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“Jesus Christ, Keith!”
Keith flinched and froze in his tracks. It took him a moment, but when he realized the person was Lance and not anyone else, he forced his shoulders down and lowered his arm from its half-raised position, crossing them to disguise the motion.
“What?”
“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Lance exclaimed, a hand clenched dramatically over his heart. The two of them were alone on the bridge, the night cycle lit only by the star map that Lance had opened up. He sat on the floor before it, just gazing at the hologram of Earth-- at least until Keith had wandered in and powered up the screen on his Paladin seat.
“Do you have to be a space ninja all the time? Gimme a break, man!”
Keith gave an affronted huff and dropped into his seat. He could feel his cheeks heating, but chose to ignore it. If he ignored it, it would go away, right?
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Keith wasn’t looking at him, but could still hear the inevitable eye roll Lance was tossing in his direction.
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m totally convinced you just ‘accidentally’,” the air quotes were audible, too, “sneak up on people all the time. You definitely don’t secretly revel in proving your prowess over us non-stealthy peasants.”
“I don’t,” Keith snapped back. His fingers fiddled idly on his screen-- he had no idea what he was doing, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, and Shiro had begun to lock the training deck at night after he found Keith still training at four a.m. for the third night in a row. “I don’t do it on purpose. And it doesn’t happen that often.”
Lance scoffed, but thankfully for Keith’s temper, fell silent afterwards and returned to his wistful gazing.
And Keith, foolishly, thought that would be the end of it.
It was not the end of it.
The very next morning at breakfast, when everyone was still groggily shoveling food goo into their mouths, Lance suddenly decided to pipe up (through, it should be noted, his own mouthful of food).
“Ok, is it just me, or does Keith sneak up on people a lot? It’s not just me, right?”
“Lance,” Shiro sighed tiredly, running a hand over his face as Keith scowled down at his bowl. But his reprimand didn’t get a chance to move beyond that, as Hunk interrupted.
“It’s not just you,” he said, then cringed at Keith’s glare. “I’m sorry, Keith, but half the time I don’t even know you’re in the room until I jump out of my skin. I’ve almost slashed myself while chopping things too many times.”
Feeling the unwelcome flush return to his cheeks, Keith opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off by Pidge.
“Yeah, I’m with them. You’ve given me so many heart attacks when I see you pop out of nowhere. We should get you a bell to wear or something.”
“Perhaps not always,” Allura ventured, “but Keith does have a habit of creeping around during the night cycle.”
Keith felt Shiro’s eyes land on him and hunched over his bowl.
“You do sneak about, Number Four,” added Coran cheerfully. “You’ve given even me a turn or two.”
God, everyone was looking at him now. What was he supposed to say? It wasn’t like he did it on purpose.
“Sorry,” he eventually wound up muttering, not meeting anyone’s eye. “I don’t mean to.”
Lance shook his head at the weak excuse, but no one else said anything.
Until Pidge pointed her spork at him and said, “I’m serious about the bell.”
He didn’t let them make him a bell.
Honestly, he didn’t see what the big deal was, but now that all of the others had brought it up he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Why did he walk so quietly? Why did he slip in and out of rooms without announcing himself?
Sure, it made him better at stealth missions, but if it was bothering the others that much, he should put effort into stopping, shouldn’t he?
He pondered this question to himself one day as he walked down the halls towards the training deck. It was the middle of the day, no one else would be there, making it the perfect time to sink into repetitive movements and let the thoughts come as they would.
He’d always been a quiet kid. Sat on his own, didn’t talk to others, didn’t make friends. Well, almost always. Except when he was at home. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember the sound of bare feet on wooden floors, his voice ringing off the walls as he laughed. But that was before, when his father was still alive. Then there was that house--
Keith cut off the thought with sudden intensity, physically pausing to shake his head and frown at himself.
He’d always had a habit of overthinking things-- analyzing where there wasn’t anything to see, assigning meaning where there was none. This was just another one of those times. That house hadn’t even been that bad, it was stupid to think something that small would stay with him for so long. If he tried to use that as an excuse to the others it would be obvious what it was-- an excuse, a reach, an attention grab, a pity party. If anything it was his fault for being so… so… over-emotional. Hysterical.
