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“Okay, Atlas. Can you read it back to me again?”
All of it? If a sentient ship can sound amused, which Shiro knows is true, she does.
“The first part.”
You sure you don’t want me to skip to the list of things you want to say to him? You’ve been going through them in your mind all day.
Shiro purses his lips in the mirror, applying some sweet-smelling product to his damp hair. “I’m well aware.” He smooths a hand over his freshly shaved chin, making sure he didn’t miss any spots. “The first part, please, Atlas.”
Fine. A holoscreen next to the mirror lights up, bringing up a bulleted list of items. You have a dinner planned in the admiral’s private dining room at 1900. Chef approved the menu and will tailor it to your specifications. Should you wish it, two speeders are in hangar five and fully charged for use after dinner. Additionally, the observation deck has been reserved for your use, and the telescope upgrade is in place as directed. At 2200, champagne and chocolates will be served.
“Perfect. Thank you so much.”
I also took the liberty of ensuring that your quarters were cleaned today instead of tomorrow, and making sure fresh linens are on the bed.
Shiro scoffs, looking up at the ceiling. He knows it’s ridiculous; she’s not above him, she’s all around him, but it helps sometimes to think of her having a fixed location. “That’s,” he says, pausing. “Kind of presumptuous. And not really what I’m going for, okay? Tonight is about saying what I’ve been wanting to say for a really long time. It’s not about sex.”
But you think about having sex. With Keith.
Shiro sighs. “Remember how we talked about boundaries?”
I do not understand why this is an inappropriate conversation. You simply want to mate with him.
“But that’s between me and Keith, okay? We have a lot to talk about before anything else might happen. Which isn’t going to be tonight.”
I think I understand. So this is all an attempt to woo him to become your mate.
“It’s more like me explaining how I feel. And making gestures to show my, well, my appreciation for him. My affection.”
You should just say love. It’s shorter.
A flush rises on Shiro’s skin, starting on his cheeks and slipping down his throat. “You can’t just say that to someone out of nowhere. You need to make sure the moment’s right. That word changes things. Changes everything.”
He pulls on a pair of fitted black slacks, checking the fit in the mirror. His new prosthetic is freshly polished, gleaming silver under his bedroom lights. He much prefers this version. Even though the floating arm had its uses, he never quite felt like it was a part of him. This one is warmer, lighter, and if he wants to wear it overnight occasionally, he actually can.
Running a hand over his abdomen, he smooths his fingertips over faded scars. It’s almost gotten to the point where they’re not the first thing he sees when he looks in the mirror. Almost. It’s difficult not to focus on his imperfections, the places where his skin puckers from old injuries, the shadows under his eyes from working too hard. Yet his body is alive and healthy, and for the first time in his life, he gets to decide what happens next.
Or more importantly, he hopes, the person he wants to spend that life with, might possibly choose him too.
You are taking 3.5 times longer to dress. Is this part of courtship?
“Well, yes. And no. It’s more just wanting to look good for someone. Like you took your time to look your best for them.” He tugs a white tank over his head before slipping into a crisp, white button-down. It’s been a long time since he’s worn something that wasn’t his uniform or workout clothes and he’s not used to seeing himself like this.
For most of his life, he’s worn things other people told him to. Hospital gowns. Garrison uniforms. Galra rags. Paladin armor. The idea of choosing for himself, of figuring out what fabrics feel good, of selecting styles and cuts that actually fit his body, is still confusing. He does okay with athleisure; he’s used to compression pants and fitted tech shirts, or even an oversized hoodie when he’s actually relaxing, rare as that is. But dress clothes? Shoes made to shine instead of run? It’s wild to stare at himself and see someone that looks, well, stylish.
Maybe even hot.
I scanned your measurements and then compared them to the fashion holos you told me about. These designs seemed best for your height and the width of your shoulders and thighs. Because of your musculature, tailoring was necessary. I do not know what humans find fashionable, but your clothing fits you very well.
“Thanks.” A smile tugs at Shiro’s lips. “I clean up okay?”
You have just bathed.
