Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Shiro was in his twenties, he learned that his father wasn’t as human as he’d thought he was. His mother had been as human as could be, of course. Noble, sure, a member of the old Ashikaga clan which ruled over the lands of Japan from a palace of flowers. However, she was still human, so far as Shiro could recall.

But Shiro was different. On the day he’d been born there’d been, not a baby, but a blooming bud of tsubaki his mother had abruptly coughed up. She hadn’t even known she was carrying a baby, much less a baby that was the product of an immortal and human coupling. Needless to say, when the bud bloomed, there he was in the center-a tiny little winged thing, sucking on the pollen. And his mother was nearly beheaded by her husband for dishonoring him through her adultery. Luckily, his father turned the sword into a swarm of bees that attacked Shiro’s stepfather, and he and his mother were whisked off in the next instant to the mountain of the immortals, where his people, the Nacre, lived alongside the higher gods and deities that presided there.

A mortal’s year later-once Shiro had been given the proper birth rites by the Jade Emperor’s mother-he and his mother were smuggled to a northern mountain town, coming in with the wind and the revelers of the Night Parade. Once safe and settled, he grew up, living anonymously among the human peasantry, happy and content. It wasn’t until people started noticing that his mother aged, while he seemed to stay the same age once he hit twenty-five, that the priests began to ask questions about his father. Then, his hair rapidly went silver, a shade akin to the moon, and he was nearly run out of the village by the superstitious mayor, who accused him of being a demon. It was only after this that he finally thought to ask his mother where-or what-his other parent actually was.

That was over six hundred years ago, now. His mother was long dead, barred from taking in the peaches of eternity which gave his people their long lives, and he’d been cast out not long after by the Copperjays-racists among his father’s kind, of course, who hated half-breeds. Even after they were kicked out of heaven for the evil in their hearts, and he was welcomed back, Shiro didn’t permanently return to the world that had deemed him too human to be worth anything. Indeed, he stayed only to care for his father, who had been so heartbroken after his mother’s death that he had made himself sick. Very sick.

Lost his bigness, they called it. It had taken a very long time for Shiro to nurse him back to health. It was only through Shiro helping to arrange a casual meeting with a fellow immortal lord that his father finally started blooming again. And when that happened, when his father was once more whole, Shiro knew what was to happen next. So he left the happy couple that resulted to create new flowers together, even as they hoped he would visit them and their new buds often. Perhaps his father had imagined that Shiro, his remaining link to his mother, might stay on the mountain, now that the Copperjays had been chased away.

Instead, Shiro decided to descend back down into the mortal world once more and wandered the planet. He would change his name as needed, hide his more obvious fantastical features with magic and conceal his true nature, lest he be captured and tortured. Given he was half-human, it didn’t take much to pretend he was merely a man who dabbled in the witching arts wherever he went. It also didn’t take much for humans to become suspicious of him as well due to his expertise, to think he might be something they called fae, fairy, sprite, pixie, yosei, changeling, brownie-the list of names for his kind were endless. Also endless had been the suspicion that followed him, because for humans, even a drop of so-called fae blood was too much fae to their liking.

In other words-he was alone in the universe, left to fend for himself, and there was no reason to think he wouldn’t remain alone. Even as the mortal world became more advanced, more savvy, more tolerant of the mystical and the supernatural, old prejudices died hard. Supernatural creatures were still harassed on occasion, after all, and immortal-types and fairy-types of creatures were especially seen as untrustworthy, if not as outright enemies. It was better, then, to pretend that he was a normal human with a magical proclivity, than to reveal the truth to anyone. Outside of occasional phone calls to his father, he kept his own counsel when it came to his affairs to prevent others from learning the truth about him and taking advantage.

Finally, though, he came to run his little magic shop in the city of Garrison, giving out magical advice to any who came by, and otherwise keeping a low profile. He’d been careful to present himself as little more than a talented human witch, and he didn’t intend to stop the pretense any time soon. It seemed to be working in his current situation, and no one seemed the wiser to his true heritage.

Then he met Keith, and that was when Shiro, like his father, started to feel the tickle in the back of his throat.

The shop was closed again.

Keith looked up at the sign as snow buffeted his face from the side, frowning. Something wasn’t right. Shiro was a very hard worker, sometimes doing so to the bone when it came to running his shop. For the past year and a half, in fact, it seemed all that Shiro did was work on making I Herb You Needed A Shop successful; given his extensive knowledge of magical know-how and his ability to procure supplies, the human had certainly accomplished that task. He even worked through sickness. That in particular irritated Keith greatly, especially since Shiro was only human-and the hours Keith saw him put in on occasion would even make a vampire prince second-guess their own stamina.

Even when he’d recently become sick with that cough that had started plaguing him some time ago, Shiro never, ever missed a day of work during the time Keith knew him, no matter what. Yet this was the second day in a row that the shop door was locked, the lights were off, and the CLOSED sign was left untouched in the storefront window, during the shop’s normal business hours. Already, Keith had passed by an unhappy chupacabra after grabbing his coffee, who told him the best shop in Garrison for goat gobstopper candy was shuttered, and how was he going to get any this early in the morning for his kids now? He had promised them he’d get some after work!

So, that settled what Keith was going to do for the day. He was going to go in, see what was wrong with Shiro, and if need be, finally drag the stubborn idiot to a doctor that would tell him to stop working himself to death before he developed pneumonia, or…the plague, or whatever other sicknesses humans got when they were exhausted. Luckily, unlike the customers, Keith had a key to the building; such were the perks of being a freelance handyman and part-time worker for the shop. He deftly took out the brass key Shiro gave him from his pocket, and with a satisfying click, got the door open.

And almost immediately had a heart attack at the sight that was before him as the door swung open. Almost, only because his heart didn’t need to beat. But he wanted to.

“What the-?!”

Beyond the storefront, the shop was completely destroyed. The cabinets and shelving Keith had so lovingly and carefully crafted just for Shiro were splintered into toothpicks, their contents spilled onto the floor. The counters were cracked, covered with a strange, viscous fluid the color of rainbows. The fluid was also splattered onto the walls and even the ceiling, where it dripped, little by little. The tablet that Shiro used as his grimoire was snapped and cracked, its screen flickering uselessly as it crunched beneath Keith’s feet. Even the installed soda fountain was dented, the spigot bent sideways at such a sharp angle that it was rendered useless.

“Shiro!?”

More blood was splattered onto the floors and walls as Keith ran further in. Blood, and bright purple and pink flower petals were also strewn about. However, Keith realized with increasing horror that the petals didn’t belong to any of the plants Shiro had kept in the shop. In fact, all of Shiro’s carefully cultivated flora-the flowers and herbs and shrubs that were the shop’s original bread and butter, and Shiro’s pride and joy-were all dead. Every last piece of greenery had become black and shriveled up, and the dhampir could smell the rot of the stems wafting in the air. Even the dirt in the planters had been transformed into little more than useless clumps of ash.

There was no doubt. Something bad had happened. Something supernaturally bad.

“SHIRO!!”

Keith’s mind ran through every possible candidate who would dare hurt a human this brazenly as he ran up the blood-stained stairs, sliding against even more rainbow liquid and flying past cracked mirrors and picture frames. The walls were seared with burn marks, accompanying what seemed like endless petals that covered the floor as Keith jumped into each room of Shiro’s loft. The bathroom was covered in blood and rainbow, and the mirror was in a hundred tiny pieces. The kitchen, meanwhile, was seemingly untouched, as was the den. The small jewel hoard, courtesy of one of Shiro’s dragon regulars, lay undisturbed in the little urn next to the television.

Not a robbery. Possibly an abduction, an ambush, and Shiro was not one to normally charm his place against intruders. Engendered suspicion, he had explained, and anyways, Shiro had claimed he had nothing worth stealing. Yet that was no comfort to Keith as his adrenaline began to pump wildly through his undead veins. Shiro had been drinking a bit much, admittedly, and had started…babbling. It was babbling, it had to be, with what Shiro had been saying.

Keith had left the scene soon after that, rather confused and worried about what had just happened, but–that had just been because he’d been worried that he’d let Shiro walk home drunk. He’d figured it was just Shiro being a silly human, getting drunk and saying things he’d regret–if he remembered anything–when he woke up with a hangover.

There was also the fact that Keith was pretty positive that Shiro wasn’t so drunk that he would just go out and mess with other creatures without thinking. Even though Shiro was a human, even though he’d been drinking, he knew the rules of treating with other species well enough. Surely he wouldn’t have lost his senses completely and offended someone who’d curse him or worse, right?

On the other hand, less had caused entire civilizations to go to war with one another. Keith remembered the War of the Scuffed Shoe Heel, the Mint Tea Wars, and the Battle of the Three-Legged Dairy Cow In Madam Winchester’s Farmhouse. Quiznak, the entire Pacific had almost exploded because two groups of krakens were fighting over whether the word aquamarine or teal was the proper word to describe the color of mid-depth ocean water. Whoever was behind this would surely kill Shiro if he wasn’t already dead.

Finally, with a terrified shout, the dhampir threw Shiro’s bedroom door open, knocking it off of its hinges with a mighty crash. His chest heaved up and down as he looked around with ever-more wild eyes.

There was no sign of Shiro anywhere. His bed and sheets were completely covered in dried blood and liquid rainbows and so many petals one could make a shirt out of it. Keith had never seen anything like it. He tossed the bedsheets aside, only finding Shiro’s prosthetic arm, its hand covered in red with dried petals and stems. Beneath that was bloodied clothing, all in a clump.

It was the clothing Shiro had worn the night before last, when they’d last gone out drinking. He knew he should have gone after and checked on Shiro after he went off by himself in the state he was in, why didn’t he escort Shiro to his place-

But if so, then who the quiznak-

Movement caught the corner of Keith’s eye. It had come from underneath Shiro’s clothing, and he could just hear the soft buzzing with his ears. He suppressed the hiss that begged to come out of his mouth, and he immediately stilled. Whatever had done this was something very small, something that didn’t want to be seen by him.

A pixie, then? A brownie? Maybe. They could come that small. Well, whatever it was, it was going to be in a world of hurt if Keith had anything to say about it. So he decided to play it dumb, just for the moment, and turned to start rifling through Shiro’s dresser drawers and throwing down several pairs of boxers onto the floor. He pretended he didn’t hear the soft movement of fluttering clothes, or the tinny flapping of bug wings moving up towards the ceiling. He pretended his eyes weren’t looking into the mirror, fixing themselves onto the gentle silver light that emitted sparkles in its wake that started to float behind his head. It was creeping, as slowly and as quietly as it could, towards the open door, not realizing that Keith already had the measure of it.

Fae.

He didn’t know what kind it was, or what court it might have been, but right at that moment, he didn’t care about offending anyone. His hand went to his pocket, and it was right in that instant that the ball of light froze in mid-air. Keith knew it could also see in the mirror, and immediately whirled around, blade in hand.

