#but I simply have an unhappy and prickly brain

[sylvermyth]

cold snap

I already posted this as a link but I figured I’d make a post, too, in case people prefer not to click out of tumblr when they read.  For @caseyvalhalla‘s prompt: ‘Sheith, I accidentally covered you in snow while shoveling/plowing snow oh my god  I insist you come inside so I can help you dry off.’

cold snap

Keith stared blearily down into the coffee canister, brain trying to make sense of the contents. Or, more specifically, lack thereof, and maybe his brain had taken longer than necessary to process this information, but once it had, it was quick enough to react with a grumbled curse as he slammed the container back on the counter.

He needed coffee. It was vital. He couldn’t function without it (okay, maybe he could, but. He’d rather not.), and yet somehow he’d managed to forget to restock.

He considered buying a cup somewhere on the way to work, but quickly dismissed the idea—chances were that he might forget again, and in any case, the whole point of coffee was to make him at least somewhat more coherent by the time he got to work—it was a process. A routine. Coffee, quick workout, shower, etc.

So with that in mind, he ambled back to his room for a pair of socks, tugged those and his boots on, and snatched up his keys. He was awake enough to drive to the market. Probably. It wasn’t that far; far enough that he didn’t want to walk, especially not with the cold snap that was blowing through town, and that thought made him wrap a scarf around his neck before he zipped his jacket.

It wasn’t until he stepped outside, white filling his vision, that he remembered that the cold snap had come with a chance of snow. More than a chance.

Keith really was useless this early.

“For the coffee,” he reminded himself as he retrieved the brush for the car. At least it would be done for when he went to work, he reasoned, clearing the windows of snow. The driveway was another matter—the snow was already several inches deep, with more coming down, so there was a chance all of his work would be undone before long, anyway.

It was fine. It was fine, he was going to get coffee soon and it would all be that much more bearable.

Even so, Keith found himself shoveling with perhaps a bit more intensity than was required for the job. Because really. He could handle the cold and he didn’t mind the snow but for fuck’s sake, he needed coffee. Why were the Fates so cruel?

Okay, that was rather dramatic. Still.

He was nearly done, that much closer to a cup of daily will to live, when he heard it: the telltale sound of the plow. A glance down the street, and there it was, ominous, pushing snow off the road and to the curb in banks of dirty gray, slush and snow, and Keith just. Stopped and glared at it as it drew inevitably closer to his driveway, the muffled grate of tires and metal on snow a sound that Keith hated more than anything in that moment.

“Of course. Of fucking course.” He watched with an angry helplessness as the plow crossed the end of his driveway, blocking it with a long mound of snow as high as his knees.

He considered it an act of maturity that he didn’t chuck a rock at the retreating plow truck, but really, it was more because his hands were cold enough without deliberately holding snow in them (fingerless gloves only did so much against the cold).

At least he wouldn’t need to work out this morning. Not with all of this. The snow from the plow was heavy and wet, a mixture of snow and slush and salt, and despite the cold Keith could feel sweat damp against his back. He paused to rub a hand over his nose, sniffling, and then got back to work with renewed vigor, because he was really almost done, with no plow coming down the street. Still. Keith glanced down the road again, just in case.

So he was startled by the yelp behind him, immediately following the shovel-full of snow he’d tossed back.

Keith had definitely been…enthusiastic in his shoveling. He blamed the lack of coffee and the promise of filling that lack, coupled with the really just awful morning he’d had so far.

In any case, when Keith whirled around to find the source of the yelp, he found himself flinching back from his own handiwork, the wet mixture of slushy snow dripping off of—of—

Holy shit the man was gorgeous. Tall and built—the second part was a guess, considering the guy’s hoodie was over-sized and shapeless, but with a face like that, even with the scar across his nose (or maybe because of it), he had to be. That jaw, and those eyes, and—he was practically drenched with the wet snow Keith had tossed behind him without a thought, and Keith had to concentrate to keep from choking on his tongue.

The man was drenched outside in freezing temperatures and it was entirely Keith’s fault, and that was a sobering thought. It was enough to shake him out of his daze of simply gaping at the unfortunate man.