“Right.” He fusses with his forelock, trying to get it to go the way he prefers. “What’s Keith’s ETA now?”
As I stated earlier, his ship’s communication system is malfunctioning, but we are receiving regular pings. He is on track to arrive shortly.
A flare of concern tightens Shiro’s breathing. “The comms are still down?”
Our systems have attempted all methods to repair them from our end. It appears the defective component is on his vessel. However, all life support, flight, and navigational systems are functional.
Shiro buttons up his shirt, pleased with how nimble his new prosthetic’s fingers are. “There’s no way you can patch me in?”
I am sorry. I cannot fulfill your request, Shiro. Her voice in his mind sounds contrite, and he knows she is. There isn’t much Atlas won’t do for him if it’s within her power. There have been a few rare times he’s had to deliberately redirect her to not only consider Shiro’s needs. She’s loyal beyond measure, which he can’t fault her for, but sometimes he has to remind her that a community, his community, lives here too.
“That’s okay. At least we were able to message briefly yesterday. Keith did say yes to meeting when he got back,” Shiro says, if only to remind himself that this isn’t exactly a total surprise. It’s meeting for a meal, like they’ve done countless times.
But not on Valentine’s Day, on Earth, after saving the galaxy no less.
I was not able to find the cinnamon candies you inquired about. However, I was able to procure a single unit of these.
A small cardboard box appears on Shiro’s dresser. “Oh my God, are these conversation hearts?” He picks it up, peering through the plastic window at the candies. “I loved these as a kid. I didn’t think they still made them!” He tucks them into his pocket.
Novelty items are still difficult to come by, but not impossible. She sounds pleased with herself. Your species’ obsession with anatomically incorrect cardiac muscle is strange.
Shiro laughs. “Hearts are complicated and we prefer things simplified. Also, it’s where people in the past used to think emotions came from. Anyway, they’re nostalgic and kinda cute.”
If sentient robots can hum, Atlas does, her presence fading to a comfortable warmth in the back of his mind. He spends the next several dobosh waiting for Keith’s arrival, busying himself with mundane tasks like rearranging his couch pillows and making sure there’s water in the fridge for Keith since he likes it cold.
This, of course, presumes Keith will come to his quarters, which Shiro has his doubts about, but on the off chance he might, it’s best to be prepared. His stomach flutters at the thought of Keith standing in this space, of how it will feel to look at him after Shiro’s finally spoken his heart. Looking back, there were so many moments he could have—should have—confessed, but perhaps tonight was the night he was waiting for all along.
When he’s satisfied that every picture frame is straight and every pillow is fluffed, he moves on to trying to figure out how to sign his Valentine’s card to Keith. Love? Yours? What’s appropriate for finally telling the person you adore most in the universe that you’re so in love with them that it fills up your lungs like helium and you can barely stay on the ground?
He agonizes over word choices and finally gets down his best attempt at a Hallmark moment when Atlas pokes at his mental barriers.
Keith is here.
He clicks the pen so hard the spring inside goes loose. “Oh, my God. Okay. We’re okay.” He takes a breath, shaking out his hands for a moment. “He’s a little early! That’s amazing. Which hangar?”
Keith just arrived in Medbay 2.
A cold, sick swell twists in Shiro’s stomach. “What? He’s where?”
He is with the medics. I could sense how nervous you were so I helped you avoid the worry by letting med staff get him from the ship to medbay first. He—
Atlas’ voice drops away, replaced by a faint buzzing sound as Shiro bolts for the door, running as fast as his legs will take him. Racing down the hallway, he nearly takes out a cadet, barely slipping by and knocking a painting askew.
Shiro!
He can hear Atlas yelling his name, but he doesn’t want to hear anything right now but Keith’s voice, to see for himself what happened. He was with Kolivan. Kolivan would never let anything happen to Keith. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.
Except Medbay 2 has more surgical suites, and oh, God, what if Keith’s already there? What if he’s already under? What if he doesn’t wake up? Shiro feels his breathing ratchet up as the thoughts keep coming. Keith could be literally dying and Shiro spent the last ten minutes trying to decide whether he should sign a card with “love” or “xoxo”.
