Stiles always figured it would be Scott who saw him through his first heat. They pinky-swore on it, in fact, when they were eleven and newly-presented. There haven’t exactly been an abundance of offers between then and now. What there is now, though, is the pack, and pack takes care of each other.

Some demons and otherworldly creatures love climbing up the power ladder. Shane is not one of these. He likes where he is (thank you very much) and has no interest in moving up. All he wants is to give his friend Ryan a nice birthday gift. So, naturally, everything goes to hell.

That night he lies in bed alone until the moon is high. When the rest of the house is deathly silent, except for the light snores coming from behind every door, he sneaks in slippered feet through the halls and over to the covered kitchens. There’s faint light coming from the smoldering hearth, where the coals are piled to keep them warm for tomorrow’s early start. Someone has curled up by it on a mat, like a scullery maid. But it’s not a maid, it’s a man. A tall long-legged man. His husband. The dubiously immortal master of Changming manor. What the fuck, Xie thinks.

Sanji will just go knock. Appease his own sense of responsibility, get yelled off, and come back to his own bed knowing he tried. It’s the least he owes the frustrating marimo, as crewmates; to at least make sure he’s got options.