[ there's not much he can say to that, feeling a bit out of place in keith's cluttered, empty house, and comforting him with company only. kerberos is a recent thing, but a distant memory in this little sliver of time shared between them. he doesn't remember the details past the long flight it would've been, the return that took longer than any of them ever expected.
but there's a cracked television screen somewhere in old memory that flickers with blue and green static, and a reporter's bland voice mechanically rehashing the same old news. pilot error, the headlines say. and if they look at all of the cut-outs strewn along the floor, if they read the worn paper and along their ripped edges and bleeding ink, they'd both remember that he's still lost in space. ]
Must've been some nightmare. [ but he's smiling at least, his tone warm and fond and hushed in the nighttime. his arm is solid, both of them made of flesh and blood and his fingers are tangible where he's reaching forward to brush back keith's hair.
ruffling and familiar. just like how they both remember. ] You should go back to sleep. I'll be here.
[ a fleck of a sound, not quite disagreement, as he bows his head a little -- doesn't lean into the touch, but can't quite shift away, either, from the brush of shiro's fingertips, flicking warm through all the blue shadows. there's a clipping running to grey and dust in a shaft of moonlight, a thousand betraying signs around them -- but his eyes turn up beneath the fringe: he isn't looking anywhere else. ]
[ and that's honesty enough to rip the illusion open for a singular second -- remembering the sleepless nights in the days that followed after; how he'd train instead, sweat running down his brow as the fluorescent lights shone brightly overhead; zarkon is attacking, paladins assemble, and he's already out the door, rushing down the halls with keith keeping steady by his side.
but they're in the middle of a desert in the middle of nowhere, and he's sitting on the edge of keith's uncomfortable bed, feeling a little guilty. it's almost -- relaxing. peaceful. all that he knows is that he's glad to see him, that for now, this is enough. ]
Not that I'm complaining about the accommodations.
[ a shrug, like motion could slough the memory. talking trails his knotted fists across the sheets, restless -- and he's shifting to follow through after all: dropping into a slouch at the very edge of the bed, side-by-side with bare centimeters between them under the arid night. ]
[ it's not a good question. he can feel it long before it forms on his tongue, before it chokes out the strange familiarity that settles in their proximity, that creates distance yawning wide until they're lightyears away again.
he's not sure why he asks it. somehow, he thinks keith's been dreading the question -- he thinks they'd rather get it over with. ]
[ there's a sheer, blank silence: the empty tolling of a boy who hadn't thought of the question at all. hadn't thought past the slight dip in the mattress, moonlight dusting silver across shiro's knuckles and the familiar shock of hair.
next to this, the history behind it seems to wither. it hadn't mattered -- but he can't say that. ]
I had to.
[ a half-truth, told sidelong. ]
After you left -- they weren't going to let me on a real mission anyway.
but he's bumping their shoulders, and the bed springs creak with the motion. motes of dust make up constellations in the blue darkness of the room, but that's not real space, it's inconsequential. ]
You're good, you know that. [ it's not disappointment. not really. just a moment of could-have-been, would-have-been, should-have-been. nothing really worth mourning when it feels like keith has something better now. ] Even without me. A few more years, and you'd probably go into flying missions solo.
[ another little silence, weighed down with all the rust in his throat, copper and salt knotting thick enough to catch in his teeth. guilt's a spun haze around the answer -- because if there'd been any part of the loss that'd mattered, it might have been this: that shiro wouldn't have wanted him to go.
but the bump has its impact, shoulder to shoulder, and he leans back against the contact hard as his head bows -- just for a moment, where no one can see it. ]
. . . but we don't exactly need the Garrison if you just want to see me fly.
[ the weight's comfortable to take, as familiar as a phantom limb, as the fingers of his right hand where they flex restlessly against the sheets.
it's only them, and it's only his heartbeat that he can hear in the cabin's din. the static of a radio's playing in the distance, some old folksy tune that he thinks he likes, that keith doesn't like. but he's laughing, wry and a little tired. ]
Not anymore, huh.