He is alive, Shiro! Please wait, I will take you there.
The corridor blurs for a moment, making Shiro’s stomach drop, and then the world rights itself. Where Conference Room Artemis used to be, he finds himself standing in front of Medbay 2. As he steps through the doors, a tall guard blocks his path, not even looking up at Shiro. “You don’t have clearance to be in here.”
Shiro reins in his words before he blasts the guard with a resounding “fuck off”. Instead, he uses his own considerable height to square up with him. “The Admiral of the Altas has clearance everywhere,” he growls, holding up his metal hand to the entry scanner. “Move aside.”
The guard’s eyes widen as he pales. “Admiral Shirogane, my mistake, I—“
Before he can ask where Keith is, a frantic- looking medic rushes to his side. “Admiral, sir. Right this way. Keith’s in room three. He’s asking for you.”
Asking for him. Keith’s awake. Shiro’s heart leaps.
He follows the medic back through a warren of exam and procedure rooms, barely able to breathe, until they stop outside of a sliding glass door. A curtain blocks his view inside.
“What’s his condition?” Shiro asks, trying to keep his voice level.
“We’re still trying to ascertain the extent of his injuries, but he’s conscious and a bit, well, agitated,” the medic says, face hidden behind a mask. “It’s probably better if you wait—“
“Shiro? Is that you?” Keith shouts, followed by a crash and startled exclamations of others inside the room.
Shiro quickly sidesteps the medic, throwing aside the curtain to find three doctors trying to prevent Keith from climbing off the exam bed. At first glance, his face looks beautiful as ever, but they’ve cut away his Blade uniform, leaving him bare, revealing bloodied bandages taped along his side. Electrodes dot his bruised chest, connected to a flashing monitor, and an intravenous drip snakes onto his arm.
“I’m here, Keith,” Shiro says, crossing the room in two strides to stand at the head of the bed. He reaches out his hand, a tendril of relief curling inside him as he feels Keith’s cold fingers flex and link with Shiro’s own. The chill is unexpected; Keith usually runs hot. “Try to stay still and let them check you over, okay?”
“You’re here.” Keith grips Shiro’s hand tighter. “I told them I needed to go,” he says, breathing labored. “I was gonna be late. We have plans.”
“Just a change of venue,” Shiro says, voice calm, even though he doesn’t feel that way. “You’re safe now and It’s going to be okay.”
Keith nods, his gaze fixed on Shiro. The sclera of his eyes are faintly yellow and a smear of dried blood paints his temple from a small cut at his hairline. “Sorry I messed everything up.”
“I promise you didn’t. All that matters is that you’re all right.” Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand, feeling his throat tighten. He doesn’t want to cry right now. It’ll only worry Keith and at this moment, Keith’s needs take precedence to Shiro’s emotions. “You’re doing great. Just let them do their work and I’ll be right here.”
Shiro hears one of the doctors whisper, “Good thing the Admiral is here.” She clears her throat when she sees Shiro watching her. “Keith, I’m Dr. Alcon. We’re going to give you some medication for pain. Your right leg is fractured and we need to get it in the stabilizer, okay? There’s some lacerations that need attention on your right side, so we’re getting the dermilight to close them.”
“I don’t want pain meds.” Keith groans as one of the doctors moves his leg. “I’m fine.”
Shiro lets out a breath. “I know you don’t like how they make you feel, I don’t either, but the medical team has new protocols to dose according to DNA. The meds will work better than before.”
Keith grits his teeth. “Don’t want to be out.”
“You won’t be.” Shiro looks up. “He won’t be, right, doctor?”
“The Admiral is correct. This medication won’t put you to sleep.” Dr. Alcon’s gaze flicks to Keith’s monitor. “I expect a faster heart rate for anyone with Galra genetics, but yours is getting high enough to be concerning.”
Keith sighs. “You think I should?” he asks, tugging on Shiro’s wrist.
Shiro nods. “I’d feel better if you do. It’ll help your body relax a bit. But it’s your decision.”
“Fine.” Keith waves a bloody hand at the doctor. “I’ll say yes, for Shiro’s sake.”
