In Bond & Blade I have Shiro keeping hawks on the roof of his castle and showing Keith how to handle them...

So like, a modern au where they live in the same apt building and Shiro keeps pigeons, and Keith gets curious about the hot pigeon man while setting up his rooftop garden

after thinking about this pigeon au more...

Keith longingly watches the handsome pigeon man from afar while he sets up his garden bed, too shy to go over and introduce himself out of the blue. They wave hello at each other sometimes across the rooftop, but that's it.

Until one early spring afternoon when Keith goes up to check on his freshly planted seedlings and finds pigeons crowded all around the raised garden bed, his plants all pecked and pulled to shreds.

He doesn't know what to do.

The rooftop door creaks open somewhere behind Keith.

"Oh. Oh no." It's the hot pigeon man, coming to stand by Keith's side as he surveys the damage his pigeons have wrought. "I'm so sorry. There's never been a garden up here before, so I didn't realize they'd... well."

He sighs and gestures at the ruins of Keith's freshly planted garden, shooing away the pigeons still poking around.

"It's no big loss," Keith says, downplaying his disappointment. "It's my first time trying this gardening stuff, anyway. Probably would've all died anyway."

"Not when you put so much effort into it," the pigeon man says, stooping to feel the wooden sides of the raised bed. "Can I make it up to you? Uh, I can't stop them from flying or wanting to eat your garden, but I could build something to help protect it. And buy you new plants."

His name is Shiro, it turns out, and he's adamant about helping Keith protect his garden against pigeon incursions. The next day, Keith arrives on the rooftop to find wooden posts, chicken wire, and a tool box laid out, and Shiro in a tank top and sweats as he takes measurements.

"What kind of plants are you trying to grow?" Shiro asks as soon as he sees Keith, waving him over.

"Herbs, mostly. Some tomatoes. I'd bought a few packs of seeds and used some leftover kitchen clippings," Keith says, shrugging. "Want a hand?"

Shiro seems grateful for the help, although he insists he could do it himself if it's too much trouble for Keith. It was his pigeons that ate up Keith's little garden in the first place, so he's got to set it right.

The pigeons in question circle around to watch while they work.

Their heads bob as they study Keith at a distance, curious about this new human hanging around their caretaker. Their beady little eyes blink up at him, inquisitive.

More than once, a pigeon flutters up to land on Shiro while he takes a water break.

“Never seen anyone keep pigeons before,” Keith says, unable to resist a smile as Shiro strokes under the chin of a fat, pale grey bird.

“It wasn’t my intention at first,” Shiro says, laughing under his breath. “It started with one wounded little bird I found when I first moved

into this building. I came up here to workout and there she was, laying so still I thought she was already dead. I nursed her back to health and let her go, and I thought that was the end of it. Next thing I know, there’s a nest up here and a whole clutch of eggs.”

Shiro shrugs a shoulder, causing the pigeon sitting there to flap and coo at him. “I think I’ve probably raised three or four generations now. Some of the birds leave and they don’t come back, but others seem more attached.”

Shiro gently gathers the bird sitting on his shoulder into his hand and cradles it against the swell of his chest; the lucky pigeon seems perfectly content with the arrangement. “I don’t know if it’s me they like, or the loft I built for them.”

It IS a pretty nice little bird loft, Keith has to admit, all sturdy wood with plenty of place for roosting and nesting. But...

"I think it's probably you," he says, eyeing the plump pigeon in Shiro's hands as it blinks and nuzzles into the front of his shirt.

Shiro grins. "Do you want to pet one? They're pretty chill right now."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Keith has no problem with pigeons, although a few have stolen food right out of his hands over the years. And Shiro's in particular seem fairly well-behaved, the garden incident aside.

Shiro steps in close, pushing his chest-- and the pigeon cradled against it-- toward Keith and spilling open his hands. "This one is Calypso. I've been working my way through Saturn's moons for names."

Calypso's feathers are soft and waxy smooth under Keith's fingers.

The warm flutter of tiny breaths and a quick beating heart resides under the fluff, all of it delicately protected in the loose cage of Shiro's hands.

"Taking care of them was really therapeutic after my accident," Shiro adds, nodding at the metallic gleam of his right arm.