A terrified, high-pitched squeak came from the light, and it immediately zipped towards the doorway. However, Keith was bigger, and his blade could transform into a deadly weapon. In a flash of light a massive sword of luxite-an ancient, alien metal of the old vampiric realm of Daibazaal, one tempered with a vein of steel as insurance against fairies-stabbed into the doorframe where the fairy had attempted to exit, forcing it back towards the bed. Before it had time to move elsewhere or escape, Keith’s hand had closed around it, fast as lightning.

“GOT YOU!!”

He could feel the creature in his hand vibrate violently, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. However, Keith wouldn’t allow it, and he allowed his nails to start elongating. It worked as quite the deterrent to have such sharp, retractable claws, especially when they threatened to slice the piddling prowler in half. He then clapped his other hand around his fist, waiting until the struggling had stopped, the fairy having clearly exhausted itself.

Once that was done, Keith slowly made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a small jar from one of the cabinets as he spotted the large crack in the counter. No doubt the little monster he held was responsible for that, too. In any case, Keith would get to the bottom of it.

Shiro had some mason cups with a screw on lid for putting straws in; the straws themselves were too narrow for his new prisoner to get out, but would allow for air flow, just in case the little scoundrel tried to claim it might suffocate. The little sneak was definitely going to need the air, if Keith had anything to say about it. That was because, the dhampir growled as he slammed the jar down onto the cracked counter, he was going to make it talk.

“And don’t think for a minute I won’t get salt to pour in there, you quiznacking jackcracker!” He plopped the fairy into the jar so hard it bounced off the bottom, slamming the straw lid down behind it before it even had a chance to start beating its tiny wings. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know!”

He screwed the lid on good and tight, leaning in to give the fairy his best glare as he picked the jar back up. He didn’t even bother holding back his transformation, letting all of his nails go sharp, his ears point out, and his skin go violet. He accompanied the transformation with a fanged snarl, letting the cherub know who in this little transaction had the power. After all, power was something that most fae, no matter how strange their ways, could easily understand. Especially when the dynamic was decidedly tipped against them.

“Now…where is he?!” The aura of light around the fairy started to dim, and Keith started to shake the jar threateningly. “Come on, now! I know you’re behind this, so tell me before I really get mad! What happened to this place, and where is-”

The light flickered away fully, and Keith saw the creature fully for the first time. It was a fairy, as he’d suspected, though it didn’t look like what he’d expected. For one thing, it was tiny. Practically a grub, and just a shade under an inch tall, with its translucent white wings being only half as long and twice as wide. It had silvery rings of hair around its legs and arm-of which it only had one; the other was made of little more than swirling purple mist. Otherwise, its entire body was naked and chubby, which allowed Keith to see the dark, vine-like patterns beneath its skin, interrupted only by scars.

It curled up into a fetal position, and finally lifted its head, revealing a collar of fur, a mess of silver hair, and a brightly flushed, sparkly tear-streaked face that screamed terror as its muffled, unintelligible chirps began to rattle the jar.

The baby’s face was also strangely familiar.

“-Shiro…?”

Too familiar. Keith could see the bright pink line above its nose, right beneath its large eyes. It was a scar-just like the one Shiro had. In fact, it was exactly like the one Shiro had.

“What the…”

The fairy responded by swaying a little as it lay, its silvery eyes rolling up to the back of its head, before proceeding to let out a body-wracking cough.

“Oh no.”

His hand immediately went for his phone. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, or why, but this creature looked like Shiro, somehow, and something was very, very wrong. Body snatching? Body switching? Or-

“Mom?!” The moment she got on the phone, Keith immediately placed the jar on the counter-much gentler than last time, if what he was starting to suspect was true. “Mom, something bad is—no, I’m ok, really, it’s not me. It’s Shiro.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to keep calm.

“The fairies…I think fairies did something to him…!”

“So…you’re the contractor they sent?”

Shiro’s eyebrows raised at the sight of the dark-haired man looking around the empty commercial space. He could smell the blood on him, no doubt from the previous night, and immediately pegged him as, if not a full-on vampire, then certainly something vampiric. This guy had not been at the initial meeting with the remodelers, flanking the massive, bald, lilac-skinned boss; if he had, Shiro figured he would have stuck out like a sore thumb with his pale human-toned skin.

As it was, he wrung his hands a little as he watched the creature near an old linoleum counter, letting out a snort. The man who was going to fix up his future shop was actually very pretty with his dark hair and dark eyes, which was of course accentuated by his leather jacket and torn jeans.

“Yeah, and this place has definitely seen better days. The whole neighborhood, actually.” With a little click of the man’s elongated nail, a large chip of plastic and corkboard popped off. “Did you know, this used to be a soda counter back in the day?”

“No…” Shiro shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“I used to work here as a soda jerk, back when the owners actually cared about quality.” The man shrugged. “Then some cheapskate bought it after the war and ran it to the ground.”

“War?” Shiro was no fool-he knew the man didn’t mean a human war. “What war?”

“The Second Galra-Altea War.” The man paused. “Vampires and fae have a long and less than cozy history. But…you probably have never heard of that conflict, even so.”

Altea, a nation of high elves who prided themselves on their advanced alchemy; the Galra were an old strain of strigoi who were said to be excellent warriors. In other words, this was someone who wouldn’t exactly be welcoming if he learned the truth about his own heritage, that was for certain. Shiro took a deep breath.

“Right. I see.” He did his best to calm down, lest his thrashing heart tip his contractor off to the truth of his own Nacre nature. “And which side of the conflict were you on, if it’s not impolite to ask?”

“Neither.” The answer surprised him. “I’m a dhampir, so I wouldn’t have been recruited anyways by the powers that be, but more than that, I’m part of the Marmora clan. We didn’t agree with the emperor’s war, so we didn’t get involved until he pushed too far. Then we made sure the emperor wouldn’t make another war ever again.”

“…Certainly better than the alternative.” Shiro cleared his throat. The tickle in his throat seemed to become a little stronger the longer he and this vampiric man talked. “Inter-cryptid wars are messy, or so I’ve heard.”

Leaving out the wars he’d ended up tripping into accidentally regardless, of course. But this man didn’t need to know that. No one did.

“Yeah, they are.” Keith started pulling on a tab of molded wallpaper. “At least Garrison’s put in some laws to make sure nothing as bad as that happens again, so there hasn’t been a war like that in decades. All you’ll need to worry about is attracting customers to your store when I’ve finished.”

“Pretty confident in your work, huh?” Shiro smiled at this. “I like that.”

“And I bet you’ll like the work I produce, too,” The man smirked as the paper gave way, and he crumpled it and tossed it over his shoulder onto the floor. “So, what were you thinking in terms of this area? Any materials you prefer I use for the walls and floor, the masonry?”

“Wood,” Shiro immediately replied, before realizing he might seem a little too eager for something natural. “I mean-I’m not partial to any type of wood! And I have nothing against metal or anything, it’s just…I don’t want my shop to be too sterile or impersonal for my clientele, you know? Wood is good and sturdy for the plants and supplies I’ll be storing. So, uh, whatever kind of wood you think would work best for my needs will be just fine with me.”

“Well,” the man crossed his arms. “I think cedar will work for the room itself, and maple and mahogany will do the trick for furniture. Cedar can ward away any hinkypunk that tries to cause mischief, and maple has a very rich and varied color you don’t get in most woods, with the bonus of being durable to boot. Mahogany will also take a beating without causing damage, barring someone just nuking it with magic. I’ll also do the decorative carving and varnishing for the shelving at my workshop, and do you prefer a cordwood foundation to put your countertops on?”

“Yeah…yeah, that works!” Shiro nodded emphatically. “It would definitely enhance the aesthetic I’m going for!”

“It sure will, though that kind of aesthetic-and the work I’m going to be putting into making this place presentable-is definitely going to cost you.” The man licked his lips and nodded. “I’m guessing you don’t have a money tree anywhere in your backyard, so I’m fine with setting up a payment plan. Obviously I’ll work, and charge you properly for my services, as long as you pay me. In cash. Guy’s gotta eat and drink properly in this economy, you know.”

“Well, I don’t even have a backyard with this place, and of course I’ll pay in cash. What else would I pay with?” Shiro chuckled, already imagining a dozen godawful things that the various non-humans in the area would have tried to peddle onto the poor guy, all the while considering it proper payment for services rendered. “I’ve been saving for a long time so that I could start a place like this. I know it sounds corny, but…I thought it might be nice to use my know-how to finally just…go out and help people in a place where I could do some good.”

Passing as just a human, of course. Being helpful as a human with magical prowess was more easily presentable than being helpful as any kind of fairy or immortal type, even in this day and age, and Shiro knew it. He also knew he’d have to move on after a couple of decades before the locals-especially those of the supernatural bent-started getting suspicious. His physical glamour could only present him as he was when he was at twenty-four, right before he stopped aging and his hair turned silver. That had been centuries ago, and he’d long ago learned that, among other things, any attempt to dye his hair would just turn it a bright pink that even his powers couldn’t fully conceal. The scar on his face, as well, was impossible to conceal while also covering every other obvious mark on his body, so he simply let it be.

Such was a pitfall of being only half of one and half the other. But, at least for now, he could be in the open as the other again, just for a little while. He’d pretended to be human so many times already in other places. Garrison would surely be no different.

“That’s…noble.” The way the man smiled at his words was…also nice. Very nice. “I think we can come to some kind of arrangement either way. Mind looking over the paperwork now so we can get started?”

“Sure, absolutely.” Shiro walked over to the storefront window, where a pile of papers sat on the dusty, dirty alcove. He scooped them up, flipping through pages. “Keith, right?”

“Yup.”

A True Name, given so easily. Shiro had to admit, he had some gumption on him to do that. After all, his kind had been in a war with the Alteans, a group who surely would have used his True Name against him the moment they had procured it. Not that Shiro would think to use this guy’s True Name against him. Aside from being cute, and despite the obvious tough guy act, he seemed nice enough. In fact, he seemed like someone Shiro might want to know better.

“Ok.” Still, there was suddenly another, stronger tickle in his throat, which, at least at the outset, Shiro dismissed as being little more than a reaction to all the dust in the old place. “So, when would you like to start?”

Once Keith managed to migrate over to his place-which was several metaphorically heart-stopping subway stations away from where Shiro’s shop was-he freed the fairy thing from the jar. The creature didn’t even attempt to escape, instead flying several inches before landing on the kitchen table, leaving a trail of sparkles in its path. It then curled up once more as it sat, its head down in its tiny hands as it let out some more tinny, pessimistic-sounding chirps while Keith took off his coat and scarf.

There was a faint smell of brimstone in the air that emanated from the living room, but nothing overpowering. After taking a cursory look around, Keith concluded that, yes, his roommate, Kosmaškarhat-et-ar-Hušbišag, had already left for his shift down in the depths of the underworld as a guard dog, torturing the unclean souls of the damned and the truly evil. It was probably for the best, though-as much as Keith would have appreciated Kosmo’s keen intuition and investigative skill, the hellhound was also just as likely to slobber all over the grub-or accidentally eat it when trying to talk to it. Either way was guaranteed to do more harm than good to the creature, intentional or not.