She injects the medication into Keith’s IV line. “Good decision.” She points up towards the head of the exam bed. “You’re welcome to stay, Admiral, but we’ll need you up there so we can work. The good news is you won’t need surgery, Keith, but your tibial fracture is displaced, which means we’ll need to set it before we get it in the stabilizer.”
Shiro steps out of their way, reluctantly letting go of Keith’s hand as he moves behind Keith.
“You still there?” Keith asks, craning his neck.
“I’m here.” Shiro settles his hand on the side of Keith’s neck, his touch light but enough so Keith can feel the weight of his palm. “No surgery for you, you hear that?”
“I don’t wanna be cut open anymore. Already happened today and I don’t recommend it.”
Shiro tastes bile in his throat at the thought. “We’re going to go after them. They can’t get away with what they did to you. And Kolivan. I’ll get Allura to coordinate with–”
“S’okay. Mom got wind of it. Already taken care of.” Keith lets out a long breath. “Fuck, those meds work fast.”
Shiro resists the urge to sweep back Keith’s sweaty hair from his forehead. Instead he focuses on the furious tap of Keith’s pulse under his fingertips, hoping maybe he can help calm him a bit. “How are you feeling?”
“Pissed off. Our diplomatic contact was an asshole and ambushed us. We still saved the hostage, but it was a shitshow.” Keith takes a shaky breath. “God, my brain feels foggy. Shit. Kolivan. He’s hurt, too. Where–”
“He’s in the room down the hall. Stable. He should recover just fine.” The doctor holds up a padd, reviewing Keith’s scans. “That’s the goal for you, too. Just keep talking to the Admiral, all right? You don’t need to watch what we’re doing. You’re going to feel some pressure and perhaps a little discomfort, but I have a feeling you’d like this all to be over with as quickly as possible, yes?” Keith nods. “Excellent. Stay still for us.”
Ever since Keith came to the Garrrison, he’d always been pretty adverse to anything having to do with medbay. It wasn’t exactly a surprise once Shiro heard about his situation, how he’d been in a number of homes since his father passed away. Getting bounced around the system, and then being thrown into a world as rigid as the Garrison where he was measured and tested physically and mentally isn’t exactly what Shiro would call trauma-informed care. When it came to medbay for himself, Keith recoiled, but if Shiro had to go for anything related to his illness, Keith volunteered to go with him. It always surprised Shiro that Keith would choose to go into a place he loathed, just to support Shiro.
When they’d found out Keith was half Galra, it only complicated his medical situation. The Castle of Lions had never been fully equipped to care for those with Galra DNA, and although they made do as best they could in the middle of a galactic war where resources and allies were scarce, it wasn’t as if Keith was getting the medical care he always needed. The Blades did their best, but again, they didn’t know human DNA from a hole in the ground. At least Atlas had been able to recover some helpful research, which in turn had made for better protocols. Those efforts couldn’t undo a lifetime of less-than-supportive care, not to mention the mysteries Keith’s biology had presented until quite recently, and Shiro didn’t blame him for hating the place.
The number on Keith’s heart monitor starts to drop a bit, but Shiro’s studied the way Keith holds himself for long enough to know he’s still uncomfortable. “You want to vent right now or do you need a distraction?” Shiro says.
It takes Keith a beat longer than it should for him to look up. Usually his reaction time is startlingly fast, but clearly the meds are doing their work. “Mmm. I guess it depends on the distraction.” He gives a tired smile. “I’m glad you found me.”
“I’ll always find you. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the hangar. I guess Atlas was trying to protect me and she didn’t tell me you’d arrived until you were already being taken by the medics.” He rests his flesh palm on Keith’s shoulder, trying to keep his touch light in case there’s hurt under the skin. “The moment she said you were hurt, I just bolted.”
Keith scoffs. “Atlas was right. You didn’t need to see that. I was kind of a mess getting out of the ship. Like, clean up on aisle six.” He laughs a little at his own joke before sucking in a breath and wincing. “Ow.”
“Here,” Shiro says, extending his other hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to whenever it hurts.”