It came out in a rush, because Keith was terrible at this kind of thing. “Shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you are you okay? Fuck, come inside, you can use my dryer—I’m so sorry.”

The drawn look on the man’s face smoothed into a small smile. “It’s fine, really, accidents happen.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna freeze,” Keith gestured at the damp mess of the man’s sweatshirt, and he had to take his hand off the shovel to do it—he was still holding the shovel!? He dropped it as if it had burned him. “Look, just—” Keith crossed his arms. It was too fucking early for this, he couldn’t think properly. He just knew that he couldn’t let the guy freeze. It was a bonus that it would give him a chance to look at him a little longer, maybe even get his phone number. His frustration needled at him, gave an edge to his words. “I feel like a dick, alright? At least come in and let me see if I can find something to fit you.” He gave tall-dark-and-built an assessing gaze. He doubted he had anything that would fit him, but. But.

The man was returning his look with a dubious one of his own, but he chuckled. “Well, if you insist. Thanks.”

Keith uncrossed his arms. “Right.” He paused, uncertain if he should say more, but in the end he simply waved for the man to follow him.

“You know, usually I know a person’s name before I go into their house. I’m Shiro, by the way.” Shiro stood a respectful distance from him as Keith unlocked his door, his voice mild and a little teasing, and Keith would’ve flushed in embarrassment if his cheeks hadn’t already been pink from the cold.

“It’s Keith.” Probably he should be saying more, Keith thought, but he’d never been a fan of small talk. He stepped in, holding the door open for Shiro. “Come in. I’m gonna grab a towel.”

He hadn’t really thought this through, Keith realized. He had a stranger in his home, still hadn’t gotten any coffee, and at this rate he was probably going to be late to work.

No. Fuck it, today he was going to call out. He hadn’t even gotten past his driveway and he was just done for the day.

At least Shiro was easy on the eyes. Keith wasn’t exactly unhappy to have him in his home. He saw Shiro glancing around curiously as Keith made his way back with the fluffiest towel he owned, and it made him consider his place from an outsider’s perspective. It was, admittedly, a little cluttered and messy, but to his credit there wasn’t trash or dirty clothes scattered everywhere.

Keith awkwardly thrust the towel towards Shiro. “Here. I’ll go look—” His words died in his throat as Shiro shucked his sweatshirt and the layer underneath it, confirming Keith’s suspicion that he was, indeed, built. He barely caught a glimpse of the faint scars littering Shiro’s skin before the towel was draped over his shoulders, covering most of it. Keith tried not to stare at the metal prosthetic attached to the remains of Shiro’s arm. He cleared his throat. “Uhm.”

Shiro clutched his shirts in his hands and shifted on his feet. “Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I just didn’t want to get your towel too dirty and,” he lifted his bundle of shirts a fraction, “I was getting pretty cold, after all.”

Keith swallowed, and forced himself to focus on Shiro’s face. It was a nice face, so it wasn’t terribly difficult. “It’s fine.” (It was definitely fine.) He gestured towards the living room. “If you’re cold, you can use the blanket on the couch while I go see if I have something that might fit. I’d offer you coffee, but I’m out.” Keith felt his mouth turn down, the thought of coffee—of not having coffee—still making him feel sluggish and rough around the edges.

“Thanks.” Shiro’s voice was soft, and Keith pointedly did not watch him go sit on the couch and wrap himself up in Keith’s favorite blanket.

That would be ridiculous. It was never going to happen. He didn’t even know if Shiro would be interested. He rifled through his spare clothes with the same kind of energy that had driven him while he’d been shoveling, but it was fruitless, and he wasn’t sure if that made him happy or more annoyed.

He grabbed his largest t-shirt, just in case. “Sorry, I only found this,” he called as he turned back to the living room.

And Keith was definitely calling out of work today because this day was taking years off of his life. Because not only was Shiro wrapped up in Keith’s blanket like he belonged there. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.

He also had to go and pet Keith’s cat.

Red, who was as prickly and grumpy and unsociable as Keith himself, was pressing against Shiro’s legs as Shiro scratched him under the chin. That just wasn’t fair. Keith tried to focus on breathing evenly as he handed the shirt over to Shiro.