Keith sighed as he sat down at the table, watching the baby as it shivered and squeaked pitifully. Its body language was all Keith needed to confirm that, whatever or whoever this thing was, it wasn’t exactly in a condition to do much of anything to anyone. It certainly didn’t seem to have the power to wreck a building, much less a single room. It lent some credence to the creeping suspicion in Keith’s mind that this baby fae hadn’t caused all the extensive damage at Shiro’s place. He couldn’t entirely rule it out as the cause for what happened-Unseelie babies born to were known to be notoriously fickle, with tantrums that could level buildings-but Unseelie had levels of magic that even a human could feel. Plus, there were other telltale markings, like curled antennae and bony tails, which this little cherub didn’t have.

So, probably not an Unseelie. But then what? Not many baby fairies had the kind of destructive power that had wrecked Shiro’s shop and loft. The power to switch bodies, on the other hand, was something that was known to happen with certain species of fairies and could explain the unusual similarity the baby had with Shiro. Keith thought it was at least plausible-an unusually powerful baby fairy of unknown origin was taking a mischievous joyride in poor Shiro’s body, placing Shiro’s soul in the little cherub’s form and leaving him defenseless and helpless. It probably didn’t mean any harm by its actions. Most babies generally didn’t, so far as Keith could figure. Even so, it was still a mischief, one which Shiro was clearly suffering from. If it was Shiro he had, that was. And it didn’t explain why he was sick for such a stretch beforehand, not entirely.

Either way. Whatever the case was, if he was right, Keith just had to find where the baby had steered Shiro’s body, and somehow make the thing fix this. Or…have the grub’s parents do something, once they found them. If they found the parents, because really, given the way Fair Folk could travel through realms, they could be anywhere at this point-

It was then that the red-faced baby abruptly let out a petrified squeak as it took a furtive glance behind Keith, and immediately whirled around to see black, shadowy mist swirling and coalescing at his door.

“What the-!?”

“Hello, Keith.” The mist spoke with a hiss as it began to form into a tall, solid humanoid shape, draped in a cloak that seemed to be little more than a void of black. “It’s been some time.”

“Wh-Lotor!?” Keith couldn’t help but growl at the sight of the vampire prince. “What are you doing here?!”

“…Is that the way you greet your ex-fiancé?” The figure rolled his eyes as he entered into the light, lilac skin shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen windows. “And here I thought we were still chums after our breakup!”

“Oh, bite me, Your Highness.”

“Again?” The fanged smirk on the vampire’s face became borderline-wicked. “Only if you bring me to your private chambers, Keith. I do have some standards.”

“For the love of-seriously, why are you always like this?” Keith sighed. “I mean, come on, I have a doorbell. Also, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your lovely mother called me,” the pale vampire shrugged as he strolled in and threw his cloak off, white hair practically floating behind him like he was in a hair commercial. Keith rolled his eyes at the sight. “She told me you’d called her in quite the panic about a situation, and that perhaps my expertise would be appreciated. Something regarding a certain human friend of yours-”

That was when the prince’s eye fixed on the little creature on the table. Keith swallowed as Lotor’s brows lifted upwards on his forehead, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes as he bent in for a closer look.

“Yeah, I…I think that’s Shiro?” The tiny cherub’s wings flickered, and its silver eyes narrowed as Lotor stared. “I mean, it looks like him, just…really tiny. And chubby. And…a bit fuzzier?”

“And adorable.” Lotor sent an elongated nail to playfully poke the Shiro-bug’s belly-which immediately earned the prince a squeaky snarl and a tiny mouth biting down on his finger. It didn’t draw blood, and the vampire chuckled at the reaction. “Cheeky, too, I see. How in the world did you not see it, Keith?”

“I wasn’t with him last night. Or yesterday.” Keith deflated as he looked away. “Shiro hadn’t been feeling well lately, and the night before last it was…he got a bit drunk, so when he called off our daily drinks again yesterday morning, even closed up shop, I thought it was just him having a bad hangover.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Keith grumbled bitterly. “And like an idiot, I didn’t stop to think that maybe there was a reason for it other than just human illness. So I went to his shop, and it was a disaster, and this was the only creature I could find! It doesn’t make sense! I mean, Lotor, he deals with so many different supernaturals in his shop, and he’s just…he’s…he shouldn’t have been messed with. He wouldn’t have deserved this.”

Lotor snorted, looking at him with such incredulity that Keith felt his cheeks flush red.

“He’s a good guy! S-seriously!” He stammered. “No, not just a good guy, he’s a good human, and he’s always respectful to his customers no matter their species. He’d never do anything to deliberately piss anyone off, so I don’t understand why anyone would mess with him, much less a fae or any other kind of Fair Folk. Just-you know who did this, right? Who cursed him or…what might have switched bodies with him? If so, where’s his body, and what kind of jerk would have sent their quiznaking baby after him to do that to him!? Who do I have to talk to, or beat up, or make a deal with so I can get him back to-”

“Oh, Keith,” And now Lotor was slinging an arm around him. “You poor, dumb meat sack. You’re right, you are an idiot. You didn’t even suspect the truth, did you?”

“Suspect what truth?” Keith growled. “What are you getting at, Prince?”

“Indulge me, my dear ex.” Lotor cast an eye over to the tiny Shiro-creature, who immediately curled into itself from the scrutiny, wings folding around it. “You said you went into his shop this morning, yes? Said it was a disaster, even. What did you find there? Be specific.”

“…Petals. Bloodied flower petals.” Keith looked over at the Shiro-thing as well. “And…liquid that was colored rainbow...and Shiro’s flowers and herbs were all dead on the floor. The walls were all scorched and…even the soda fountain and the counters were damaged. The cabinets were a total loss. His mirrors up in his apartment, his bed, the floor…all of it was a mess, except for, like, the kitchen sink. Maybe the bedroom mirror? The kitchen counter was definitely cracked, though, when I went in to confine the bug after I’d caught it.”

“What a shame. So, when you went to find Shiro in all the rigamarole, you found…that and only that.” Lotor smugly gestured at the miniature creature. “By Brodar’s teeth, you’ve known this Shiro for how long and-you moron, he’s not under any fairy curse, and his body isn’t missing or switched out. It’s right here. He is the fairy.”

He-Shiro was-

“What?” That made no sense to Keith. Shiro was human. He smelled human. He looked human. He’d been human since Keith met him. “What do you mean, he’s the-!? How could he be-!?”

“I mean you’ve been bamboozled. Your friend is a fae.” Lotor did a little sniff, even as the Shiro-creature became teary-eyed, letting out buzzing, high-pitched whimpers at the accusation. “Well, half-fae, half-human, judging by the smell. No wonder you were so easily duped. Hmm-certainly not born of any local or large clan of fae, either. But he is part-fae, nevertheless. Still certainly capable of having the buddings, of which he clearly has a…very advanced case.”

“I…buddings?”

Keith’s brain couldn’t handle such an insane-sounding revelation so early in the morning. Especially when it was the son of a long-vanquished vampire lord telling him, and who was doing so with the kind of casual manner one has when they’re asking for a cup of coffee. Granted, that was just Lotor’s normal mode of conversation when he wasn’t being an outright snarky jerk, but Keith almost wondered how in the world blood wasn’t just spurting out his ears from the shock of the news.

Not to mention he knew, deep down, that Lotor was likely telling the truth. For all his utterly annoying qualities, the son of Zarkon was much more knowledgeable about various supernatural cultures than most could ever be, having spent a dozen lifetimes of exile from the Galra studying as many as would let him observe them. He would know what he was talking about, and he wouldn’t lie about something like Shiro being part-fairy-not even for the purpose of seeing Keith squirm.

“Shiro…” Slowly, his eyes flickered over to the tiny, cherub-like creature as it shut its eyes, letting out a high-pitched whine akin to a newborn kitten’s mewling. “Is it…are you really…is Lotor-”

Keith was interrupted when the Shiro-creature puffed its cheeks out, pitifully croaked, and then proceeded to eject a massive stream of projectile vomit out of its mouth and onto Keith’s kitchen table. Granted, the creature was only an inch tall, so calling the contents of the technicolor yawn massive was relative, but it was still impressive to see. If a little worrying, as the little creature coughed out the rest of its vomit-which included a camellia petal larger than its head.

Keith was suddenly feeling ill himself as realization sunk in. How had he not noticed before? How had Keith not…noticed anything before? And why would Shiro hide it? Why, and from him? Keith felt his already cool chest go freezing cold as he tried to think of the possible reasons.

“…As I was saying,” Lotor shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “There’s your problem. The buddings. It’s quite common among fae species, actually.”

“That tells me nothing,” Keith grumbled, flopping down into the chair across from Shiro at the table. “Like how he got it and how I’m supposed to fix it!”

“Why am I not surprised?” Lotor looked at his nails, lengthening them at will as he examined each finger. “You always were blind to things like this. What the buddings indicate is a magical imbalance created through stress feedback. An emotional transaction left unreciprocated. Fae are especially susceptible to problems which may arise from issues with their emotional and mental health, be it if they are left unaddressed for a period of time or unexpectedly and abruptly triggered in some fashion. They can get quite sick, to the point where their magic starts to go awry. After a certain point they lose control of their power entirely, and it becomes so internally snarled that their bodies are forced to shut down in order to compensate for the complications that have arisen.”

“Shut down…”

Those were not words Keith wanted to hear, and neither did the Shiro-baby, apparently, because it curled up even further into itself. Immediately and unwittingly, Keith went to scoop it into his hands, his thumbs practically engulfing its head.

“Is he…” Keith closed his eyes, not even wanting to think about the worst-case scenario, but unable to stop himself from asking. “Is he going to die?”

“Oh hells no, stop being so overdramatic. You sound like a stiff wind is going to kill him,” Lotor scoffed, and god did Keith just want to punch him for that. “Shutting down in this case simply means their physical body is reverted to its bud form, as it were, which is how they would have looked when they were first born from the bloom. Any fae who shuts down like this are rendered unable to use the bulk of their magic, especially when they are in such a dire emotional state. So really, the worst that will happen is that they’ll just keep bringing up petals and rainbows and be miserable-and miserably cute-while doing it for the rest of eternity. Of course, as a bud they’re also quite susceptible to being attacked, if anyone wanted to attack them, but those in this condition would normally have their court or hive or grumble…or whatever they like calling their groupings nowadays…protecting them.”

First bloomed-in other words, what they were before they grew up. A deficit in emotional reciprocation, unaddressed, leading to a breakdown in magic. So, then, this was Shiro, literally and figuratively, at his most vulnerable. Ill, scared, and unable to defend himself. It was so unlike the powerful and kind human Keith thought he knew, and he wasn’t sure how to really handle that. Or Shiro, for that matter, given his current state.

Well, no. He had an idea of what he had to do. He’d protect Shiro from anyone who’d try to harm him, at least. He could hold his own against anyone who tried to further harm Shiro. After that, though…?