“You’re so good to me.” Keith grabs his metal fingers, clutching tight. He stares up at Shiro, peering in puzzlement. “Shiro, you’re dressed up. You look,” he says, his words coming slower than usual. “Like a magazine man. You know, they wear fancy shit.”
Shiro covers his laugh with a cough. “You mean a model?”
“Yes!” Keith snaps his fingers. “A model. That’s it. You going somewhere all dressed up?”
A blush rises on Shiro’s cheeks, surely spreading down his throat. “I just thought I’d wear something a little nice. It’s been awhile.”
“You always look nice,” Keith says, voice slurring a bit. “Was that for dinner?”
“Um, kind of?”
“I like it,” Keith affirms. “I like—fuck.” He tips his head back, hissing in pain. “My leg. That bastard broke my leg, Shiro. I needed that leg. For walking. And for—” Keith breaks off with a gasp, switching to swearing in Galran, which he only does when things are especially awful. Shiro’s gotten pretty good at a few of the words himself; Atlas has a pretty encyclopedic knowledge of how to hit those glottal stops just right.
“That was the worst of it, Keith,” Dr. Alcon calls cheerfully. “We’ve got your leg set now. Once the stabilizer is on, it’ll start working on helping the bone heal quickly.”
Keith grips Shiro’s hand more tightly as he starts to whisper a bit too loudly. “Shiro. You need to get me out of here. Tell them we had plans. I know I can’t walk, but there could still be plans.”
“Oh, we still have plans. These include making sure that your leg will get better and your wounds get tended, okay?”
“Shirooo,” Keith groans. “I’m a fast healer. You know I am. Just a few band-aids and I’m good.”
“You are very good, but you’re a little beyond the first-aid kit, I think,” Shiro says. He’s already regretting what he’s about to say, the swell of disappointment over his Valentine’s plans sweeping through him, but he forces the words out. “We can take a rain check on tonight until you’re better.”
Keith blows a raspberry. “I don’t need a rain check. I’ll be fine.” A laugh makes his bruised ribs hitch. “Last time was way worse.”
His words make Shiro’s chest ache, and in an instant, he remembers a different medbay, different wounds. Keith unresponsive after Black crashed, wearing more of his own blood since the Blade trials, looking so pale that Shiro wondered if he’d already lost him.
Shiro swallows. “It was.” If he says more, he knows he’ll tear up, and instead he turns his head to watch Keith’s monitor, tracing the jagged path of his quick, steady heartbeat across the screen.
Keith’s alive. He’s making jokes. He’s strong and resilient. Shiro focuses on his breathing, trying to let go of his fears.
In his periphery, Shiro sees Keith’s leg is now secure in one of the new limb stabilizers Coran helped design. It’s not as fast as the healing pods, but it beats being casted for weeks on end. The doctors move on to closing his wounds with the dermalight. At least Keith won’t have stitches; history has shown that he’s not particularly careful with them.
“Shiro,” Keith says, tugging on his fingers. “Did I make you sad?”
“No, not sad.” Shiro gives him a soft smile. “Just grateful.”
While the doctors finish treating Keith’s wounds, Shiro does his best to keep him distracted, or as distracted as you can keep the world’s most stubborn half-human. Even medicated and unable to walk, Keith still uses every opportunity to try and come up with a way to crawl out of the bed and sneak out. Of course, he explains these plans out loud, so he’s a bit off his stealth game.
By the time the doctors have declared Keith stable, even the staff look worn thin around the edges, as if they too have no idea how to keep Keith from hurting himself again by disobeying orders.
I believe I can help with that, Atlas says, the first thing she’s said since Shiro arrived in medbay.
A ripple moves between their bond, something gentle, almost tentative. Shiro’s been so caught up in trying to focus on Keith and to hold his emotions in check that he hadn’t realized how quiet she’d gone.
I’d be grateful for any ideas.
Tell the doctors I can monitor Keith remotely and ensure his vitals remain optimal. Perhaps he would recuperate more comfortably elsewhere.
I’m sure he would. You don’t mind? Shiro asks.
