes his eyes and the shaking starts to subside.

Again he bares his neck.

This time, Shiro doesn’t hesitate. He leans down to nose at Keith’s neck, getting Keith used to the idea, the feeling of someone else so close.

When Keith sighs into it, Shiro takes a breath and nuzzles him, brushing his lips over Keith’s skin.

Keith moans, a tiny little wisp of a thing, and the hand not intertwined with Shiro’s comes up to clench in Shiro’s undershirt, trying to pull Shiro even closer. The moan echoes in Shiro’s ears, a gorgeous slice of sound.

He can’t help but take a deep breath of Keith’s scent as he nuzzles him again, lips parting in shock when he registers Keith’s scent changing. It was sweet before, enticing and desirable, but now it blooms with notes of jasmine and sandalwood.

They’re Shiro’s favorite scents.

It means that Keith’s fully accepted Shiro as someone safe, someone to be trusted absolutely. It means that his body’s base biology is reacting in the truest way it knows how; altering its scent to one that best appeals to its chosen alpha.

It strikes Shiro so hard it leaves him reeling.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers. “Baby, are you with me?”

Keith makes an inquisitive sound and otherwise doesn’t move. Until… the hand with a fistful of Shiro’s shirt slowly releases, trailing up Shiro’s back to his shoulder, to cup his neck, fingers resting just high enough to brush over Shiro’s short hair. Another inquisitive sound.

Shiro shudders. His heart is beating so fast and loud, Keith must feel it. “Yeah, that’s… that’s okay, baby. That’s good.” His voice comes out too raw, too honest. “God, you’re so good.”

Keith lets out a happy little trill and starts to purr again, the little rumbles reverberating up through his chest and into Shiro’s. His scent, an ever changing perfume, now contains traces of bergamot.

Shiro closes his own eyes.

God.

It’s not about him. It’s not about how much he wants. It’s about Keith. Making this as good an experience as Shiro can, for him. It’s not about Shiro. Even if an awful, selfish part of him wants to fully revel in what’s happening. At what Keith’s giving him.

Keith didn’t have a choice. It was Shiro or nothing. He let Shiro in because Shiro’s the one goddamn person who’s shown Keith a semblance of kindest in a fucked-up world.

Shiro keeps his face pressed to Keith’s neck, keeps murmuring praise. Keith finally, finally seems at ease and pain free, both mentally and physically, so Shiro’s going to stay just like this.

Just like this.

Keith loses track of time, for the most part. He feels drifty and hazy, and so warm and comfortable. Shiro’s weight on him is… perfect. The best, right kind of pressure.

Even with Shiro pressing him down, almost-too-much for breathing to be easy, he doesn’t feel trapped or enclosed. It feels a little like floating, instead. Contentment.

He’s surrounded by Shiro’s scent and he’s not shaking anymore, and he’s barely hurting. Everytime the discomfort spikes enough that he can’t help a pained sound, Shiro is there whispering to him and nuzzling him.

He’s never felt like this before. But then again, he’s never had Shiro before, either.

He’s pretty sure he’d be happy to drift forever, even with the niggling cramping that simply won’t go away, when a buzzing sound reverberates out.

Shiro shifts, apologizing when Keith whimpers at the change in position. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m still right here. But I think that’s my friend. How do you feel? Am I okay talking to him for a second, or do you want him gone?”

It takes a moment for the words to register, but Keith is possibly the most relaxed he’s ever been, and he trusts Shiro. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You can talk.”

The weight on him lifts off completely, and he cracks open an eye to Shiro on his hands and knees above him, expression fond.

Even like this, Keith doesn’t feel caged in.

“Okay,” Shiro murmurs, cupping Keith’s face and stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be right back. I’m just across the room. Okay, baby?”

“Mhm.”

Shiro doesn’t move for a long moment. Not until Keith blinks up at him. “Don’t keep your friend waiting. S’bad manners.”

Shiro takes a deep breath, and when he lets it out, it sounds like a chuckle. “You’re right. You’re right, sorry. And he came all this way. Okay.” He dips down to press his forehead to Keith’s. “Be right back.”

Keith chirps happily and isn’t even embarrassed about it.

Shiro takes another deep breath and then finally moves off of him, leaving Keith a little colder, a little bereft, but secure in the knowledge that he won’t be left alone for too long. Shiro promised.

So far, Shiro has kept every single promise he’s ever made, to Keith.

Keith props himself up on his elbows so he can watch Shiro as he heads to the door. Keith chose this area to put his bed for that specific reason--it has a clear line of sight to the door.

Shiro makes an attractive figure walking away, in just his well-fitted trousers and undershirt. Keith has… Keith has /noticed/ that Shiro is… attractive. He hasn’t let himself think about it much. Or at least, he’s tried not too.

But wow, Shiro is beautiful, isn’t he?

Keith swallows and tries to focus. He feels kind of funny.

Focus. Someone’s at your door, and you don’t know him. Shiro’s there, but you still don’t know him. But he’s Shiro’s friend and Shiro’s there and it’s okay, it’s okay okay okay--

Shiro opens the door, and Keith, senses so heightened now, flinches a little at the scent of another alpha, even if he’s across the room. It’s not a bad scent at least. It’s like… fresh bread.