[ but for some reason or another, he can't remember why that is. there's some kind of nervy energy in the air, something that pushes tension into his bones in the next second, that's still not quite enough to inundate this feeling of content that's keeping the two of them right here. together.
there's something they need to do. but every impulse in him is saying, no, not right now. just stay. ] Maybe in the morning, we can fly out together.
sand in his teeth, keith's arms wrapped around his abdomen, the way his heartbeat had notched up long before the speed dial ticked past fifty, sixty, seventy for the first time in what had felt like too long. liberating. there's the thrill of it, the fondness making its way into his smile as he'd fit the helmet over keith's head, and his hair had mussed out of its shape.
looks like you won. and he laughs, helplessly nostalgic. ]
That's a lot of big talk for someone who's got a long way to grow.
he blinks in turn, snorting quick through his nostrils. he's laying a hand over keith's sleep-mussed hair and leaning down to tap their foreheads together, to test their heights. ]
Ah, looks like we've got at least three inches left.
[ there's a breath, a sigh for all of their lost time. it's going to be a year of it -- because he knows this can't possibly last, whatever this is, and keith's going to turn over on his cot to an empty room.
and then what? ]
. . . hey, Keith.
eat dick, motherfucker. in fact, eat exactly 1.75 testicles.
but he's smiling, wry as ever and tired already. they're going to wake up only to forget everything again, and frankly, he's exhausted with being exhausted. ]
[ it makes him laugh, soft and quiet into the blue, static-ridden space still left between them.
the springs creak. the desert breeze slips into the crack beneath the door until all they can smell is the sand, not the cosmic dust clinging to his shadowy frame, not a canyon's stillness lingering along keith's limbs after a day of excavation. ]
[ it's a deep hush, all shadows and dust and pearling light -- it feels as if they're caught on the cusp of something, a moment that might startle and fly if he so much as talks too loud. so he doesn't move; his voice runs low --
and yet there's still a little judgment involved. ]
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but there's a cracked television screen somewhere in old memory that flickers with blue and green static, and a reporter's bland voice mechanically rehashing the same old news. pilot error, the headlines say. and if they look at all of the cut-outs strewn along the floor, if they read the worn paper and along their ripped edges and bleeding ink, they'd both remember that he's still lost in space. ]
Must've been some nightmare. [ but he's smiling at least, his tone warm and fond and hushed in the nighttime. his arm is solid, both of them made of flesh and blood and his fingers are tangible where he's reaching forward to brush back keith's hair.
ruffling and familiar. just like how they both remember. ] You should go back to sleep. I'll be here.
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[ a fleck of a sound, not quite disagreement, as he bows his head a little -- doesn't lean into the touch, but can't quite shift away, either, from the brush of shiro's fingertips, flicking warm through all the blue shadows. there's a clipping running to grey and dust in a shaft of moonlight, a thousand betraying signs around them -- but his eyes turn up beneath the fringe: he isn't looking anywhere else. ]
Why're you even still up?
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[ and that's honesty enough to rip the illusion open for a singular second -- remembering the sleepless nights in the days that followed after; how he'd train instead, sweat running down his brow as the fluorescent lights shone brightly overhead; zarkon is attacking, paladins assemble, and he's already out the door, rushing down the halls with keith keeping steady by his side.
but they're in the middle of a desert in the middle of nowhere, and he's sitting on the edge of keith's uncomfortable bed, feeling a little guilty. it's almost -- relaxing. peaceful. all that he knows is that he's glad to see him, that for now, this is enough. ]
Not that I'm complaining about the accommodations.
Cozy place you've got here.
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[ a shrug, like motion could slough the memory. talking trails his knotted fists across the sheets, restless -- and he's shifting to follow through after all: dropping into a slouch at the very edge of the bed, side-by-side with bare centimeters between them under the arid night. ]
And it's still got power.