It will require only an infinitesimally small fraction of my power to track Keith’s biological functions. And it will relieve your concerns to have him close at hand. Shiro feels something akin to the rumble he used to sense with Black, almost a sigh. I did not wish to distress you earlier, Shiro, but it is apparent that I did.
Shiro smiles, shaking his head. Don’t worry. I know your heart was in the right place.
As I do not have a physical heart, I believe this is an idiom. I do enjoy your human penchant for ascribing such traits to me, however.
It’s wild sometimes for him to realize how far they’ve come, how Atlas can now sense appropriate times to pull away or come close. Shiro used to think it was all from her observing his body or thoughts, but it seems almost unconscious now, almost the way close friends anticipate one another.
Shiro catches the lead doctor’s eye, pulling her aside and out of Keith’s earshot. “We both know Keith doesn’t do well in medbay for long, and if he tries to walk on that leg, it could set back the healing process. We’ve known each other a long time. He’ll listen to me. Would you be willing to release him back to quarters tonight if Atlas provides remote vitals monitoring, with data sent to you?”
She scrolls back through Keith’s information on her padd. “He is stable enough to be moved. And you’re right, we need him to be compliant with the stabilizer for the next five days, which means no walking unaided.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “The only other option is medicating him, which he clearly doesn’t want, and neither do I. You’d be with him?”
“Of course. He shouldn’t be alone.”
“Definitely don’t leave him alone. Fair warning, though, the meds won’t last for much longer. As soon as he eats they’ll metabolize. I’ll give you some pills he can take, but we both know he probably won’t.” Dr. Alcon taps her padd screen with a nod. “Fine. I wouldn’t do this typically, but it’s not every day the Admiral asks for a favor. Get Atlas on the monitoring and we’ll release him.”
After thanking her, Shiro crosses back to Keith’s bed, giving his wrist a squeeze. “You ready to break out of here?”
Keith’s eyes widen. “Are we going through the air shaft?”
“Not today, no,” Shiro laughs. “The doctor said you’re stable and I can take you home.”
“Home,” Keith repeats. “Okay.” He lifts his arm up, showing the line to Shiro. “Can you pull this out?”
Shiro winces at the thought, patting Keith’s forearm instead gently. “We’ll leave the IV to the professionals. And, uh, we’ll see if we can get you something to wear.”
Shiro doesn’t know if the team is all too glad to see Keith discharged or if the holiday is inspiring everyone to move faster, but it takes less time than he expects for them to get Keith into a wheelchair. As he wheels Keith out the door, Dr. Alcon hands Shiro a packet of instructions and Keith's meds for later.
“This robe,” Keith says, slurring the words a bit, “is very pink. Like Bepto Pismol.” He frowns down at his leg, which is encased from thigh to foot in a metallic blue stabilizer. “Shiro, I think my leg is broken.”
“Yeah, temporarily. But don’t worry, I’ve got you. Just stay in the chair, okay?”
His head lolls a bit to the side, hair flopping across his forehead. “Okay.”
Atlas, always a step ahead, reroutes the hallways to shorten the distance and in a few moments, they’re standing in front of Shiro’s quarters. “Wait, you’re taking me to your home?”
“The doctor doesn’t want you by yourself. Is it okay if we stay in my rooms tonight?”
“I love your place,” Keith says, his head tipping back and landing on Shiro’s arm. “It’s big and warm and cozy. Like you.”
Shiro blushes as Atlas opens up the door, turning on the interior lights. As he steps inside, a wave of soft floral scent fills his nose.
“Wow,” Keith says. “That’s a fuckton of flowers.”
Shiro freezes, shocked to find the two massive bouquets of red asters in silver vases in his living room, instead of in the observatory. Red asters symbolize undying love and devotion and they are named after stars, Atlas had said. What could be more appropriate? She’d talked about the language of flowers from cultures around the world for nearly an hour that day.
His lungs squeeze painfully as he tries to pretend that the sight of blooming asters isn’t making it even harder to shove down the words he’s practiced in his head. “It really is. That’s, um, a surprise.”
“Is today something?” Keith asks. “It’s not your birthday. I know when your birthday is. I have a present for you, too. And it’s a secret,” he says, making the last word sing-song.