His first thought is /harmless/, which is ridiculous, but… it’s true that scents sometimes reveal things about their owners.

“Hey Hunk,” Shiro says quietly. “Thanks for coming. I really appreciated it.”

“No problem,” probably-Hunk says. Keith can’t really make him out behind Shiro’s body, but he thinks he glimpses brown skin, some yellow. “I hope I got everything you wanted. I, you know, I did my best to touch things as little as possible. I used my oven mitts for the bedding!”

“Thanks,” Shiro says, and he sounds like he means it. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Didn’t wanna, like, mess things up. Or make ‘em worse. Is he, uh, is he doing okay?” Hunk sounds nervous. And like he genuinely is worried about ‘messing things up.’

Keith kind of likes him.

Besides, if Shiro trusts him, then Keith kind of already does too, a little. By proxy.

“We’re doing okay,” Shiro says, glancing back at Keith. Keith smiles at him. Shiro smiles back before turning to Hunk again.

“Good! Good, that’s good. Uh, okay, don’t wanna overstay my welcome, so here you go. Everything you asked for is in the suitcase and I was making dinner anyway when you texted? And you know I always make extra, so I figured I’d just bring some of that along too.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you.”

“No problem, man. Okay, so it should still be warm but reheating is easy enough--and I wrote down the ingredients in case he’s got any allergies. Okay? Oh god, I’m talking too much, okay, yeah--so like, I hope things go okay, let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will,” Shiro says warmly. “Thank you.”

“That’s enough thanking! We’re good, we’re good. Bye!” And then, a little louder, “Um, feel better!”

“Thank you,” Keith says, surprising himself.

The fresh bread scent goes warmer, pleased if also maybe a little embarrassed. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome!” Another goodbye, and Hunk hurries away.

“Well,” Shiro says, fumbling to close the door after he pulls a suitcase into Keith’s apartment, his other hand holding the handles of a large tote bag. “I guess that’s dinner taken care of, too.” He chuckles. “Count on Hunk.”

“He seems nice,” Keith offers, shifting on the bed. He wants Shiro back. The food smells good, but Shiro smells better.

Shiro smells really, really good and god, he’s so perfect and nice and kind and careful and… Keith blinks again, the world narrowing to watching the way Shiro’s muscles bunch and move as he sets the food down on Keith’s kitchen table and kneels to open the suitcase.

Something… Keith shakes his head. Something feels like it’s twisting up inside him. Not… not unpleasantly, but…

but…

“Shiro?” Keith asks. His hands clench in his sheets. “I don’t… I don’t feel…”

“Don’t feel what?” Shiro says, swiftly standing, two pillows tucked under one arm and a comforter in the other hand. “Do you hurt again?”

Keith shakes his head. The cramping has actually started to fade. Shiro is so close. He wants Shiro closer. He holds out his arms imploringly. He wants to hold Shiro again. He wants Shiro to hold him.

He shifts on the sheets, suddenly feeling too hot again. But he still wants Shiro’s touch, still wants Shiro pressed against him--

He--

Oh…

/Oh/

Shiro seems to realize the new situation at the exact moment Keith does, because his nostrils flare once and then his eyes widen. He’s suddenly right at the edge of the bed again, the pillows and blanket falling from his arms.

But he hesitates there, a clear undercurrent of energy buzzing just underneath the skin. “Keith?” His tongue comes out to wet his lips, and Keith follows the motion. “Keith, are you--?”

Keith nods, breath hitching, at the unmistakable sensation of his body starting to produce slick

***

For all that the media loves to salivate over and romanticise omega heats, the reality is very different. No omega is going to just drip insatiably for any alphahole that leers in their direction.

It’s not that it takes concentrated effort for an omega to produce slick-- more that it will dry up if the situation warrants it.

A slick omega is a comfortable one. An omega that is prepared for what their body is about to do and either has support, or has been able to take their own steps to provide themselves with the best that they can.

It’s an open secret that if an omega in heat stops producing slick--it means their circumstances are dire.

Sometimes proof of that is an acceptable counter-argument, in court.

Keith is aware that the day has been an awful emotional rollercoaster, even though he’s mostly shoved the events of earlier that afternoon into a tightly locked box, along with all his other unpleasant memories.

It’s been awful, but for the last hour-ish, at least, he’s been happily riding a soft, floaty feeling.

He knows it’s because of Shiro, because Shiro has been making things better all day.

Keith is in his apartment, that Shiro drove him too, on his bed in a nest that Shiro helped make. Shiro brought him supplies and provided food and comfort and--

Shiro is at once both too far away and much, much too close.

“I can’t,” Keith says, panicked. Maybe it was worse, to have let Shiro help him. Like most omegas, Keith’s body tries to burn out the energy of a heat unrealized. He gets feverish, sometimes deliriously so, and it’s horrible but--

Keith’s last heat was three years ago, right before he turned twenty-one and was finally allowed to search out suppressants to stop heats completely. It had been desperate and miserable but at least he’d been alone.