In the interim of Shiro holding the shirt up to his—still bare—chest, Red hopped onto the couch with him and curled up at his side. Keith narrowed his eyes at his cat. Traitor. “I don’t know. I can try it on but I don’t want to rip your shirt if it doesn’t fit.”

Keith shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “It’s just a shirt. Offer still stands if you want to use the dryer.” Please say yes.

Shiro’s face scrunched up and he looked at his pile of damp clothes, then back up to Keith. “I mean…I wouldn’t want to impose on you like that.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was an imposition.” It came out sharper than he intended, but then, everything did. Keith hesitated. Maybe Shiro was the one being imposed upon. He pursed his lips and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I—I can get you an Uber.”

Shiro didn’t respond for a long moment, long enough for Keith to glance back up and find dark eyes studying him. “That’s not necessary.” He tugged Keith’s blanket a little more securely over his shoulders. “Now that I’m inside and all warm, I have to admit I’m a bit reluctant to go back out in the cold. So I guess I’ll take you up on that dryer.”

“Right. Good.” Keith gathered up Shiro’s clothes and bustled to the dryer. He was still in his coat, he realized, turning the knob to start the cycle. He’d been so focused on Shiro and his lack of coffee and he was still in his coat and his snow- and sweat-damp clothes, and his hair—when he ducked into the bathroom, it was a ridiculous mess.

Maybe he really was sick. (Or just tired. That was also a possibility.)

He left the damp clothes in his laundry pile for later and put on fresh sweats and a t-shirt before he rejoined Shiro, who was—still—absently petting Red as he looked around the room.

“Uhm.” Now Keith had Shiro here for the length of a dryer cycle, and with that bare chest, he wondered if it was even such a good idea, because he wasn’t entirely sure he could resist the impulse to map Shiro’s skin with his hands and mouth—and no, that was entirely inappropriate for someone he’d just met. “Do you like video games? Since it’ll be a while.”

Shiro smiled, broad and dazzling and beautiful and it made Keith’s breath catch, just a little, and he tried not to stutter as he listed off his game collection for Shiro to choose something to play. And Keith insisted it was fine if he chose a single-player game, because he didn’t mind watching.

Keith had to remind himself it wasn’t a date, just…whatever it was. Not really an obligation, because he didn’t feel obliged. An apology, maybe? Even so, he found it easy to relax at Shiro’s side as Shiro directed his character on the screen.

The harsh buzz of the dryer’s cycle ending startled Keith awake, and he hadn���t even remembered falling asleep. It was the lack of coffee, of course

And maybe a little bit the heat radiating from Shiro, who had paused the game and was looking at Keith with a soft expression.

Keith flushed and shot upright, his fingers tingling. “Sorry, I. I told you I was out of coffee, right? I didn’t mean—”

Shiro cut him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.” He smiled, tilting his head to indicate Red, curled up against his other side. “I guess it’s true, pets take after their owners.”

Keith ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess. He’s not usually so open to strangers, though.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “Really? I guess I should be flattered, then.” His eyes were dark, and Keith found it hard to look away. “He’s cute, though.”

Keith wasn’t entirely sure that Shiro was talking about Red.

He tried to cover his embarrassment by standing. “I’ll go grab your clothes.”

“Thanks.” It was a shame to cover all that up and send it away, Keith thought, stealing glances as Shiro pulled his shirts back on. Shiro’s hair was disheveled when his head poked through the neck of his sweatshirt. “You said you ran out of coffee?”

Keith crossed his arms. “Yeah.” He’d said as much earlier, and now he was wishing more than ever that he’d had a chance to go get more. Maybe he could keep Shiro here a little longer if he stayed for coffee.

But no. He was out.

“Then…if you’re free, if you want—I could buy you coffee. Sometime. It doesn’t have to be today.” Shiro’s eyebrows were furrowed, his lip between his teeth.

Keith blinked. No, it was too good. Shiro didn’t mean it like that. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Shiro’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I meant as a date.”

“Oh.” Shiro did mean it like that.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day, after all.

“Yes,” Keith said. “Today. I’m free today.”

It wasn’t until later, when Keith plugged in his phone to charge, that he realized he’d never actually gotten around to calling out of work. Kollivan was going to be pissed, but he’d survive. It was worth it.