“…What do I do?” His hands gently closed around the tiny form. “How do I help him?”

“The basic idea is simple enough,” Lotor replied as he leaned against Keith’s sink. “Your little friend must simply have his emotional deficit pinpointed and fulfilled. Once he feels more secure about whatever might be bothering him, he will be right as rain and go back to normal.”

“Well...how am I supposed to know what’s bothering him!?” Keith bit his lip. “I can’t understand what he’s saying, or what’s bothering him, and-!”

“That, I’m afraid, is a bit beneath my pay grade. Still, I’m certain you’ll figure it out in time, all things considered.” Was that a growl coming from the tiny Shiro as Lotor smirked? It was. At least Keith agreed with the sentiment. “Really, anyone with a brain can see it on his face what you need to do.”

“Now what is that supposed to-”

“Oh my, I can feel the sun start to stream through the windows! Oh goodness me!” Suddenly, Lotor began to dramatically fan himself as his skin sparkled. “At this rate I might catch fire!”

“…What?” Keith blinked at the sudden change in subject. “What are you talking about? You can’t be burned by the sun, that’s only the Orlovian-”

Wait.

“Are you messing with me!?”

“Am I? The world may never know!” At this, the vampire prince threw his cape up. “Time for me to go before I start molting. Later, little dhampir~!”

“HEY! You don’t molt, you chicken, and you didn’t answer my question about what I need to-!”

Keith lunged up and at Lotor, but it was too late.

“Mist me! Heheh.” All he caught was mist in his hand, which dissipated into nothing mere seconds later. Keith could only growl and ineffectually stomp on the ground as the mist began to escape through the crack beneath his door. All the while, Lotor’s mocking chuckle drifted through the air. “Later, Keith.”

Soon enough, the last wisp of smoke slipped away, and Keith was alone. Well, not entirely alone, Keith thought as he sighed, turning back down to the tiny fairy still sitting in his other hand. The bud-as Lotor put it-was going bright red around his cheeks, his large eyes bright with embarrassment as they immediately looked away from Keith’s when they met. Indeed, if Keith didn’t know any better, he’d think the flush was the result of abject shame.

Silently, Keith cupped his hands together, walking to his living room.

“Here.” Very carefully, he placed his hands on the coffee table, watching as Shiro’s wings twitched, then buzzed to life. Almost delicately the baby fairy floated onto the table, then sat down and curled up once more, pointedly not looking at Keith. “I’ll be right back. I just…”

He awkwardly motioned to Shiro as a whole. He had no idea how he was going to feed Shiro like this, much less how he was supposed to be dressed. A washcloth seemed the best option at the moment-at Shiro’s current size, it would be more like a giant blanket than anything, but it would at least cover Shiro’s nudity. And, Keith realized as he looked Shiro over one last time, all of the scars on his body beneath the tattoo-like vines swirling beneath his pale skin, alongside the opaque phantom arm.

Even as tiny as he was, the scarring covered him like pink tiger stripes, and the void-like prosthesis went nearly to his shoulder. It all betrayed the inherently savage past of an outsider brought up in fae circles. Some groups of the Fair Folk accepted half-bloods in their ranks, but others were not so willing to entertain such in their midst. The Quiet Unseelie exile court were most especially known to be virulent racists. The fairy courts and counties that followed the Copperjay and Amberbor philosophies of purity, likewise, would just as soon kill what they saw impurities amongst their ranks than suffer them to live, and Lillywhite Confederation were known to actively pursue what they considered defiled, degraded specimens spotted in their territories.

Which was to say nothing of the fae groups Keith didn’t know about, or of other creatures within the spheres of the supernatural planes. There were the species who saw fae as snooty and secretive at best, and completely unscrupulous and dangerous at worst; as an easy example, Keith knew some vampiric covens in Garrison, like the Fire of Purification, were still violently hostile to fairies after the Second Galra-Altea War. Then there were those among humanity who would seek out fae for selfish purposes, mainly power and wealth, using such terrible means to achieve their goals that even the some of the more anti-fae monsters might shudder to think of the methods employed. Keith himself winced at the thought of Shiro undergoing the Trial of Titania, the iron field plow, the oaken tallow bath, and the wing flays.

Of course, not all humans or monsters or cryptids in general would ever think to stoop to such depravity. Not to mention that, for all of the horrors that Keith could imagine, the conclaves of all the true racial enemies of the various Fair Folk at present-those who would kill and maim and torture fae without hesitation-were small in number in comparison to the population at large. Most had been overthrown from their strongholds and banished to oblivion, forced into hiding, imprisoned, or were simply consigned to regional, even local, obscurity while everyone else let them languish futilely as their numbers thinned out with time. Even the worst group, the Laughs, had diminished significantly in their haunts on the other side of the world. However, each group in question still had enough numbers to make significant trouble for any normal fairy who dared to enter their realms.

And half-fae? Half-fae were just easier targets to prey on. Unlike other half-breeds of other races, like Keith, they were generally weaker than their pure brethren, having only gained a small measure of power while engendering most of a fairy race’s weaknesses. They seemed to belong to neither the immortal nor mortal worlds and were thus normally not accepted by either. If something happened to them, the number of those who might stand up to defend them were few. The fae parent, perhaps, if they cared for their half-breed child as more than a trinket, or had enough standing on the larger stage of the Fair Folk’s generally bizarre sense of reality that all of their offspring, regardless of birth, would be protected by proxy. Otherwise, though? Half-fae had no one to depend on other than themselves.

It explained a lot of things about Shiro, especially in his current state-if what Lotor said was true, that is. Keith had no reason to doubt now, however, not when he was looking at the proof right in front of him. And like a fool, Keith never suspected. He hadn’t known. Couldn’t have known. Shiro never told him, never indicated he was anything but human. He must have been hiding the bulk of his scars this entire time, using a glamour, and Keith had never once suspected-

Before he even realized it, Keith had left the room, the sound of chirping whimpers plaguing each step. He needed a moment to process…everything before he cracked internally from the strain of the revelation.

He’d been right-Keith was a good guy. Better than good.

Keith came in every other day, at exactly eight o’clock, measuring, calculating, and going over plans and designs for the interior for a good hour or so. Then, he would start working on the renovations themselves, and the sounds of his hammering, drilling, and ripping apart the old pieces of the previous interior at the seams echoed through the building as Shiro watched him work, sometimes until eight o-clock at night. It helped that, aside from being a handsome looker when he worked, Keith was also quite skilled at his job, and so Shiro silently thanked the online ad that he had tripped on when he had first looked for help with the building on his phone.

Most of the work involving the carpentry and woodworking was done by Keith alone; when it came to running the plumbing and grounding the electricity lines that Shiro would need for the shop, his mother, Krolia, came in and handled things. Krolia was the vampire parent, it seemed, as Keith casually mentioned she was a master electrician since Garrison had switched over from gaslight in the previous century-as a hobby, of course, at least at first.

Meanwhile, he didn’t talk about his father at all. Indeed, neither of them talked about their parents much, aside from when Krolia visited. When Keith asked about his parents one time, Shiro shrugged, and said his mother had died when he was young, and his father, stepfather and stepsiblings, who he still had occasional contact with, were living their lives in Japan. It wasn’t technically untrue, and Keith accepted it, dropping the subject. It was discreet and respectful, which Shiro could absolutely dig in a guy.

One day, when enough progress had been made in the renovation that Shiro could at least prepare for a soft opening, Keith brought in a large wooden sign. It was a large, cream-painted rectangle, the corded frame etched out and painted a light green. The name on the sign-I Herb You Needed A Shop, which Shiro had come up with when he had first entertained the thought about opening up a business in Garrison-was painted a striking burnt umber.

“Oh, this…” Shiro lit up at the sight. “This is perfect, just perfect!”

“Thank you.” Keith blushed, his smile adorable. “I figured you might want something to match the atmosphere you’re going for. I based it on the old soda counter’s sign.”

“That’s amazing.” That also gave Shiro an idea. “Hey, Keith? Do you remember when you told me about the sodas they made at the counter?”

“Of course.”

“…Would you and your mother object if I had something like that in my shop?” Keith’s eyes widened as Shiro continued. “I mean, she doesn’t need to, but I figured it might be nice to revive something of the previous history if I could. Of course, I know that will cost extra for you to do, and whatever you need to get it done-”

“I’ll do it.” The response interrupted Shiro’s pitch. “Absolutely. And I’ll teach you how to make the sodas, and-quiznak, I’ll work part time as a soda jerk if you’ll let me!”

“You…” Shiro felt the tickle in his throat at this as he beamed. “Oh, Keith, that’s…”

He let out a little cough before he could finish, then cleared his throat.

“Hah, that’s great!” The breath he let out was a little wheeze, but he was able to cover it with a forced chuckle. “All right, awesome. So, soda jerk. How should I start?”

“Well, first you need a fountain, of course,” Keith rolled his eyes almost playfully. “Which I’m sure we can find in consignment or antique stores, so I hope you’re ready to go hunting. You’ll need a phosphate water tank for the counter, and syrups-and a countertop that won’t cause problems, probably something acrylic-based which I’ll need to subcontract out for, unfortunately. While that’s happening, I’ll have to teach you how to make the sodas, especially Sal’s special egg cream, you have to make sure that’s done right…”

Shiro let out another cough as Keith began to list out the materials he’d need, how he’d have to delay his soft opening for at least another week more depending how long it took to schedule the subcontractor. There was also the matter of paying for all the food that the installer-a guy named Hunk-was going to need for his guys, given the guy hired employees were all bear demons. Apparently Hunk could also make the meanest fairy pot pie on the east coast-made with picanha simmered in teriyaki.

It sounded delightful, because Keith was delightful, and continued to be so even as Shiro found himself coughing more and more during the discussions.

Keith was pretty sure that, despite how tiny and babylike Shiro was at the moment, he still had his adult mind. After he’d secured a soft washcloth for the fae to at least cover himself up with, Shiro had watched Keith move around, his eyes never seeming to leave the dhampir so long as he was in the room-at least so long as Keith wasn’t looking. He would always look away from Keith when Keith turned to watch him right back, his large, expressive eyes not daring to look at him. It was somewhat unnerving, reminding Keith much of the adult Shiro, who would do the same thing, albeit much more coquettishly, when Keith was around the shop, or in Shiro’s loft.

Even so, there was something different about the way Shiro acted in this form. There was a raw tenseness that the bud was expressing, a reluctance, a fear, and unlike the Shiro Keith had come to know, he could barely hide it. Whether it was the way the fae covered clutched the washcloth around him like it was his only lifeline, or the way he let out pathetic little chirps as he shivered, before letting up a large cascade of rainbows and petals. Or maybe it was just the fact Shiro just looked and sounded so utterly miserable, Keith couldn’t be sure.

“So you’re really stuck like this right now,” Keith finally flopped onto his couch with a frustrated huff. “By Nosferatu…how am I supposed to help you? I’ve never taken care of any baby, much less a sick baby. Much less a grownup trapped in the body of a sick fae baby!”