Counting that heat, Keith has produced slick three times in his life. Even then, all three times, it dried up quickly.

It’s an open secret that a stressed-out omega will stop producing slick.

It’s a much lesser known secret that “drying up” is incredibly, viscerally painful.

“I can’t, Shiro, I can’t--please, I can’t--” Keith takes great gulps of air, trying to calm down again, trying to slow his now racing heart. If his body had just decided not to fuck him over for once in his life, he could have ridden this out and never produced and been fine.

Now he’s started to slick. He felt safe enough that that particular biological imperative has begun. Which means it’s going to stop, because it always stops, and it always /hurts/ and god, god it hurts so much

He curls up into a ball, as if somehow that’ll protect him, and fuck, he’s actually fucking crying at the prospect, open and raw, the walls he’s built in shambles because of the emotional and hormonal whiplash.

Maybe it’s good that Shiro can’t see his face, wet and messy with tears.

“Please," he whispers, not sure who he's begging. His own body, maybe, for so the good it'll do. "Please don’t make me.”

“Keith…” the word is barely an exhale, and the sudden, sharp scent of distress swiftly permeates the room. “I wouldn’t--I /wouldn’t/.”

Keith covers his nose. The scent isn’t helping, only causing more stress, and that’s bad--the more upset he gets the likelier he is to stop dripping and fuckfuckfuck “I’m sorry,” he babbles, hoping Shiro will stop smelling upset. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it--”

“No,” Shiro says in a rush.“No, swee-Keith, no. No, it’s okay. It’s okay to say you don’t want something. I’d never--I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want.”

“It just hurts,” Keith whimpers. Hating himself, hating that he sounds like this. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“I won’t,” Shiro says. Pleads. “Keith, I won’t.”

Not /it won’t/, but /I won’t/. It penetrates then, that Shiro sounds like he’s promising Keith something other than what Keith is stupidly begging for.

Shiro who, when Keith finally raises his head, is almost across the room.

Keith scrambles to the edge of the bed. “Don’t, please!” He knows that if Shiro leaves now, the onset will be immediate. He’s still leaking for now. He just doesn’t know how to keep doing it. “Please don’t leave me. Please--”

“I won’t,” Shiro says. But he stays where he is, hands behind his back. “I won’t leave you, I promise. Not until you want me to go. But Keith, I--I don’t want to cause you more distress. I don’t want...”

I’m sorry,” Keith says again desperately. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. It never was you. I just--I--fuck--” He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think. “I need to calm down. I-I need to calm down.”

That’s the most important thing right now. If he can just relax again, and not lock up, then maybe he has a chance of getting through the rest of the day without things getting any worse.

“What do you want me to do?” Shiro asks. Practically begs. “Keith, I--anything. What’ll help? What can I do?”

Keith tries to take a deep breath and doesn’t manage it, but at least he inhales. He tries again. The third time is almost good enough. “I don’t know,” he says. “I… it was good. It was good, before. Just… just being together. You, um, you touching me. I...”

“You still want me to touch you?” Shiro asks hesitantly. “Because Keith I… I won’t, if you don’t want me to. If you still want me here I can just--I can just be here and guard you and--if-if you want me to guard you.”

Guarding. Guarding might be fine. Shiro is a good alpha. Strong and careful and warm. He’d provide protection. He did before, even with his friend--with Hunk. Shiro would be a good guard.

Keith takes another gulp of air. He doesn’t know if having Shiro far away would help or hurt. He started to slick because of Shiro. He knows that’s why. It /has/ to be why. Which means that probably…

Probably the best thing to keep from drying up is to… is to have Shiro close.

The thought is terrifying. He’s not scared of Shiro. He’s not. But he’s terrified just the same of what his body might do. What his body might want. He’s terrified of the best way to deal with this without hurting. Or hurting as little as he can.

But Shiro is a good man. Keith’s not afraid of him. He refuses to be afraid of this good, kind man who has only been doing his best to deal with Keith’s plethora of problems and issues. He refuses to make /Shiro/ feel as though he deserves Keith’s fear.

“I’m okay,” he says shakily, trying to will himself to believe it. He’s going to get through this. It won’t hurt. Shiro… Shiro won’t let it hurt. He’ll help. He promised. And Shiro has proved a million times over that he keeps his promises. “I’m okay.”

“Keith…” Shiro sounds devastated.

Keith exhales and opens his eyes. He hates showing weakness, but he’s been laying himself bare before Shiro this whole time. What’s one more admission? “I’m… I’m just scared. And I’m freaking out. But I’m-I’m not scared of you. My body just--it fucking sucks.”

He forces himself to uncurl a little more. “You’ve been helping. You’ve been helping so much, and I, um, I trust you. To keep helping. And to… to listen to me.”

“Of course,” Shiro says fervently. “Keith, of course.”

Keith nods, unable to meet Shiro’s eyes. His voice is very small when he asks, “So can you come back?”

Hurried footsteps, and then Shiro is right in front of him. Looming--except Shiro immediately sinks into a crouch. “I’m right here,” he says. “Tell me what to do to make this easier on you.”