He ignores Keith’s question, wheeling the chair up to the couch. “I can put the footrest up if you want to sit here instead.”
“I do want to sit there, but,” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders. “I’m cold.”
“Oh! Sorry about that. You want a blanket?”
He scrunches up his nose. “Yes. And that big gray hoodie with the taco on it. Can I have that?”
Shiro shakes his head, amused. “The Let’s Taco About It hoodie? That thing is huge on me.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” He rubs his hands over his shoulders. “This robe is scratchy.”
“I’ll find you something else to wear, okay?” Shiro moves to take a step towards his bedroom when suddenly, the taco hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts appear on the arm of the couch. “Or, maybe Atlas will.”
“Atlas is a good ship,” Keith says, his voice a little dreamy.
“Yeah, she is.” Shiro holds out the shorts. “You think we can get these on you?”
“I’m not wearing underwear,” Keith says with a laugh. “Remember that the Paladin armor didn’t have underwear either?”
“I remember. There’s just less underwear in space, really,” Shiro says, carefully getting Keith’s legs through the shorts, stabilizer and all.
“Blades don’t either. Kinda chafes.” Keith snorts. “I bring my own.”
“You’re smart like that. I’m going to scoot you up a bit.” Shiro gently lifts Keith up in the wheelchair before pulling the cozy fabric over his hips. They’ve done this before many times for each other over the past few years, the undressing and care for injuries, but this time it feels somehow more intimate, if only for the weight of the unsaid words in Shiro’s throat.
Keith leans a bit against Shiro’s arms as Shiro readjusts him in the chair. “You’re so strong.”
Shiro’s nose crinkles at the praise. “I'm glad I can help. You want to put your arms up for me? Or will that hurt?”
“Nah.” Keith tugs the robe off, dropping it on the floor. “They healed everything, see?”
Shiro schools his expression, forcing himself not to wince. The wounds are closed and there’s no danger of them reopening, but the skin is still bright pink and tender along Keith’s side. It’s strange to think of Keith as both so strong and yet so vulnerable, the duality of his ferocity and his softness. Shiro wants to press kisses along the sharp relief of his collarbone, to feel the thrum of his pulse when he holds Keith close. Instead, he pulls the hoodie over Keith’s head, settling for a light movement of his hand to smooth over Keith’s mussed hair. “I see you,” he says.
Keith lets out a breath, balling his fists in the extra-long sleeves of the hoodie. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Will you sit on the couch with me? And order takeout? I saved a hostage and I think I deserve it,” Keith says, his lips turned in a pout.
“Here, I’ll help you up. Just put your arm around my neck and I’ll do the rest, okay?” Shiro leans close, gently gathering Keith into his arms.
Keith’s breath puffs softly against Shiro’s neck. “You smell good.”
“I’m, um, glad that you think so.” He settles Keith on the couch, pressing a button on the side to release the recliner function. “There you go. Does your leg feel okay like that?”
Keith taps the stabilizer experimentally. “I think so. Everything feels kinda weird. Do I seem weird?”
“You just seem a little fuzzy.” Shiro reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, careful not to push too hard. “It’s the meds. Once we get some food into you, you’ll feel more like yourself.” He bites his lip. “I probably don’t want to ask how long it’s been since you had anything to eat.”
“We used the patches on the way back,” Keith says, waving a hand.
“The patches?”
“You know. The nutrient ones. You stick them on you. Like, on your arm or belly. It’s like food, but you don’t eat.” Keith pokes at his own stomach through the hoodie. “I miss food.”
“We’ll fix that, no worries,” Shiro says, thinking of the fancy dinner he had planned. It hardly seems like the right menu for this moment, even if he could get it delivered to his room. “I’ll see what I have in the–”
The door chimes, cutting Shiro off. “Atlas, I don’t think now’s a good time for company. Can you put an away message on my holo?”
You should answer, Shiro.
Confused, Shiro heads to the door, surprised to find one of the kitchen staff standing outside his quarters with a huge covered tray. “Can I help you?”