A tiny buzzing warble came from the creature, and Keith looked to see that Shiro had just taken the washcloth and cover his whole body with it. Two blinking grey eyes and an itty-bitty silver forelock poked out from underneath it, as the warble continued, albeit muffled, from the resulting lump.

“…Yeah, I bet you’re mortified.” Keith scratched the side of his head. “Reminds me of the first time I tried to turn into a bat as a teen, honestly. I kept running into the walls…”

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and he quickly snapped it up to see a message from his mother. An apology for sending Lotor in her stead; she’d been busy with closing up shop since before the sun had come up, but she would come around later if he needed her to. A second message immediately popped in after, asking if Shiro was all right, if Keith and Lotor had found him. Keith pursed his lips as he typed his single-word response-buddings-and sent it to my mom.

“…My mom’s worried about you, too.” A new message popped up, showing a wide-eyes emoji. Then, a second message. “…Huh.”

Give dewdrop for dehydration. And TALK TO HIM.

“Talk to him, right. I can’t even understand him.” Dropping the phone onto the couch, Keith clapped his hands onto his thighs. “At least I have the dewdrop. And a can of blood for me. I’ll be right back, baby Shiro.”

A little squeak came from underneath the washcloth, and Keith looked down at it once more, shoulders sagging.

“Yes, I’m definitely coming back, I promise.” Promise. Heh. Promise… “I’m just getting us some drinks…definitely going to need some blood.”

Even so, even as he grabbed what he needed for Shiro after scooping up a bottle of Code Red Blood for himself, he hesitated. Not about coming back, of course, he wasn’t going to leave Shiro defenseless. It was the gold-ringed bottle of honeyed dewdrop he was about to crack open. It had been from…a friend.

From Shiro.

The soda fountain worked like a charm the moment it was installed, and a week after that, Shiro’s store opened on a limited capacity, and already he was getting a great deal of business. It seemed that cryptids appreciated a human who treated them with respect and knew the knowledge of the other realms for beneficial use. The sodas were also amazing, and when word of mouth began to spread that there was a shop serving egg creams using Sal’s old recipe, it attracted the human as well as the inhuman. Initially the casual interactions created a bit of tension, but the wariness from each side eased as the days went by. By the time Shiro was fully ready to open, the supernatural and the normal were mingling in his shop as if the positivity that everyone had begun to share was always there.

The meeting of two worlds. The two halves of Shiro’s self, coming together, with one being accepted by the other without hesitation. It was something Shiro had always dreamed of, ever since he was a child, and had first heard the whispers of half-breed and grogach and blood traitor. Of human filth, and Fair scum. He should have been over the moon. Everything should have been perfect. Yet he couldn’t banish the tickle in the back of his throat, or the coughing that seemed to happen when he was around Keith.

Keith.

People said it was Shiro’s easy charm and kindness to everyone that came to his shop, along with his incredible work ethic and long, sixteen-hour days, which helped to make I Herb You Needed A Shop successful. But Shiro couldn’t take all of the credit. Without Keith…

“You’re giving me honeyed dewdrop?”

Keith’s mouth opened wide as Shiro held the bottle up to him, a smile on his own face.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help you’ve given me. With the renovation in general, with the soda fountain, in getting the word out about my shop,” he casually shrugged, even as he felt himself go warm at the thought of having given Keith a gift. “I figured this was more than commensurate to all the hard work you’ve put in. Plus, I know you’ve been having problems keeping down the synthetic blood they supply down in the university district.”

It was not an untrue statement on his part. Shiro had several customers of the bloodsucking variety who had an allergy or intolerance to fake blood and didn’t want to bother with looking for live sources, for whatever personal reasons they may have had. Honeyed dewdrop wasn’t actually that hard for Shiro to procure, given his affinity for flowers, but given the demand for it, he made a pretty penny for each bottle he sold.

And now, he wanted it to be Keith’s. A gift, freely given-

“Shiro, I can’t take this.” Which was why Keith was so shocked. “On top of the wage you’re paying me for the wall renovation? It’s just too much!”

-for payment. Right. Shiro felt the warmth subside, just a little, and his racing mind slowed down enough to remember. Shiro was human to Keith. Shiro was contracting for Keith’s services, and was also otherwise his employer. This, then, was simply part of Keith’s payment for his work on the shop so far, in the dhampir’s eyes.

That…could also work, then. It didn’t have to be a gift.

“Nonsense.” He took a deep breath, feeling the tickle in his throat strengthen. “Your work has been beautiful so far. You really went the extra mile on the shelving woodwork…”

“Oh, well…” Keith looked at this, blushing. “That’s just my normal stuff.”

“Which is amazing,” Shiro’s voice became firm. “Please, I must insist. Take it, it’s yours now.”

Because it was…for payment. Not just because of the way Keith’s face lit up at the sight, or the way he smiled, with one snaggle-toothed fang popping out in surprise at the thought of it being a gift-but it wasn’t a gift. Keith was just working for him. It meant nothing more.

Shiro felt a cough come on, and he quickly let it out, as if to clear his throat.

“So…enjoy it.” He still managed to smile. “You definitely earned it.”

Once Keith left, Shiro let the coughing resume. He coughed, and he coughed, feeling something in the back of his throat trying to free itself, but at the same time, staying stubbornly put in his body. He wondered what was wrong, and hoped that, whatever it was, it would go away. He’d never been sick in his life, after all.

So what, exactly, had changed, since he met Keith?

Keith sat down, bottle on the table and spoon in hand, along with the Code Blood Red and a drink of Sprite-Sprite for himself, the latter which he downed in a single gulp. He had figured that Shiro, despite his condition, was as stubborn as ever, and would find it condescending if Keith had directly spoon-fed him the dewdrop. Indeed, as Keith had brought out the spoon and the bottle, pouring the liquid in as he walked, the little baby bud puffed his cheeks out, and let out indignant squeaks as he watched the spoon slowly hover towards him.

“Hey, give me more credit, Shiro. I’m not actually going to spoon feed you. I know you’re not that helpless,” Keith snorted as he put the spoon down in front of the pouting cherub. “But I don’t have anything smaller for you to drink from, and you can’t eat macaroni and cheese.”

Shiro responded by letting out an even louder squeak of indignation. After a few seconds though, he began to shake. As Keith watched, he let out a body-shaking high-pitched sneeze, which sent sparkles everywhere, before letting out a whimper as he wiped his face like a cat onto his fuzzy forearms.

“Aw, man.” Keith resisted the urge to coo at the sight, instead letting out a sigh. “I’m guessing they don’t make tissues your size?”

Shiro cricketed, before finally buzzing over towards the tablespoon, nose twitching as he sniffed the liquid. After letting out what sounded like a delighted squeak, Keith watched as Shiro began to greedily drink from the tablespoon.

“…You gave this to me, you know.”

Slowly, Keith brought out his finger, hovering it over Shiro’s head as the fairy hungrily slurped the dewed water up. He waited, and when Shiro took a pause, he gently brought the finger down, rubbing it through the bud’s hair as best he could. It was soft, like the barest downy of a newborn duckling, or the seta of a moth.

To his surprise, Shiro nuzzled right into the touch, and even hopped up to latch up onto his finger to rub his face into the ridges. Keith could also swear that Shiro was actually licking him as he violently vibrated, wings twitching. It was strangely adorable for Shiro.

At least it was, until Keith slowly brought his finger up, and realized that the wet sensation he was feeling wasn’t Shiro’s tongue, but his tears. Small, sparkly tears, accompanied by shaking little whimpers. Suddenly it wasn’t so cute, and Keith could feel a ball of blood start to pool in his own stomach.

His mother had said he needed to talk to Shiro, and he started to get the feeling that maybe that was a really good idea.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispered as Shiro let out a small, pained gurgling sound before barfing up another stream of rainbow and petals onto his hand and his pants. He didn’t care-the condition of his clothing wasn’t important right then. “This whole time…I thought you really were just a normal mortal. You made it seem like you were human. Because of that…”

A small, pitiful rumble was his response. Of course he wouldn’t have said. Vampires and faes, after all. They’d even spoken of war at their first proper meeting. No wonder he’d be hesitant to reveal he had any type of fairy blood.

“…Hells, Shiro.” Keith slumped. “Were you…scared of me, of what I might do to you?”

He wouldn’t have hurt Shiro if he’d known. He wouldn’t have. He wasn’t the hellion child that wanted to tear apart anyone who dared get close to him after what happened to his father, not anymore. Not for years. Not for a long time, he’d accepted his father was only human, and he had moved on-

He loved him.

Shiro loved Keith, and it was both thrilling for Shiro to realize it-and terrifying. Thrilling, because of how powerful his emotions had been, how warm his chest had felt, when he realized that what he was experiencing was his first real love. Thrilling, because he could imagine spending a long, long time with Keith, giving him everything of himself freely. Yes–Shiro loved Keith, was loving the dhampir more every day.

The terror, however, threatened to overcome any thrill he might have felt. After all, Keith didn’t know about it, or about what Shiro really was. He didn’t know why the mere thought of his smile, his voice, his whole being was causing Shiro to violently hack throughout the day. He couldn’t have known, because Shiro hadn’t admitted to it yet.

As a result, Keith didn’t know just how terrifying it was for Shiro to love him–especially when Shiro realized that his feelings of love were, in fact, what were eating him up on the inside.

“You need to cancel?”

Keith sounded disappointed, and Shiro couldn’t blame him. Ever since Keith became a part of Shiro’s life, even after the renovations were all done and Keith wasn’t on shift for the soda fountain, they’d been hanging out at Shiro’s shop. The dhampir would always watch intently as Shiro worked on orders, using his magic and understanding of everyone’s needs to create potions and medicines and charms of all sizes for his customers. Sometimes Keith would even help out on orders intended for vampires, which of course Shiro would pay him for. Then, after Shiro closed up shop in the late hours of the evening, he’d accompany Keith to the bar, where Shiro would nurse a drink of scotch while Keith helped himself to a nice cold mug of fresh Bloodweiser, straight from the tap. They’d talk about their lives, their days, and otherwise just be casual and comfortable with each other.

In other words, it was normal, and Shiro enjoyed it. Too much. He was getting very strong ideas about who and what Keith was or might be to him, and the more he wanted that to be the truth, the worse the coughing became. And once he finally realized it was because he loved Keith-

“Yeah-” Shiro couldn’t help the cough that came from his throat as he responded. “Sorry. I’m just feeling a little bit under the weather tonight.”

“Just tonight?” Shiro couldn’t help but shiver as Keith’s tone became more urgent. “Shiro, this is the third time this week you’ve taken a rain check on our daily drink because you haven’t felt well. And you’re still coughing?”

“…Yeah, I am. It’s no-”

“No! Don’t say it’s nothing, because it’s clearly not if you’re still coughing!” The urgency increased even more as Keith snapped on the other end. “You…please, you’re only human, Shiro! Hells, man, you know you need to take care of yourself and not overwork! How can you say it’s nothing when I saw you struggling to catch your breath trying to make that wart brew for La-Sai?  I-have you even seen a doctor about this yet!?”