“Can you just…” Keith swallows. “Can you hold me again?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says softly. “Yeah, of course.”

It’s a muddied mixture of thoughts that flow through Shiro’s brain as he carefully climbs back into Keith’s nest. He’s pleased, so pleased and proud to be trusted again, like this.

He’s also never felt worse in his whole life, hearing Keith cry and beg for things not to hurt.

Shiro doesn’t blame Keith for thinking him capable of… of hurting him. He knows he could so easily. He knows so many others already have. There’s a reason Keith has gotten to this point; sick and scared and wanting to be left alone.

Shiro would never, ever do something on purpose, but he also could do something by accident. Hurt Keith with a word or a touch that goes to far. He doesn’t know if he could forgive himself, for that.

And yet Keith, who has built his walls for a reason, is still letting Shiro in. He’s sick and scared and wants Shiro /around/.

Wants Shiro to hold him.

Pride is… slightly winning out, over agony.

As before, Shiro positions himself on his side and lets Keith come to him. Keith hesitates, trembling a little, then inches forward until he’s pressed up all along Shiro’s front, curling into him. His head tucks up underneath Shiro’s chin.

Shiro circles an arm around him to rub his back. “Okay?”

Keith nods, cheek against Shiro’s collarbone, and Shiro can feel more than hear a stuttered breath. “Can I--”

“What is it, sweetheart?” The name slips out again before Shiro can hold it back. He presses forward. “Go on, what do you want?

Then, timidly, “Can I… can I scent you?”

Once again, Shiro aches with all the hurts Keith has lived through, and all that Keith is letting Shiro have.

“Go ahead,” he says, and, when Keith still seems uncertain, Shiro brings his hand up to cup the back of Keith’s head, guiding him to the join of Shiro’s neck and shoulder.

Keith takes a deep breath, then another, pressing his face into Shiro’s skin and starting to shake in Shiro’s arms. Shiro just keeps holding him, keeping up the pressure that he knows has helped before, trying to provide what comfort he can.

The tremors die down as the minutes pass, and eventually Keith’s scenting seems less desperate. He starts nuzzling instead, nose and lips skimming Shiro’s skin as Shiro tries to keep breathing evenly.

Tries not to pull Keith even closer.

“I’m sorry I’m such a bad omega,” Keith mumbles in the new quiet. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

“You’re not a bad omega,” Shiro says, carding his fingers through Keith’s hair and doing his best to keep anger from coloring his tone. “You’re not.”

Keith actually snorts. “I’m just lucky. That you’re putting up with all of this. Putting up with me. I /know/ I’m not... good.”

The anger surges up again, sharp and hot, from where it’s been simmering. Anger at the alphas from earlier. Anger at Keith’s other unpleasant clients. Anger at anyone who has ever said or done anything to make Keith feel like he was worth less than what he is.

“You’re more than just good,” Shiro doesn’t-quite-snap. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect, and I’m the one who’s lucky.”

“Shiro, it’s okay,” Keith says, sounding pained. “You don’t have to… try to make me feel better.”

“When was the last time you let someone hold you?” Shiro demands. “When was the last time you let someone into your nest?”

Keith gasps. “I--”

“You’re letting me hold you, Keith. You let me be here. You’re allowing me to do what little I’ve done to help and it’s a drop in the bucket of what you deserve, but as long as you let me, I’m here. As long as you want me to be. Because /I/ want to be. I want to be here, Keith.”

“Why?” Keith whispers.

“Because you’re worthy of care and kindness and trust, and because you deserve all that and more. Because you’re so, so good, Keith. You’re so good. Just the way you are.”

“Just the way I am?” Keith asks, voice watery. “Even with… even with…”

“Even with all of it,” Shiro says firmly. It’s a conversation he needs to have face to face--he needs Keith to /see/ how much he means it--so he pulls back just a little, shifts Keith in his arms so they can look one another in the eye.

Shiro cups Keith's face with his palm, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “Even with all of it, Keith. You’re perfect.”

Keith closes his eyes in a sweep of lashes, and brings up a hand to cover Shiro’s own, lacing their fingers together.

His eyes open again, pupils blown. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m allowed to have.”

“Anything,” Shiro promises. As if there were ever any doubt, anymore. “Everything.”

Keith licks his lips, a nervous tic, and Shiro can’t help but follow the motion. He doesn’t move, barely breathes, as Keith scootches forward, stopping just a hair’s breadth away.

He watches Keith swallow, looking back up into Shiro’s eyes. “This too?” he asks, sounding both so hopeful and so afraid.

“This too,” Shiro breathes reverently against Keith’s lips, before closing the scant distance.

***

Something in Keith sings as he throws his arms around Shiro’s neck and pulls him closer, pulls Shiro back on top of him and feels his big, strong body all along his own as the kiss goes on and on, turns into more and more.

Shiro is so, so good, the best alpha and person Keith has ever met, and he thinks /Keith/ is good.

He called Keith /perfect/.

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever had someone care about him like this. Or certainly not in a long, long time.

