A Small Problem

By the time Leilah comes out of the kitchen, Keith is already sitting on the couch, hunched over and wringing his hands. He’s still shirtless but thankfully now has pants on.

She considers turning in the doorway and heading back to the other room. Perhaps even letting this cool off a little more before she dives into a serious conversation about it. Keith, however, looks like he might implode with nervous energy soon, and so she walks slowly over to sit beside him. The couch sags under their shared weight. For a long moment, neither of them so much as look in each other’s direction. Then Keith clears his throat with a determination she rarely sees in him.

“In my defense,” he starts, which is an excellent opener, “I wasn’t expecting you to offer to stay. Much less…” He makes a vague gesture to the two of them. “...all of this.”

Leilah thinks for a moment about her reply. She wants to approach this delicately. A long sip of her tea grants her an extra moment to consider.

“Well, I did want to help,” she says slowly. “It’s not really as if you pushed me away either.”

She did not sleep a wink last night, but that was not for the fear that he had tried to instil in her on their first date. Definitely not that. The thought of that night, juxtaposed against this one, makes her feel like an explorer looking back on a life before the world opened up with all its possibilities and wonder.

Keith evidently does not feel the same. He fidgets.

“I get a little scrambled around that time. My priorities shift a little. I go from thinking perfectly straight to wondering what I have time to eat before somebody stops me.”

The thought makes a laugh catch in her throat. He was adamant in a moment of lucidity that she should wait until it was over to offer him anything to eat. She clears her throat noisily to cover it up.

“Is that some sort of rule? Or just a thing with you?”

“I struggle to digest things when I shift back,” he admits, sheepish. “It doesn’t help that my tastes shift to whatever I can find outside or in the shower drain.”

That thought is a little harder to stomach. They really should change the subject. Leilah draws in a deep breath.

“I want you to know that it’s not a problem,” she says, choosing her words as carefully as she can. He stiffens beside her, but she presses on. “And it doesn’t make you less of a man in my eyes.”

Keith seems to process this for a moment. Then he leans forward to rest his forehead gently in his hands.

“I am so sorry,” he says. Leilah is about to protest when he adds, “It's just that people always expect a classic werewolf when I start telling them about it, and I never know how to correct them, and you were so cool about it. I just didn't know how to explain.... the small of it all."

That does make her laugh, a sharp sound that rings like a bell before she can rein it back in. She coughs and clears her throat, but covering it up now is a futile effort.

“If it helps anything,” she says, patting him gently on the shoulder, “This is a better outcome safety-wise. That, and you were super cute once I got over the shock of it.”

He makes a sound like a wounded sheep, and she has to turn away to hide the growing smile. Handle it delicately, she reminds herself.

“Not that I’m thrilled about the initial lie, but perhaps that can be excused. Really. It’s not like you do it on purpose.”

When he lifts his head, she gives him the most earnest look she can muster. Laughing can wait, and besides, Keith is not what she wants to laugh at. It is much more the situation around it, his sketchiness when she had offered to stay the night to help keep him contained. It turned out to be a lot easier once she realised what she was dealing with.

He looks at her with clear and earnest eyes, and Leilah now meets his gaze steadily.

“It won’t change anything,” she promises. Then amends, “Well, it won’t threaten the relationship, at least. I might demand to be in the room with you next time.”

He seems to be searching her face for the truth of it, and he finds it in her bright grin. Awkward but relieved, he seems to finally settle a little bit. His stiffness even gives way to a lovely huff of laughter, and that reassures her more than anything else.

“I’m just glad you’re not already gone,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “You should have seen the last one. She was apparently afraid of dogs. Not sure what she intended to do when she expected me to shift into an actual wolf.”

“Her loss,” Leilah says easily. She is really beginning to settle into the idea now. There is a warmth in her chest–fondness and lingering amusement–that makes everything else much easier to forgive. Of course he did not tell her about this. How would he even begin?

He looks so huge now, his muscles back in shape and his brown hair almost shiny under the light. The lines of his back are sharply defined. He looks capable. Strong. The image is difficult to reconcile with what she has seen.

Focus, Leilah reminds herself. She has more questions.

“Hey,” she says lightly, leaning a little closer to him, risking it. “Do you know what breed you are? I realised last night that I had no idea.”

Keith mutters something into his hands, and Leilah waits patiently for him to build up the courage. She really is not going anywhere. Especially not when the answer is so worth it.

“What?”

“Pomeranian,” he supplies, just a little flat. “Pom Puffball is the term my mom uses. I don’t know if it’s a real thing or not.”

Leilah bites her lip to contain the smile.

“Well, you were adorable,” she says. Boldly, she risks reaching for his head and running comforting fingers through his hair. “I can’t wait to meet little you again.”

He says nothing at first, but the way he slowly leans into her space speaks volumes. She lets him settle against her chest, reaching out to put her tea on the table before it can spill.

“Yeah?” Keith says against her chest.

Leilah smiles. She leans down and rests her head atop his, warm and content and amused.

“Absolutely.”