"They seem really grateful," Keith says, brushing a fingertip over the crown of Calypso's bobbing head. She coos and worms deeper into Shiro's grasp, her little feet scrabbling against his prosthetic palm.

"They're good birds. Usually." Shiro eyes the half-finished protection

for Keith's little raised garden and sighs. "I keep them well-fed, too! But I guess the temptation of fresh green sprouts was too much for them."

"It's fine, really." And Keith means it. It's early enough in the season that he can plant again.

It's also given him a valid excuse to meet Shiro, to talk to him, to hang out together. The pigeons' garden rampage is what let to this--being welcomed to crowd into Shiro's personal space, close enough to feel his body heat and smell the morning's sweat on his skin.

And getting to pet a pigeon is undeniably cool, but standing toe-to-toe with the distractingly attractive six-foot-four neighbor he's quietly been eyeing for the past three weeks is what really has Keith captivated.

"Do you want to hold her? I think she'd let you," Shiro says.

She does, although it takes some coaxing. Shiro coos at Calypso to calm her down, and she trusts him enough to step out of Shiro's hands and onto Keith's offered forearm instead, her wings giving a little flap.

"Wow. She really likes you," Shiro says, tone genuinely impressed.

Keith doesn't quite feel like he's earned the praise, having done nothing special to win over the bird, but it warms his blood all the same.

"I brought my ex-boyfriend up here once and they just... swarmed him. Completely. It was like watching something out of The Birds."

Keith snorts. "Well, I'm glad they just went for my garden, then."

Shiro's smile goes crooked. "Yeah... yeah. And soon enough they won't be able to bother your plants anymore," he declares, picking up a hammer and dutifully returning to task.

Once finished, Keith has a tall chickenwire barrier all around his raised garden bed, complete with a door he can open to tend his plants and latch shut to keep nibbling pigeons out.

While he replants his seeds and starts his garden 2.0, Shiro's flock gathers around to watch.

The more comfortable they become with Keith, the closer they get. Their little feet pappappap across the concrete as they scurry around the garden's wire walls; they coo softly at him from where they perch above, on narrow wooden beams.

A few even eat from his hand.

And when Shiro comes up after work and sees Keith's progress--and the dozen pigeons surrounding him, comfortable in their new acquaintance's presence--he beams.

"Brought you some water," Shiro says, pulling a bottle from a corner store bag. "And, uh, a beer. If you want."

They end up sitting near the rooftop ledge in a couple of cheap lawn chairs, sipping drinks while the city's daytime crawl turns to an evening buzz, the sun setting just beyond the skyline.

The pigeons come to roost with them, of course, drawn to Shiro and his soothing voice.

While a white-and-black mottled pigeon settles in Shiro's lap, he tells Keith about his career change to physical therapy, the best takeout places within walking distance, and how much he likes this neighborhood--and hopes Keith will, too.

And Keith is glad for the welcome. He smiles to himself behind his drink and ends up sharing more than he usually does months into knowing someone--about his dog, his motorcycle, his illustration work that doesn't quite pay the bills. Shiro's a good, thoughtful listener, too.

Their rooftop meets become habitual, and most sunsets they spend together, talking until Keith's throat goes scratchy and the pigeons are huddled in their loft for the night.

The birds get used to him. They waddle up to Keith while he checks on the garden.

And though Shiro is forever their first choice to perch on and nuzzle against, more and more turn to Keith for attention when Shiro is otherwise occupied.

Soon, Keith knows almost all of their names: Titan and Tethys, Atlas and Rhea, Fenrir and Ymir and Phoebe.

And once Keith's tomatoes start to come in and his herb garden is growing strong, it only seems natural to invite Shiro over for dinner sometime. Still, his throat goes dry and he trembles with nervous adrenaline, suddenly as intimidated by Shiro as he was those first few weeks.

But Shiro only smiles, his cheeks a warm, gold-toned pink from the summer sun, and says, "Really? I mean, yeah, of course I'd love to come over, Keith. What should I bring? Dessert?"

"Dessert," Keith reflexively agrees, a little dazed by Shiro's quick and enthusiastic response.