Keith makes a little forlorn noise when they part, panting, but he’s gratified to see that Shiro looks just as affected as Keith feels. He’s flushed, eyes blown, and when he looks down at Keith from the cage of his arms, his smile is…

so warm.

Keith trills at the sight of it, and the feeling of being surrounded by Shiro’s touch and scent. Shiro’s eyes light up at the sound, and he leans back down to press another kiss to Keith’s mouth. “I love it when you do that.” Another kiss. “That you’re comfortable enough to.”

More praise, always heartfelt, always /sincere/, and Keith thinks he might actually burst from happiness. He’s in heat and it’s okay. He’s in heat with another /person/ and it’s okay.

He’s not worried about not being listened to, or being pushed into something he doesn't want, or having his needs ignored.

He’s even producing slick... and he’s not terrified of the consequences.

Shiro did all that. And Shiro’s here. Wants to be here, with him. Wants to take care of Keith and seems to be enjoying it.

For once… pleasure is taking a backseat to fear.

Keith gazes up at Shiro and his smile might be shy because of what he’s saying, but it’s honest. “You make me comfortable. You make me feel safe.”

Shiro sucks in a breath. “Yeah?”

And maybe…

Maybe Keith isn’t the only one, who likes hearing things like that. “Yeah. Yeah, you… you’re good too. A good person and a…” he licks his lips. “And a good alpha.”

Shiro swallows audibly, and Keith delights in it. That Shiro is affected too, by this. By what’s happening. Yet he still doesn’t move to /take/. He lifts up to nuzzle at the hollow of Shiro’s throat, letting out another little trill. “Best alpha.”

Shiro shudders, scent going smoky. There were notes of smoke before, but now it blooms like a lit match. “I… I’m glad you think so. I want to be good for you. I want to make this as good as I can.”

“You are,” Keith tells him, meaning it with all of himself. “You’re making it so much easier. So much better. I’m glad that you’re here. I’m glad you’re with me.”

With every word he says, Shiro gets more focused, and being the object of such intensity is thrilling instead of terrifying. Keith’s in heat and an alpha wants him. A good alpha is sharing it with him. Shiro’s…

Keith swallows and pokes at it as the heat simmers under his skin, as slick continues to dribble out of him, making his underwear tacky. “My alpha?”

“Fuck,” Shiro whispers. He looks at Keith with such adoration that it makes Keith squirm. “Yes, yeah. Yeah, baby, yours. Your alpha.”

Hearing it from someone he wants so much to hear it /from/ is something else. Keith’s never felt this way before ever, and the heat in him boils over in a way it never has.

He clutches at the thin fabric of Shiro’s undershirt and arches up underneath him, crying out, the sudden influx of need taking him wholly by surprise.

There is motion, and then one of Shiro’s arms is pressing down and curling underneath Keith’s back, bringing them as flush together as they possibly can be, like this. “There you go,” Shiro says. His voice is hoarse but steady. “There you go, baby, good. Good.”

After hours and hours of build-up, the dam in Keith finally bursts and he writhes on the bedspread, legs falling open on instinct, making him gasp. “Shiro I want--but I don’t think I--”

“What do you want, baby?” Shiro kisses Keith’s neck, making Keith throw his head back to expose more of his throat. “What do you want to do? That’s what we’ll do. Nothing more, nothing less.”

God, it’s exactly what Keith needs to hear and he whimpers at the words said so sweetly. Whimpers again when Shiro continues to mouth at his neck, taking advantage of the open invitation. “Whatever you want,” Shiro murmurs against his skin. “Just tell me. Can you tell me, Keith?”

“I-I-” Need pushes past embarrassment, but he still stumbles over his words. “Not… not in me. I’m sorry, I can’t--I don’t think I--”

Shiro shushes him before Keith can cry in frustration at what his body wants but his brain won’t let him have. “That’s fine, sweetheart. That’s okay. Don’t apologize. What else will help you?”

“Maybe…” Keith takes a lungful of air. “Maybe if you…” he doesn’t know how to say it, just splays his legs wider and whines at the emptiness, the openness--

But Shiro, fuck, Shiro seems to understand. He slots a leg between each of Keith’s own, putting just enough of a pressure there for Keith to feel it, to give him something to move against.

Praise drips off Shiro’s tongue as Keith grinds against him, chasing this heavy, hot feeling like lighting under his skin. “That’s good, Keith. That’s perfect. You’re doing so good, so perfect for me… god, my perfect little omega.”

Keith sobs at his alpha’s words, at his scent enveloping them, mixing with Keith’s own. It’s become something redolent and heady, making Keith feel drunk on it. His hips work under their own volition as Shiro takes his mouth.

Tasting him again, desiring him and letting Keith do just what /he/ wants and /no more/.

“There you go,” Shiro pants when they part. Keith… Keith thinks he might be dripping onto Shiro’s nice pants but Shiro doesn't seem to care. He seems to /like/ it. “That’s so good. Just let go, sweetheart. That’s it. There you go, come on.”