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[ it's not a good question. he can feel it long before it forms on his tongue, before it chokes out the strange familiarity that settles in their proximity, that creates distance yawning wide until they're lightyears away again.
he's not sure why he asks it. somehow, he thinks keith's been dreading the question -- he thinks they'd rather get it over with. ]
Why'd you leave?
[ the garrison. ]
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next to this, the history behind it seems to wither. it hadn't mattered -- but he can't say that. ]
I had to.
[ a half-truth, told sidelong. ]
After you left -- they weren't going to let me on a real mission anyway.
no subject
but he's bumping their shoulders, and the bed springs creak with the motion. motes of dust make up constellations in the blue darkness of the room, but that's not real space, it's inconsequential. ]
You're good, you know that. [ it's not disappointment. not really. just a moment of could-have-been, would-have-been, should-have-been. nothing really worth mourning when it feels like keith has something better now. ] Even without me. A few more years, and you'd probably go into flying missions solo.
I would've liked to see that.
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[ another little silence, weighed down with all the rust in his throat, copper and salt knotting thick enough to catch in his teeth. guilt's a spun haze around the answer -- because if there'd been any part of the loss that'd mattered, it might have been this: that shiro wouldn't have wanted him to go.
but the bump has its impact, shoulder to shoulder, and he leans back against the contact hard as his head bows -- just for a moment, where no one can see it. ]
. . . but we don't exactly need the Garrison if you just want to see me fly.
no subject
it's only them, and it's only his heartbeat that he can hear in the cabin's din. the static of a radio's playing in the distance, some old folksy tune that he thinks he likes, that keith doesn't like. but he's laughing, wry and a little tired. ]
Not anymore, huh.
[ but for some reason or another, he can't remember why that is. there's some kind of nervy energy in the air, something that pushes tension into his bones in the next second, that's still not quite enough to inundate this feeling of content that's keeping the two of them right here. together.
there's something they need to do. but every impulse in him is saying, no, not right now. just stay. ] Maybe in the morning, we can fly out together.
It's been a long time since we've raced.
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At least that means it's been a long time since you lost one.
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sand in his teeth, keith's arms wrapped around his abdomen, the way his heartbeat had notched up long before the speed dial ticked past fifty, sixty, seventy for the first time in what had felt like too long. liberating. there's the thrill of it, the fondness making its way into his smile as he'd fit the helmet over keith's head, and his hair had mussed out of its shape.
looks like you won. and he laughs, helplessly nostalgic. ]
That's a lot of big talk for someone who's got a long way to grow.
wow???
You don't look that big to me.
what
he blinks in turn, snorting quick through his nostrils. he's laying a hand over keith's sleep-mussed hair and leaning down to tap their foreheads together, to test their heights. ]
Ah, looks like we've got at least three inches left.
WHAT!!!
Shiro, if you think three inches is big, then I've -- got some pretty bad news for you.
i don't know why you're being all rowdy, they're just staring into each other's eyes
[ there's a breath, a sigh for all of their lost time. it's going to be a year of it -- because he knows this can't possibly last, whatever this is, and keith's going to turn over on his cot to an empty room.
and then what? ]
. . . hey, Keith.
eat dick, motherfucker. in fact, eat exactly 1.75 testicles.
Don't go.
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but he's smiling, wry as ever and tired already. they're going to wake up only to forget everything again, and frankly, he's exhausted with being exhausted. ]
You already know I come back.
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[ there's rust on the words still, crackling heavy; but if he's sure of anything, if there's any doubt worth working through, it must be this. ]
. . . but it's been a long time since we've done this -- and I get the feeling we're about to be pretty busy for a while.
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the springs creak. the desert breeze slips into the crack beneath the door until all they can smell is the sand, not the cosmic dust clinging to his shadowy frame, not a canyon's stillness lingering along keith's limbs after a day of excavation. ]
Don't you need to sleep?
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and yet there's still a little judgment involved. ]
Not any more than you do.
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[ it rings in a low note, murmur-soft. ]
Let's do it, then.
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I'm not about to kick you out of your own bed, Keith.
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I already called dibs on the floor.
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