Shiro winced as he coughed again; of course he hadn’t seen a doctor for his ailment. Yes, he did tend to work long hours in his shop, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. It was just a cough, and Shiro was determined to tell Keith that. All he needed was some rest, and maybe he’d cut back his hours. That was technically true, he had been considering changing over to a different, less grueling schedule, now that the hallows and harvest were all done-

Then he coughed again and froze at the sight of what fell from his mouth and splashed onto his fingers.

“Shiro?” He could practically feel Keith tense up on the other end of the line. “Shiro, what’s wrong now?!”

“It’s…” Shiro couldn’t really lie, not outright. Such was the downside to being the child of what was called a fairy race. He had other means of reassuring Keith, however. “Keith, I…I think you’re right. I probably need to rest, at least, ease up on my hours. This Halloween was a lot busier than normal…”

“…Right.” There was still a note of trepidation in Keith’s tone, even as he seemed to calm, seemed to buy Shiro’s explanation. “Sure, rest. But if whatever this is gets worse, promise me you’ll see someone to check it out?”

Shiro stared at his hand as he mulled the question. Promises were always a tricky absolute. A promise made couldn’t be broken, just like he couldn’t outright lie, which he sorely wanted to do right now. On the other hand, he didn’t have to deal in absolutes if he could just find the right words to respond with.

“…If I think I need to, I will.” His fist slowly clenched around the bloodied, rainbow-encrusted petals in his palm, their color as purple as the tsubaki that he first emerged from. “I promise, Keith.”

It was a promise, then. But it was one that gave him the wiggle room he needed to acknowledge that the doctor wasn’t necessary. At least, not the kind of doctor that Keith was thinking of. Human doctors, after all, wouldn’t know how to cure the flowering in his body.

And indeed, when he did manage to see a proper doctor who could keep his true identity confidential, it had been a foregone conclusion what the diagnosis would be. A peri asu was what he saw, and they told him what he had already suspected-it was a flowering, a budding, born from unfulfilled romantic love towards another. Correct the problem at once, he was warned. Snip the flower and forget his love, or let it bloom properly and gain the love of the object of his affection. If he failed at either option, he would lose control. He would be unable to maintain his magic, and his emotions would breed havoc and drown him in their wild currents.  And, worst of all, he might lose his bigness.

Just like his father.

But even his father couldn’t help him when Shiro frantically called him on the phone after his appointment, asking for help. After all, Shiro’s parents had been in a relationship for many years, and his father lost his bigness by becoming lost in the depths of mourning, of grief. And Shiro, being a product of that coupling, could at least help him remember the good times, could remind him that he had a life after lost love. Even to the point where his father could become himself again and find fulfillment in life once more with another, without feeling overwhelming guilt about his mother’s passing.

Shiro’s own love, meanwhile, was completely unrequited. He had nothing, tangible or otherwise, to bring him back from the brink. And a mixed child always suffered the bloomings far worse than their purebred brethren.

Shiro could find no reason to disagree as he hacked and gasped through that phone call, spilling petals and blood and spots of other colors into his sink as he struggled to breathe at the thought of Keith not loving him back, as seeing him as just a co-worker, a friend-

Shiro let out quiet little chirps, nuzzling his head against Keith’s finger, as Keith froze at the strange gesture. As if Keith was the one who was sick and scared, as if the dhampir was thus the one who needed to be taken care of. Just like Shiro would do on a normal day.

This wasn’t normal, though.

“…I told you about the Galra-Altea conflict.” He gently ruffled the little grub’s hair as he picked up the Code Blood Red, and was rewarded with a little brrrip in response. “Did you think…if you told me about your heritage, I’d reject you? That’s it, isn’t it?”

At those last three words, Shiro’s head went down. He let out a long warble, which was accompanied by more tears, more vomit, and more petals. Keith felt himself sag as his mind raced, went through his memories of their time together. They had been nothing but good, hadn’t they? Shiro had never indicated that he was scared of Keith, or of anything that Keith had mentioned about his past.

Keith slowly closed his eyes and took a sip of his drink, thinking back about all the nights they went out drinking together. He remembered telling Shiro about his childhood. He hadn’t known his mother, as his father said she was dead, but that one day he might see her again. He didn’t get why he would say that, or why his father would drink water, while Keith drank red liquid that had an iron tang. He never learned where his father got the blood; he was stolen one night by roving Spanish, accused of witchcraft, and then burned at the stake in the middle of San Antonio. Keith couldn’t save him; all he could do was run, armed only with the blade that his mother apparently bequeathed to him before she disappeared.

Then there were the days after his father died, when he was little more than a hungry ball of anger. He hadn’t known he was part-vampire, not back then, and when he prowled the Sonoran desert, he didn’t simply hunt for animal prey. Sometimes, he would be so famished that he would black out, and remember nothing, waking up with terrified horses and the corpses of conquistadors around his blood-caked body. It was terrifying, and out in the west, they didn’t talk about blood drinkers outside of native circles, so he didn’t understand what was happening to him.

Indeed, it was only when he was finally found by his father’s people, that he heard the word atasaya pass from the elders’ lips. They knew of the deaths of men in the desert and attributed it to a demonic cannibal out of legend, one that had come to feast on corpses as a result of an imbalance in the cosmos. A blood-drinker, a flesh eater, one who would target their children if it ran out of Spanish to attack.

Needless to say, he wasn’t with his father’s people for long. He decided to run away before they suspected the truth about the legendary monster they were sure was stalking nearby. After that, he wandered. For over a century he had no purpose, and no explanation for his strange powers. The vampire coven in Montreal, however, set him right, taking him in and teaching him how to control his cravings without killing people. They also taught him about others like him-other cryptids and supernaturals, some pure-blood, others not. They showed him what cities and neighborhoods in Quebec were safe for those like him, and which ones were to be avoided. They showed him what tools he needed to avoid detection, how to do a proper glamour, how to interact with humans in the general public.

As for the blade he carried with him? Well, that was the easy part. The coven knew it was a Marmora blade, designed to harm the Fair Folk. It made sense-various bands of vampires and fae had an ocean’s worth of bad blood between them. Not all of them, of course, but the larger groups did. Especially the Galra-the vampire empire which the Marmora belonged to-and the Alteans, light elves who were masters of alchemy. When he finally had the strength to journey to where his mother might have been-Garrison-he found himself fighting just to stay alive once more, this time against Alteans who saw no distinctions between Galra rebels and Galra loyalists. He’d killed many. He’d even tasted fairy blood for survival, had drunk from several, in fact, during the Skirmish of the Sound.

Shiro knew all that, as Keith had told him during their long nights drinking. Yet he never judged. He never objected to Keith’s bloody past. He simply nodded, smiled, said things were different now, and that Keith was Keith. He had said that nothing would change his mind on that.

Shiro, meanwhile…Keith realized he knew nothing about Shiro. Some basic things, sure-his favorite food, his favorite color, his dad being halfway across the planet, his favorite soda from the fountain-but there was nothing substantial about his past that he’d given Keith. It made sense-a fae would be remiss to give anything too intimate about them out-to talk about personal information was to give someone power over them. Hells, Shiro probably wasn’t even his real name.

And why would Shiro give him anything, much less his real name? Keith was a dhampir. He was ultimately a monster of a rival species, regardless of their friendship. And as someone with fairy blood, someone for whom the procurement of personal information was a magic of its own, someone whose scars bore out a dark past of his own, would never, could never just give something so precious away freely to someone, would never open himself up to another who might have the capability destroy him without hesitation. All of the things Shiro had given to him had a cost to them, had been part of an exchange of payment, had never been freely given-

Wait.

Keith’s eyes flew open wide as it hit him. His belief that Shiro had never tried to give anything to him outside of work wasn’t true. Though he’d been drinking, Shiro had tried to give him something personal. Something deep, something powerful. And it had happened the night before last.

But that-he had-

Shiro had to do something. He was falling apart, and the cracks were beginning to show.

He was now struggling to maintain his basic glamour. He’d lost his arm a long time ago when the Victorian League had been trying to experiment with harnessing fae energy to master the mysteries of the aether for queen and country; ever since, he had created a phantom arm of energy, concealed through his magic. But his arm kept flickering back and forth between human and ethereal. At least one customer had noticed how his form shifted; at first it had been for an instant, easily dismissed as a trick of the eye. Now when it happened, it lasted for a minute, then two, then five.

And his hair? His hair was impossible to maintain entirely now-his forelock remained stubbornly silver-white, even when he was using his full power to maintain his disguise. Even Keith teased him about what he considered a botched dye-job, nicknaming him ‘old-timer’. That not only triggered his hair to stripe like a skunk when Keith left the shop, it resulted in a cough that left him breathless to the point of collapse. He only just managed to recover before his next customer came in, slightly confused as to why Shiro seemed so deathly pale.

Then there were the vines. By Penglai, the flower vines. They had started to grow and spread from his heart, snaking beneath his skin to his limbs, squirming and rustling as they curled around his bones. They thrived, even as the plants in his shop began to wilt, his magic unable to keep them from losing life. He could practically feel his strength wane as he tried with more exertion-and more desperation-to keep his flora viable, only to find that the plants he’d had such an affinity were responding less and less to his ministrations with each passing day.

He was lucky that the seasons were turning, and winter was approaching, so he could cover his arms with compression sleeves, sweaters and hoodies. But what would happen when the seasons turned again? Could he really wear such coverings without others becoming suspicious? Without Keith questioning the need for them? And the plants-his blooming was taking all of their energy from them, it was the only explanation. It was taking all of his magic and transforming it-and him-into something that would soon create a debt too momentous for his spirit to pay. Without Keith, the bill he was accruing for his emotions were spiraling beyond his capability to control.

This couldn’t continue. He had to act, and now.

He could forget. That was an option. He could obtain Lethian water, mix it with one of Keith’s hairs and a petal from his mouth, and drink it. It would be easy to let the concoction wash over his memories of love for Keith and leave him without a care in the world. They could be just friends, like they were now. Yet even that wasn’t always foolproof. Forgetting his love for Keith only meant going back to square one and seeing Keith as a friend; there was always the possibility that Shiro would fall in love with him all over again. The only way he could truly prevent a re-blooming of his love for the dhampir, then, was if he closed shop, moved out of Garrison, and disappeared without warning, as he was so used to doing since his youth.

Yet he found that he couldn’t do that this time. Not to Keith. Keith deserved better. So Shiro was going to take the matter into his hands; there was no other option. He was going to confess his love for Keith, and from there, work on telling him everything. Maybe Keith would accept what he had to say. Maybe Keith would forgive him and understand why he had hidden what he truly was this entire time. Maybe he might even let Shiro kiss him.

He had to hope Keith would. It was his only chance for true peace. If he rejected Shiro, Shiro would have no one to blame but himself.