Keith’s hand desperately seeks out Shiro’s own, and Shiro takes it, lacing their fingers together and pressing them down into the bedspread. /safe held wanted safe desired encompassed/

“Come on, love,” Shiro coaxes. “Come on, that’s it.”

/yours/

Keith whites out.

***

Keith comes to, to the feeling of being cradled, and blinks through cotton-candy darkness to open his eyes.

They’ve moved, Shiro sitting up with his back against the wall, with Keith nestled in his lap, held securely against Shiro’s chest. From what he can tell, when he tilts his head up, is that Shiro’s own eyes are closed.

They open though, once Shiro feels him shift. “Hey,” he says quietly, smiling softly down at him. “How are you feeling?”

Keith takes inventory. He’s tired and… sticky, but he doesn’t hurt, nor does he feel overcome with desperation, and the heat seems banked for now. “Pretty good,” he rasps. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Shiro replies, lips quirked in amusement now. “Better than that, maybe. Really happy? On top of the world?”

Keith ducks his head, blushing. It’s strange to hear Shiro so earnest still, without the heat of the moment.

“Hey, hey,” Shiro lifts his chin. “None of that. Don’t be embarrassed. You were perfect. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Yeah, well, um… you too. Thanks for… thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Shiro says, before pressing a cool kiss to Keith’s forehead. “Now you should definitely drink something, probably eat something. And maybe… do you want to wash up?”

Keith swallows and yeah, yeah, his throat is really dry. “Water would be good.” also wow, he’s really hungry too, all of a sudden. “And dinner?”

Another smile. “Good plan. And since Hunk brought us food, that’s taken care of. Plus, bonus, Hunk is a really good cook.”

“Can we… can we eat here?” Keith asks hopefully. He doesn't know if he’s up to leaving his nest yet.

“Sounds perfect,” Shiro says. “I’ll go get everything. Sit tight?”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

Keith is loath to move, but it’s either just Shiro leaves the nest, or they both do. He feels a little bereft once he climbs off of Shiro’s lap, and flushes at the next thought that comes unbidden to his mind about just… /being/ in Shiro’s lap.

Food seems like a better idea, over addressing that thought with himself.

Shiro comes back with water first, which Keith downs, handing back the glass for Shiro to refill. Shiro does so, before pulling out several bottles of water from the forgotten suitcase, which he leaves right next to Keith’s bed, within easy reach.

When Shiro comes back next, it’s with two plates piled with food that smells incredible. He hands one to Keith, who takes it gratefully.

He’s… possibly disappointed that they can’t eat together the way they were… before but he understands why it makes sense to eat like regular people. Besides, he’s actually hungry for the first time all day, so he eats quickly.

Probably he wouldn’t have even had the patience to be hand fed.

“This is really, really good,” he says, once he comes up for air. It’s an amazing stir-fried rice dish, with some sort of sweet potato mash on the side. It’s an unusual combination of flavors for him, but ultimately delicious.

Shiro grins. “Yeah, Hunk’s food is the best. I’ll pass along your compliments, if you want me to? It’ll probably make him really happy.”

Keith swallows his mouthful, shyness coming back. It’s… weird to think of how Shiro’s friend knows about him.

But in the end, Hunk was… nice. More than nice--Keith is pretty astonished, now, how much he /didn’t/ react to having a strange alpha show up at his door. But he guesses that that speaks to how much he trusted Shiro.

And how much Hunk didn’t set off any radars. “Yeah,” he ends up saying. “That-that’d be good.” If nothing else, Hunk certainly deserves to be given compliments.

Shiro’s grin grows softer. “He’ll be glad to know you’re doing okay, too. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, um. That’s fine. You can… you can tell him I’m okay.”

“I will.”

Under Shiro’s watchful eye, Keith finishes his whole plate along with a bottle of water. He doesn’t think he’s imagining how satisfied Shiro looks when Keith says that he’s done.

“Do you want anymore?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m full for now. Thanks, though.” And there, just there--a satisfied gleam in Shiro’s eye.

“Okay,” is all Shiro says. “Let me get your plate.”

Keith hands it over and shuffles around in his nest, feeling restless while Shiro takes the dishes to the kitchen. He’s full enough, but he doesn’t feel /done/ yet, and it’s an annoying niggle that’s just loud enough to be a bother.

He scowls, trying to bat it away inside his brain. He doesn’t want any negativity to come back yet. He wants to just enjoy what he’s got in peace.

Except the fact that Shiro keeps leaving, even though he keeps coming back, is… hard. As is the fact that they ate separately.

“What’s wrong?”

Startled, Keith jerks his head up at Shiro’s voice, not realizing that he’d come back. “Nothing.”

“Keith...”

Keith huffs and shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

Shiro slides back into the nest. He’s holding a little blue tupperware container. “Could you tell me anyway?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know, I just… I feel… empty.” He flushes. “Not-not like… just…” Another huff. “I don’t know.” Shiro is still so far away, even though they’re knee to knee, and he doesn’t like it. But he doesn’t want to be greedy.

Shiro goes to sit back against the wall again, setting the tupperware down next to him on the bed. “Why don’t we start with this then,” he says, and holds out his arms.