No, he decided as he resumed his trek, purposefully ignoring how his knuckles ached with the force of his clenched fists, there’s no deep meaning. I just walk softly. End of story.
He reached the door to the training room just as the thought was ending, which Keith noted with relief. Seemed this session would be more of a ‘fight, don’t think’ session that he’d previously imagined.
But when the door slid open, he discovered the training deck wasn’t as empty as he’d expected it to be. Instead Shiro was there, duking it out hand to hand with the gladiator.
Keith stepped to the side and leaned against the wall to watch. Shiro was always a force to be reckoned with, and the pure grace and power behind his moves always impressed Keith. He was pretty good at fighting, but Shiro always reminded him of how much he could still stand to learn.
Today Shiro looked like he was trying for a challenge; the gladiator was moving faster than Keith had ever seen it, it’s staff making a whistling sound as it whipped through the air. But Shiro met it strike for strike, his Galra arm leaving neon streaks behind it, and after a few more seconds of blocking, parrying, and dodging, he finally managed to put that fist through the gladiators chest.
It disappeared into blue cubes and Keith straightened up from the wall, a smile curving his lips. He moved forward.
He got close enough to see the sweat dripping down Shiro’s neck before reaching out.
“Wow, Shiro, that was--”
His fingers didn’t even brush Shiro’s shoulder before he whirled. Keith caught a glance at his eyes-- pupils dilated, burning like wildfire-- before Shiro’s hand locked around his throat.
His breath sucked in, he felt his feet leave the floor, and the pressure tightened.
He must’ve done something. He must’ve kicked, or clawed at Shiro’s wrist, or something, because a moment later Shiro’s eyes widened and Keith was dropped to the floor.
Understandably, he was a bit stunned. It must’ve been Shiro’s human hand, or else the plasma would’ve melted right through his skin, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was grateful for that.
A thump pulled him back into his own skin; his cold, clammy skin. Across from him Shiro had also fallen to the ground, leaning back on his hands and away, horror written all over his face. When he saw the tears in his eyes, Keith’s stomach plummeted.
He scared Shiro.
He triggered a flashback.
He hurt Shiro.
Keith heaved in a lungful of air. Shiro was shaking, still trapped in his own head, and the tears had spilled down his cheeks.
My fault, my fault, my fault.
He pushed his heels against the metal, scooting himself back a few inches. He had to get out and away, where he couldn’t hurt Shiro again, before he came out of it and got angry.
He didn’t have the space in his mind to dismiss that traitorous thought.
“I--” His voice came out too breathy, he had to try again, Shiro had to hear. “I’m sorry, Shiro.”
Shiro just stared at him blankly. Keith felt sick.
God, what had he done?
“I’m sorry,” he said again, practically a whimper, before his jellied legs regained the strength to stand.
He scrambled to his feet and fled, guilt and fear dogging his every silent step.
A knock at the door made him jump.
“Number Four,” called Coran’s voice from the other side, “it’s time for dinner.”
With a swallow to soothe his tear-roughened voice, Keith yelled back, “I’m not hungry.”
He’d been sitting in his room for vargas now. Stationary on his bed, knees pulled to his chest, unable to stop the tears as the shouts rang in his head.
“Shut up!”
“Be quiet for once, you ungrateful brat!”
“I told you to quiet down!”
“This is your last warning!”
“It’s about time you learned your fucking place!”
All he could do was try desperately not to make a sound, holding his breath when the sobs threatened to erupt from him. He was doing it to himself, he knew that, trying to get someone’s pity, all he had to do was stop thinking about it, but damnit he was just being stupid, again, and it wasn’t even that bad--
Coran interrupted his spiral by pressing the button to open the door. Keith barely had time to duck his head under his arms before Coran saw his tear-streaked face. He tensed, cold leaking into his fingers, as he waited for the reprimand. A heavy sigh, an order to compose himself, a snap to do what he was told… but none of it ever came.
