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I know.

[ 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.

It's been a long time since we've raced.

[ a race. an open stretch of road. jacket flapping, grit stinging scraps of bare skin, shiro's headlamp burning like a lantern beside him -- ]

At least that means it's been a long time since you lost one.

[ he remembers it, here.

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.

[ one breath puffs out; his mouth curves after it. ]

You don't look that big to me.

[ that's probably his cue.

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.

[ how is this even a measuring tactic. dryly he nudges forward a little, like the world's tiniest headbump. ]

Shiro, if you think three inches is big, then I've -- got some pretty bad news for you.

It already feels like a lot I've missed.

[ 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.

. . . don't.

Don't go.

[ so much for that.

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.

You always do. I know that.

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

Don't you need to sleep?

[ 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. ]

Not any more than you do.