Keith chirps at the invitation, the noise coming to him as a complete surprise. Mortified, he covers his mouth. “Sorry.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I like it. I…” he swallows, then smiles ruefully. “I like it a lot.”

Still red, Keith crawls forward and settles into Shiro’s lap. Immediately the buzzing starts to fade, and when Shiro winds a strong arm around his waist and anchors him there, he-he chirps again. “Fuck, I--”

Shiro kisses his temple. “I love it. I fucking love hearing you sound so happy. It shows you’re relaxed with me, and I…” he takes a deep breath. “It makes me happy too.”

“Oh,” Keith says quietly.

Giving into the desire, he cuddles up close.

And he can feel Shiro relax, as he does so.

Another kiss, and then Shiro takes the lid off the tupperware with his free hand, showing the contents to Keith. It’s a mixed fruit salad: strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and grapes.

Keith blinks up at Shiro, uncertain. “You… you want to feed me /again?/”

Shiro picks a grape out of the container, green--Keith’s preferred--and offers it. “If you’re not too full, yet. I’d like to.”

/I’d like to/. Shiro wants to. His alpha still wants to take care of him… and is enjoying doing so.

The trill he lets out at that is way more embarrassing than the chirps, but he tries not to mind, because Shiro’s expression becomes downright doting. Instead he just opens his mouth and lets Shiro feed him the grape.

At once warmth flows through him, liquid contentment, and he melts against Shiro’s body, purring starting up again as Shiro presses berry after berry to his lips.

When the container is empty and Keith’s mouth and Shiro’s fingers are both red-stained, Shiro bends down to kiss the sweetness off Keith’s tongue.

***

Keith gets a little lost in the kissing, head going blissfully blank, fuzzy around the edges in a way that’s pleasant instead of disconcerting. Shiro smells amazing and holds Keith just right, and Keith’s pretty sure he’s the luckiest person in the world, right now.

Shiro chose /him/.

And not just today. Shiro chose to talk to him first, to try to befriend him, to ask him to breakfast. Shiro was the one who chose to be friendly but unthreatening, to pay attention to Keith’s tells, and to keep his distance when Keith needed it.

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever felt so known before, and he also doesn’t /mind/ it.

Eventually though, he can’t ignore a discomfort that keeps trying to make itself known and the hand he has fisted in Shiro’s shirt flattens to gently push Shiro away.

Shiro moves back immediately, and Keith finds himself again overcome with relieved satisfaction. If he says stop, Shiro will.

“What’s up?” Shiro asks, smiling down at him. Keith’s glad he doesn’t seem concerned. Maybe it’s because it’s clear Keith isn’t panicking. He likes it. Likes that Shiro wants to ask after him even when Keith isn’t overly upset.

Keith sighs. It’s not something he wants to admit but, “I, uh… I need to clean up, I think.” He’s still dripping, and he’s pretty sure his slick production only increased while he and Shiro were kissing. It’s not something he’s ever had to deal with before.

He shifts uncomfortably, which makes Shiro glance down at him, and Keith’s face flames as he sees his pajama bottoms, now darker with dampness at the crotch and thighs. Fuck, no wonder he’s feeling sticky and gross.

“Yeah,” Shiro says understandingly. “Of course.” He gives Keith another smile, this one a touch rueful. “Would you like to clean up by yourself?”

Keith stares at him. That sounds like Shiro wants to /help/.

Shiro must interpret his expression somehow, because he holds up his hands. “I’d love to wash you,” he says, confirming Keith’s thoughts. “But I also know that that’s… a big step.”

Keith nods wordlessly. It is. It would be. He doesn’t… know if he’d be able to handle being naked around Shiro right now, even if he wants it.

God, the idea of being bathed sounds so /good/ though. He doesn’t--he doesn’t want to miss out. “I…”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’d love to,” he says again. “But your comfort matters first, okay? Maybe… maybe another time. Later.”

“Right,” Keith says, throat dry at the prospect of a future possibility. “Later.”

He makes a split-second decision to lean in and initiate his own kiss, just a brush of lips over Shiro’s cheek.

Maybe when it’s later he’ll be more self-assured in making the first move when it comes to affection, but by the way Shiro beams at him as Keith clambers out of his bed, Keith deems his first attempt a success.

He grabs a pair of briefs and shorts to change into, once he’s done with his shower. Shorts are comfortable, he’s warmer with Shiro around anyway, and… he’s hoping that two layers will… help. He doesn’t even own any slick pads, having never needed them before.

Possibly he should maybe... maybe look into that. Maybe. If he’s thinking about the future.

As he closes his bathroom door behind him and shucks his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the mess, the thought won’t let go. Later. After. The Future. Even “tomorrow.”

Or “tonight.”

What happens?

He soaps himself down and rinses off quickly, trying to keep from getting his hair wet since he doesn’t want to deal with it drying again, the thought circling around and around in his head.

It hasn’t stopped by the time he exits the shower, no steam built up because he was barely under the spray for five minutes.

Shiro looks up from his phone and smiles. “Welcome back.”