Instead Coran said, “Does this self-imposed exile have something to do with today’s incident on the training deck?”
Keith’s heart choked him. Unable to say anything he merely curled more tightly into his ball, praying that whatever punishment the others had come up with wouldn’t be too bad. They’d probably want to follow up on the bell thing or a tracker, and as humiliating as it would be he’d do it without argument this time. Whatever he had to do to not do this to Shiro again.
Coran took a few steps into the room, then Keith felt the mattress sink on his right as he sat down. He tensed again, but thankfully Coran didn’t touch him, merely speaking in a low tone.
“Keith, the last time you were in the pods, I noticed something on your scan. Your brain chemistry is different than the other three Paladins-- more similar to Shiro’s, as though you’ve suffered some trauma--”
“I don’t have trauma,” Keith blurted out. He still didn’t raise his head, but the words poured out regardless. “Shiro does. He’s suffered so-- so much, nothing that’s happened to me can even compare, I’m just being stupid and reading too much into it and it wasn’t even that bad to begin with, don’t waste your time on me, help Shiro instead, he’s the one that deserves it, not me, not--”
“Keith.” Coran’s voice was unusually stern, enough so to bring Keith’s rambling to a halt. “It’s not a question of who has it worse. Whatever events have transpired, they’ve obviously affected you.” He paused for a moment, and Keith heard his jacket rustle, possibly as he stroked his mustache. “I’m not here to pass judgement, or to make you do anything you don’t wish to, my boy. I’ve only come to tell you this-- that Shiro is upset about this event as well. He’s very distressed. The Black Paladin is blaming himself as well, I think, and I believe having you at the table will ease both of your minds.”
Keith closed his eyes, lashes stuck together by tears. Of course Shiro was feeling guilty, even when it was Keith’s fault, he was just too good not to. He couldn’t let him do that.
“Alright,” Keith eventually agreed with a sniffle. “I’ll come.”
“Splendid,” said Coran as Keith tried to wipe his cheeks clean. “You’ll see, Number Four, everything will be just fine.”
It… actually wasn’t that bad. Obviously the others could tell that something was wrong, but they all endeavored to act as normal as possible, even as Shiro and Keith picked at their plates and avoided each others’ eyes.
Finally Keith ate what he hoped was a satisfactory amount of his goo and got to his feet to bring his plate to the kitchen. As he left he heard a chair scrape and the low murmur of Shiro’s voice-- time to face the music.
Keith took his time putting his plate away to keep his back to the door. Surely enough he heard Shiro walk in after him, and a moment of heavy silence followed.
Keith didn’t wait for Shiro to speak first.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping Shiro was aware enough to hear this time. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It won’t happen again.”
He clenched his jaw, determined to keep his promise, even if it meant snapping his fingers whenever he entered a room, or perhaps just not entering at all. But Shiro merely sighed at his answer and crossed the room. With each step Keith’s muscles tightened, until they were standing side by side and he was wound up like a jack in the box right before the pop.
Shiro slid his plate into the slot beside Keith’s and cleared his throat.
“I know we both feel guilty,” he murmured in a voice just for them. “I don’t think either of us can help it. But I’ll say it anyway-- it wasn’t either of our faults.”
Silence. Keith barely dared to breathe, while Shiro did it slowly and carefully. Patiently.
“It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t mine. We both have things that need fixing, things we need to talk about.”
Keith opened his mouth to protest but was halted by Shiro’s raised hand.
“Yes, Keith, you do. Take my word for it.”
He bit the inside of his lip and didn’t answer.
“But for the time being we don’t really have the opportunity to do that. So for now all we can do is try to cope… and try to forgive ourselves.”
His volume dropped again.
“Think we can manage?”
Keith gave a jerky nod, once again struggling to hold back tears. Finally he dared a glance up at Shiro’s face, but only got a glimpse before being pulled into an embrace that he couldn’t help but sink into.
Shiro’s thumb rubbed a circle into one of his shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered into Keith’s ear, and his throat tightened, barely allowing him to let the words out.
“I love you too, Shiro.”