So, that night, as the first snow after the winter solstice began to fall thick and white on the sidewalks and streets, he forced himself to go to his bar meetup with Keith, hoodie and compression sleeves on, white forelock stubbornly not acquiescing to his magic. There was no way Keith couldn’t tell he wasn’t feeling well at this point, and Shiro knew it.

“Shiro,” The dhampir sighed as he put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder-a touch that was like being burned with an iron ingot at this point, causing him to grit his teeth. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did.” Shiro clenched his fists, doing his best not to snap at Keith from the pain. “I’ve been putting things off for too long.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. You look awful!” A huff, then Keith’s hand released its hold, freeing Shiro to stalk up to the bar. “…You haven’t seen anyone, have you? Ugh. You stubborn meat sack.”

“I have seen a doctor, and I know what I need to do.” Shiro glared at the bar. “I need one-no, I need two glasses of merrow scotch, please.”

Even the bartender seemed surprised, but Coran got him two glasses and poured. Immediately Shiro grabbed the first and inhaled the drink down, letting the coughing that came afterwards cover the fact there were Tsubaki petals stuck under his tongue, behind his teeth, about to fall from his lips. He managed to swallow it all down, despite everything. Likewise, the second drink was gone in an instant, and Shiro motioned for a third and fourth.  

“Shiro…” He could feel Keith’s concern emanate from where he sat, as well as the dhampir’s eyes looking right at him. “That’s a lot in such a short while. You should slow down.”

“Mm.” He gulped them both down, wincing at the burn in his esophagus pushing against the flowers that threatened to come up the other hole. “I should.”

He didn’t. He had a fifth, and soon he felt a strong buzz come on. He felt his nerves start to relax, and the shaking in his hands lessen. He swallowed more petals back down, his cheeks flushing from the warmth of alcohol pumping through his veins.

“Shiro?” He stared at his empty glass, briefly pondering a sixth glass, even as Keith’s voice filtered into his ears. “Seriously, you’re worrying me, it isn't like you to drink so much so quickly. What is going on?”

“…Keith.” Shiro took in as deep a breath as he could draw. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Slowly he turned to face Keith, and he stood up on slightly unsteady legs.  He made sure his eyes were staring solidly into Keith’s, even as he went two steps and grabbed the dhampir’s hands. They were soft, despite the calluses on Keith’s fingers and palms, and more than that they were warm. The sign that Keith had recently fed well. Shiro could provide blood for Keith, if he ever asked for it; he’d never let Keith starve. He’d provide anything and everything freely, to show how much he truly cared for Keith.

But first, Shiro had to give Keith his heart, and hope that the dhampir accepted it.

“Keith.” This was it. He was filled with liquid courage, Keith was right there, and Shiro was looking at him right in the eye. It was now or never. “I just want you to know...you are my best friend. Maybe even the first friend I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“Shiro?” Keith’s mouth opened. “Shiro, you’re starting to scare me-”

“Please, let me finish-!” Shiro’s grip tightened on the dhampir’s hands. If he let go now, he was certain he’d never get the chance to hold Keith again. “You are amazing, and good, and beautiful, and anyone who would say bad things about you, or hurt you, doesn’t deserve to have you in their life. And I…”

He felt the petals form in his chest, and the vines still in his limbs. Shiro’s heart felt ready to burst from anticipation.

“I love you,” he finally got it out. “I love you, Keith, and-”

Keith yanked his hands away with such force and abruptness that Shiro nearly fell onto the floor from it. He nevertheless staggered forward, looking up at Keith in confusion, in hurt, and froze at the sight.

“…Keith…?”

His voice was small as he watched Keith circle around him, away from him. His nails were elongating as his fist defensively went to his chest. There was no love in Keith’s eyes. There was fear, even revulsion, in the dhampir’s expression and eyes as Keith continued to step back, his face paling to violet. He looked like Shiro’s touch had burned him, his words a stake to his heart.

It was terrible to behold, and Shiro felt his own heart plunge and shatter at the sight. He nearly vomited then and there at the implicit understanding of what Keith’s body language clearly meant to convey.

“I…” Shiro immediately covered his mouth as he took a step forward. “K-Keith, I-”

Keith shook his head. He was looking at Shiro like just being around him was anathema.

“Shiro.” The dhampir’s voice came through, loud and clear, once he finally found his voice. “You’re drunk. You’re…human. I…I can’t.”

Oh.

Oh.

Of course. It made sense. Shiro was just human, as far as Keith was concerned. Nothing more and nothing less. And his father…Keith had talked about how devastated his mother had been when she’d learned of his death. How she had vowed in her grief never to love another human again, and would only consort with full-blooded vampires from then on. How Keith received flack for being a half-breed with a human parent at first, when he’d joined his mother’s people. How humans were short-lived, and weak, and thus not considered high on the list when it came to vampiric creatures looking for a mate as a result.

Knowing that, why could Keith actually want him, of all people?

Shiro looked down at the ground, feeling the bloom in his chest explode at the realization. Of course. How could Shiro ever even begin to think Keith wanted him? And now that Keith had revealed his true feelings-how could Keith ever begin to accept the other side of him that he’d been hiding?

“I…”

Keith didn’t love him, and because of that, Shiro screwed everything up between them. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Keith actually began to hate him for daring to be so presumptive. And there would be no one at fault but him.

He nearly fell apart, right then and there, in the middle of the bar. Instead, he staggered back, clutching at his own shattered heart beneath his chest as he looked away from Keith.

“Y-you’re right. I’m…” Shiro shut his eyes, forcing the sparkle-tinged tears back. “I’m sorry, Keith. I-I didn’t mean to…hurt you. I just…for a moment, I thought…”

With that, he turned away.

“…I need to go.”

And ran. He nearly flew, his wings nearly unfurled beneath his hoodie, but he somehow managed to hold it together until he was a good block and a half away, in a darkened alley covered in snow. There, amidst the stink of trash and pet feces, he let it all out. His hoodie was ripped to shreds as he dropped to his knees, an entire field’s worth of petals and a body’s worth of blood shooting out of his mouth, his tears mixing in with the disgusting concoction as it all fell onto the virgin snow.

Shiro knew it was fine if he lost it like this. Keith wasn’t going to see this, after all. Keith didn’t come after him, didn’t try to stop him from leaving.

But…it all made sense. It was all right. Keith didn’t need to stop him from leaving.

After all…Keith didn’t love him. Keith never had and never would love Shiro, ever. That was the cold, hard truth.

And now, after trying to deny it for so long, that truth would tear Shiro apart.

“I…oh hells…!”

Keith’s mouth dropped open as abject horror set in from his memory of the night before last. Shiro had been drinking because he’d been trying to muster the courage to confess. Shiro had been sick because of Keith, had been trying to confess to Keith, had been telling Keith he loved him, and had done so as freely as any fae could. And like an idiot Keith had rejected him. No-Keith had not just rejected him. Keith had destroyed him.

On accident.

Keith began to bring his hands to his head, letting out a deep breath. He couldn’t believe it. This had been his fault, and all because he hadn’t realized that Shiro wasn’t as human as he thought. He had somehow missed all of the very obvious signs-the unusual honesty, the way he made promises, the insistence on equivalent exchanges and proper costs. Even the vast knowledge Shiro used in the running of his shop had been not that of a human practicing surprisingly advanced witchcraft; it had been the result of accumulated experience that had been borne out over centuries.

He'd been so stupid not to realize it. So, so-

Keith froze as his hand pressed onto his head. He felt water on his thumb, but there was nothing else there. Immediately Keith jolted back, looking down at his hands. There was nothing on them but sparkled drops of water.

In other words-

“Shiro!?”

Keith’s eyes immediately darted around him as he jumped off the couch. There was no sign of Shiro anywhere in the living room. No sparkles, no petals, no vomit, nothing. The grub had simply disappeared. And once again, Keith had been so lost in his own thoughts and worries that he hadn’t even noticed the baby fairy had even moved from his fingers.

“SHIRO-!!”

Keith didn’t hesitate, bolting through his house. Shiro had to be there somewhere; Keith wouldn’t believe otherwise. Couldn’t believe it, because if Shiro had somehow decided to fly away, if Shiro had somehow managed to find a way to leave the house, there really was no way for Keith to find him in his current form, much less protect him from everything out there that might dare to harm a fairy bud.

And if that happened, Keith would have no one to blame but himself. Stupid. Stupid. He should have questioned more, should have paid attention, shouldn’t have let his own hesitation and irrational fears stymie his own feelings and thoughts about Shiro.

Because—the truth was more complicated. True, Keith saw Shiro as a friend only-but only because, before this morning, Shiro had been just a human. To be just a human meant to grow old, to die, to be at the mercy of a different kind of fate than Keith’s. He had seen how his mother had grieved for his father-and remembered his own devastation at his father’s death, still fresh even so long after the west he had grown up in was irrevocably gone. And Keith, most especially, knew how others treated humans, and those with human blood, who dared to be in an intimate relationship with a member of the supernatural community. Keith was lucky, in that he had some protection on account of still being part-monster, but when it came to a full-blooded, otherwise completely normal human?

At best, they were barely tolerated in some circles, if not welcome as a true member of the community of the supernatural. At worst…at worst, death was preferable to the fate they ended up with. Especially if they transformed forcibly, or cursed, or enslaved-which were among the least severe of the possibilities that could present themselves.

Which was why Shiro admitting he loved him was so frightening. Keith thought for sure that Shiro had started to lose his quiznaking mind when he blurted out his half-drunk declaration. Keith couldn’t put himself through that kind of trauma of losing someone he cared for like that. And more than that, he couldn’t put someone he cared for through it.

Especially not Shiro. Because, in truth, love wasn’t the problem. It had never been.

In fact, it was why Keith had said no to Shiro in the first place.

He could barely breathe, now.

Every breath was like tasting iron on his tongue, and every step like walking on knives. He felt his body scream for release, for help, for anything to alleviate the bone-deep pain he felt.

He had to close the shop for the day. He couldn’t work. Couldn’t eat, or sleep, or do anything without thinking about Keith, thinking about how he had stepped back, how pure terror had crept into those violet eyes of his when Shiro blurted out that he’d loved him-

And then just stood there as Shiro ran in shame. Of course he wouldn’t have gone after Shiro. Of course Keith didn’t love him. They were just friends. How could he have expected more from Keith? How could he think Keith would save him from himself? It never would have worked out, anyways. Even if Keith had been receptive, the moment Keith learned the truth about him, learned that he was an immortal, learned he was a fae-

Another pile of vomit and petals ejected from Shiro’s mouth as he staggered away from the storefront, coughing and crying like the pathetic wreck he was. He felt his power burn through him as he convulsed, felt it pulse and lash out around him as he tried and failed to rein it in. It ripped through his store as he tried to keep himself upright, only to fail and nearly collapse on the stairs as he hacked up ever more flowers.