“You changed clothes,” Keith says dumbly. Shiro’s not wearing his undershirt or his suit pants anymore. Instead he’s in a white tank top and a pair of loose flannel bottoms.

“Hope that was okay,” Shiro says, laughing just a little. “I thought it might be nice to get out of the rest of my dress clothes. Do you mind?

As if Keith even should have a say on what clothes Shiro wears. Plus he is not complaining about Shiro’s biceps on full display. He shakes his head. “Of course not. Probably it’s more comfortable than a suit anyway.” He shuffles his feet. “Sorry, I should have thought of that.”

“You had other things on your mind,” Shiro says kindly.

“A little, yeah.”

Another chuckle. “That’s how it works. It’s okay.” He holds up his phone. “I called into work for tomorrow, but I told them I might need a couple of days, just in case.”

Keith’s eyes widen. He hadn’t even thought about work. Shit. “Oh, y-yeah. That’s… that’s a good idea.” That’s something he definitely needs to do.

He hunts down his phone and stares at it. He’s pretty sure he needs to at least call off for tomorrow. But he has no idea what’s going to happen between then and Monday, when he has his doctor’s appointment. He’s got Sunday off, so that’s something, but…

“I don’t know how long I…”

“If you can,” Shiro suggests gently, “it might be better to be safe than sorry. You’ve said you haven’t had a heat in years, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Then if you can… maybe give yourself some time. If not just for the heat itself, but time to recover from it. Heat and rut can take a lot out of a person.”

Keith nods shakily, gripping his phone. “Right, yeah. That makes sense.”

It’s nerve wracking to make the phone call, but he cites “sick” and backs it up with the fact that he has an official doctor’s appointment on Monday. No one asks him any questions or anything, which is good because Keith has no idea how he’d have handled that.

When he hangs up, he turns, and Shiro is right there, holding out his arms. Keith wastes no time burying his face in Shiro’s chest and relishing Shiro’s arms coming up to encircle him.

“There you go,” Shiro says quietly, nuzzling into his hair. “You did it. Good job.”

Keith takes a deep inhale of air and Shiro’s scent and calms again, thinking once more about how lucky he got, with Shiro.

He hopes that he’ll be able to do this sort of stuff for Shiro, too. In whatever way he can. He’s been doing a lot of taking, and though Shiro seems happy to give it, Keith is looking forward to when his heat is over and they’re on more even ground.

Shiro has taken such good care of him. And he brought up later.

Keith hopes that extends to after his heat, not just after tonight.

He really wants it to.

“You, um, you said you would call in for more time off?” Keith asks, once they’re back in his nest and wrapped up in each other.

“I did,” Shiro says easily. “I’m happy to do that now, if you want.”

Keith steeles himself. “And… after?”

“After?” Shiro asks. A pause. “You mean after your heat is over?”

Keith nods.

Shiro’s arms tighten minutely before they loosen again. “I hope you’d like to see me again.” His voice is quiet.

And that’s…

What--?

“Of course I do,” Keith says in a rush, probably a bit too loudly. “Shiro, I--of course. I mean. If you want to. I-I’d like to. Keep seeing you.”

Shiro exhales and, Keith realizes, looks /relieved/. Like he’s been worrying about it. “I…I wasn’t sure if you’d want me, after you no longer needed me.”

Keith rears back. “That’s--Shiro that’s stupid!”

Shiro huffs a laugh, sounding a little too sad for Keith’s tastes. “It wouldn’t have been, if it were true.”

Keith scowls at him.

Shiro’s expression stays sad as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind Keith’s ear.

“This was an incredibly rough day for you. Heats are hard. Surprise heats are even harder. And things haven’t been easy for you ever, from what I’ve been able to gather. I would understand if you want to put all this behind you, and me with it.”

“You make it easier,” Keith says, grabbing Shiro’s hand with both of his. “You’re right. Things, um, things have sucked. But not the parts with you. You make it /easier/.”

Shiro swallows. “I’m… I’m really happy to hear that.”

Keith brings Shiro’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, proud of the way the gesture makes Shiro gasp. He rubs his cheek against Shiro’s hand and trills. “You make me happy. You’ve been making me happy.”

“Keith, I--”

“Not just today,” Keith says, all his thoughts finally bubbling to the surface. “But for months. Just talking with you and being with you and... Since we met.”

Shiro’s eyes are wide and awed. “Yeah?”

Keith nods. Quietly adding, “Since you waved at me. I-I knew then. That if I could let myself get to know you, you’d… be someone good. In my life.”

Another gasp, this one decidedly shaky. “Oh, Keith.”

“So…” Keith swallows. “After? After today and tomorrow, and after my heat is over. I-I know what I want. What do you want?”

“I want to be with you,” Shiro rasps at once. “I want to see you again and keep seeing you. I want more afters.”

“Me too,” Keith says smiling up at him. “Okay?”

Shiro’s answering smile is shy and watery, but it could rival the sun. “Okay.

End.

And we’re going to call it there, folks!

Thank you so much for reading & coming with me on this serial fiction adventure. It was great to see you all enjoy my story🙏😭

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