He had been a fool, his thoughts chided him as it repeated the same things, over and over, replaying the fear and disgust that had been so obvious in the dhampir’s face the last time they met. Keith didn’t love him as a human, couldn’t love him. He would never have accepted Shiro’s other half if he learned the truth. But Shiro couldn’t blame him. How could he? Shiro had been the one pretending to be something he wasn’t. He’d been the one who had fooled himself into thinking there was a chance. He was the one who had been irrational about things, about where he thought they might be going.

Shiro had been the one to develop feelings of love towards Keith. He had been the one who’d thought Keith might be the one for him. He had been the one who had gotten himself into this position, with no way out. Keith did nothing wrong. Keith deserved so much better than him.

He let out a sob, feeling his body trying to tear itself apart from the inside, if only to make it stop hurting for just one second. Yet it wouldn’t stop. It just got worse and brought another round of coughing so hard he vomited a third time as he tried to go up the stairs. Then a fourth. A fifth. He lost count after the sixth time, when his exertion caused a violent tremor of magic to burst from his body and roll through his apartment, glass and mirrors shattering from the impact. The vines beneath his skin also slithered violently, branching off and tightly curling around his fingers and toes. And of course, he couldn’t stop crying, his tears turning into endless sparkles as he continued his slow, short, onerous journey.

Was this how his father felt when his mother had died? Like his heart had been ripped out and torn to shreds over and over just from breathing? Like the world was melting all around him, and no matter how hard he screamed, the flames never died down, even as others who passed him went about their days as if nothing had happened? He hated it, and couldn’t escape it, and he’d not even been in a relationship like his father had been.

His father…he had been right. Shiro really had nothing to bring him back from the brink of this. He was alone, fighting against himself, and he was losing so badly it was tearing up everything he had worked for, and on, in Garrison apart along with him. He was such an idiot. Stupid. So stupid.

Finally, with the strength he had left, he fell into bed, letting himself bleed and bloom into the sheets, until his body could give no more. He lay there for interminable hours while his bodily fluids mingled, his heart no longer caring as it drowned in its own despair. He felt his magic threaten to explode and take out the entire block with the ferocity of its power.

At the same time, though, he knew that such destruction wouldn’t happen. Being killed in a magical explosion wouldn’t be his fate. It never was for one like him, one who was a dumb and worthless nothing who could never be truly human or immortal, and was thus rejected by both. No-he would go the path of his father, and the flower would unbloom. His life would be undone, and he would be left to the howling winds and the harsh undertow of his regrets. The world would go on, while he could not.

And that was that. He would never be loved by anyone-and certainly not by the one that he himself had come to love. He would simply be trapped like this, forever and ever.

Forever and ever, huh. It was an onerous, even ominous prospect to bear alone. But now, he had no choice but to embrace it.

Keith…forgive me.

With that last thought, he closed his eyes and laid his head down in a bed of his blood-crusted flower petals. With one final flash of uncontrolled power, he lost his bigness as gently as one sunk into still waters beneath a cold, unfeeling sun.

Keith probably shouldn’t have been surprised to find Shiro in his bedroom. Considering it was where his coffin was, among other things, and it didn’t smell like brimstone-tinged, day-old drool, it should have made sense that Keith would find the grub on his pillow, snuggling right into it as he squeaked and whimpered. Upon Keith’s approach, his pillow was also vomited on, spraying rainbows and petals everywhere.

“Oh, come on, Shiro.” There was no bite in Keith’s complaint as he went down to his knees next to the coffin lid. “Now I gotta wash my pillowcase tonight.”

At this, Shiro looked away, cheeks still red as he let out tiny warbles of shame. Keith’s expression softened further, and he leaned in to rub those chubby cheeks as gently as he could.

“Poor baby. You must feel terrible.” Keith paused as Shiro rumbled against Keith’s finger, leaving ever-more wet sparkles on his fingers. “…I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Shiro’s head popped up at this, staring at Keith with wide, shocked eyes. He let out a little squeak of protest, then vehemently shook his head. Oh.

“…Just like you to say it’s not my fault, huh.” Keith slid his other hand beneath the cherub’s little butt, slowly lifting the baby up towards his face. “But it is. I also lied to you about something…big. Really big.”

The way Shiro’s head tilted in confusion, along with the high-pitched, questioning mrrrrp that simultaneously came out of him, was too adorable. Keith smiled as he continued to stroke the grub as gently as possible. Shiro seemed to at least enjoy the attention being lavished on him, despite his tears and obvious ennui.

“I’m so sorry,” the dhampir whispered as he leaned in. “I broke your heart, didn’t I. I made you believe I didn’t have any feelings for you. Like an idiot, I didn’t once realize…”

He closed his eyes.

“I should have seen the signs. I should have pressed more about what was going on with you. If I had…maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” The cherub let out another little sneeze. “Maybe then, you’d be fine. Maybe…maybe I would have figured out sooner you were part-fae.”

Keith opened his eyes. He saw Shiro look down, letting out another small stream of squeaky, apologetic warbles.

“Hey, now.” Using his free hand, he gently poked the baby on his head. “This isn’t all on you, not this time. This is on me to fix it. I didn’t go after you when you ran from me last time, when you needed me. I let you get away.”

Slowly, Keith began to bring his face closer to the sniffling creature. Soon enough, Shiro’s scent began to fill his nostrils. When Shiro had been using his glamour, he’d smelled faintly of vanilla; now, there was nothing preventing the full effect of his smell from emanating. The vanilla was still present, certainly, but now, Keith could smell the other things that were mixed into the half-fair’s scent-brown sugar, cinnamon, hibiscus and cherries.

It was a deep, complex scent, one as sweet as Shiro was, and Keith immediately found himself intoxicated by it.

“…I’m not going to make that mistake again.” Keith took a deep breath. “I’m not going to run away this time. Whatever it takes, I won’t hold back. I’ll help you get better. Because…”

He could hear the little rumble in the grub’s throat as Keith pursed his lips.

“…I also love you…Shiro…”

Lips met Shiro’s furry forehead. Keith pressed his kiss down gently, carefully, so he didn’t hurt Shiro any further than he already had. The fuzz was ticklish on his skin, and he wondered if Shiro’s hair was soft and fuzzy like this all the time, or if it was just a result of being a bud. He hoped he would find that out, along with so much else about Shiro that he hadn’t known. No-he wanted to find out. He wanted to spend as much time as he could about the half-fae, to learn as much as he could about the beautiful man he had so foolishly hurt.

That wouldn’t happen again, if Keith could help it. He would help Shiro, nurse him back to health, and then he would make sure Shiro knew every day how Keith truly felt about him. No more fear. No more worry about mortality. If Shiro was a half-fae, then he and Keith would have plenty of time together. More than plenty.

Finally, Keith lifted his face up, letting out a tiny sputter from the pieces of fuzz that got on his mouth. Once he’d wiped them up off his lips, he smiled sheepishly at the bud. Now he got what his mother and even Lotor were trying to say; he really had been blind to it after all.

“…Sorry.”

Shiro slowly looked up at him, staring directly into Keith’s eyes for the very first time since the ordeal had started. Keith could see how wide, how shocked, how joyful the light that began to fill them was, even as the creature still cried, still sniffled. There was a hopeful smile on the bud’s face as it began to let out a happy squeak.

Then, without warning, the bud shot up from Keith’s hand, planting his own, feathery kiss onto Keith’s mouth.

And Keith’s world exploded into bright, unending color.

Keith loved him. Shiro could feel the love coming from Keith. It was a little hesitant, but it was full, and deep, and true. He couldn’t believe it. It was…wonderful. It was like a lifeline from the current he was drowning in, and he didn’t hesitate to grab it.

And just like that, he could feel his magic calm inside of him; he felt the control he’d lost start to return to his fingertips. His body relaxed, and he felt more like himself with each passing second after Keith confessed.  

Then-impossibly, almost like a dream-the dhampir kissed him. When that happened, Shiro couldn’t help it; he gathered his strength and flew up to kiss Keith right back.

And just like that, when his mouth met Keith’s, he felt himself unfurl with happiness and joy, such that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Centuries.  Was this what being loved felt like? It was perpetual spring, flowers forever blooming in his chest, not in dark sorrow, but in unbidden, unabashed celebration.

The sensation of Keith’s love washing over him was accompanied with a great burst of his power as it was restored to him in full. It coated the room with a thin veneer or rainbows, accompanied by a cascade of tsubaki. These weren’t just the petals of a flower that appeared, but flowers, full and whole, released from the now-dissipating vines beneath his skin. These began to gently and silently fall onto the ground around him and Keith like the buds of a tree in spring, alongside an explosion of glowing silver and gold sparkles also filled the bedroom, showering on the two like gentle rain.

The dhampir no longer held a tiny bud in his hands, but instead found itself wrapped, along with his arms, around Shiro’s thick, scarred waist. He could feel the coolness of Keith’s breath fluff the long setae that collared his neck; his right hand was cooled mist on Keith’s skin as the swirling violet appendage cupped around his flushing cheek, a finger idly playing with the dark hair that framed his face. The hair was soft and smelled like Keith-a warm fire in the woods, marshmallows and fall foliage. In other words, it was Keith, and it was perfect.

Keith, meanwhile, seemed in awe of the sight before him. Maybe he hadn’t expected to see Shiro restored, not to the human form he’d been used to, but the grownup version of his bud form-his true form, with wings and silver hair and soft, fur-like, fluffed-out bristles still flanking his limbs and spine. Or maybe Keith didn’t think it would be that easy to give Shiro his bigness back. In truth, Shiro was also surprised at how fast he’d been brought back from the brink. He’d been so certain he would be trapped in his own sadness, and ashamed that Keith had found him in such a state. Ashamed that, after all of the trouble Shiro had put Keith through, Keith would be stuck taking care of him.

Yet he could feel Keith was telling the truth, deep in his bones. Keith loved him. He loved Shiro, and what had held him back was Shiro’s long-held fears about revealing the truth, as well as his own. They could have just talked things out, been more open with one another. They should have trusted one another more, before it got as far as it had. They should have trusted themselves most of all.

Ah, they were both so silly. Perfectly silly.

Maybe that meant they were perfect for one another, after all.

“…Say it again.” His voice was no longer the warbles and chirps of a baby bud, but his own deep, rich voice, whispering, begging for affirmation. “Tell me you love me again, Keith, and I promise I’ll be yours forever.”

He still had sparkly tears in his eyes, and wet sparkles that streaked down his face, but it didn’t matter. Keith brought his own free hand up and gently wiped them away. His face was so beautiful, Shiro almost couldn’t stand it.

“First, I’m going to get that bottle of dewdrop so you can rehydrate, you big fuzzball. You’re still sick and red in the face.” There was no bite in Keith’s tone as he gently leaned in again, kissing away what was left of Shiro’s facial streaks. “Then I’ll sit you down somewhere so I can get a good look at you as you really are. Only when I’m done with that am I going to tell you, again and again, that I love you, until it sinks in. As many times as it takes, forever and ever. Deal?”

Shiro’s wings twitched in anticipation. Forever and ever, huh.

“Deal.”

That sounded like it might have a nice ring to it for once.

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