“Evening, Admiral. Chef switched up the menu, as instructed. Would you like me to set up your meal?”
I heard your thoughts and decided to help. This is what you were going to make, isn’t it? Atlas has her smug tone back and Shiro can’t help but feel a rush of affection for her.
“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Shiro says, accepting the tray from them. “Please give Chef my thanks.”
Carrying the tray back to Keith, Shiro sets it down on the table in front of the sofa. Keith’s eyes immediately widen, his tongue poking out between his lips. “That was fast.”
“Apparently Atlas ordered for us.” Shiro pulls off the cover, his nose immediately filling with a scent that reminds him of late nights at the Garrison before Kerberos. “Oh, wow. Thanks, Atlas. This brings back memories, huh?”
“You got me fancy grilled cheese,” Keith says, reaching out to tug on Shiro’s wrist. “With the nice bread. You used to make that for me when I had a bad day.”
Shiro eases himself on the couch next to Keith. “Well, you definitely had a bad one today.”
Instead of agreeing, Keith leans against Shiro’s shoulder, letting out a sigh. “It’s not a bad day if I see you.”
Shiro’s heart loses its rhythm for a moment. Everything in him wants to say how he feels, to let all the words spill out like ink across a page, but it’s not right to confess something like this if Keith’s not fully himself. He has to wait until the meds wear off.
“You, um, you should eat. You must be starving.” Shiro picks up one of the sandwiches and hands it to Keith. “Here.”
Keith accepts it with a half smile. “I think there’s something stuck to it. Is this a rose petal?”
Shiro flushes. There are petals scattered around the edge of the tray. “Oh, yeah, probably something Chef is trying. For, you know, decoration.”
It’s impossible not to watch the sheer bliss that comes over Keith’s face as he takes a bite of the sandwich, a little moan escaping him. “You,” he says, falling against Shiro, “are the best person ever.” He snuggles in closer until all Shiro can do is put an arm around him, letting Keith settle against his chest. “That’s better. I missed you, Shiro.” He looks up. “Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you when you’re not here,” Shiro says, shoving a bite of sandwich into his mouth before he says something he shouldn’t.
Keith’s always had an appetite, but it’s impressive nonetheless to watch him polish off two of Chef’s enormous brioche and gruyere grilled cheese in less than two minutes and go back for a third. “You wanna know something?” Keith asks, mouth half full.
“Yeah.”
“I tried to make these at Dad’s place after you left for Kerberos, but they made me too sad.” He pulls off a long string of cheese. “But we tried to make them on the Castle of Lions. After the Blades trial. Remember?”
“I do.” Shiro can’t help the little laugh that shakes his chest. “They were so bad. That protein crap isn’t like cheese at all.”
“So bad,” Keith says, snickering. “But I liked that you tried.”
The space where their bodies touch radiates warmth and every time Keith breathes, Shiro can feel how very alive he is, like he’s giving off sparks. Keith is always in motion, so quick and nimble, and Shiro knows from their recent sparring sessions how his lithe muscles can easily flip Shiro on the mat. He loves to see the triumph on Keith’s face when he wins, the delight in every panting breath.
Yet somehow he lets Shiro be the one he can rest with, the one he’ll slow down for.
It’s overwhelming to watch him let his guard down and just be.
Keith taps against Shiro’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Keith resettles himself against Shiro’s chest. “Your heartbeat is kinda fast. You nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?” Shiro asks, in obvious deflection, taking a breath in the hopes of slowing his pulse.
Keith hums something noncommittal as he finishes his sandwich and Shiro is too grateful at being let off so easily to question it. At least until a few doboshes later when half the sandwiches are gone and Keith’s medicated chatter has turned into fraught silence, broken only by the quiet sound of him wincing as he shifts his leg.
Shiro can’t help but run a soothing hand over his shoulder. “You hurting?” he asks softly. “The doctor prescribed some meds, if you want another dose.”
Keith lets out a pained laugh. “I’m okay. It hurts, but at least my brain feels like it’s working again.” He tips his head back against Shiro. “I promise it’s not that bad. It’s only if I try to move.”
“Then don’t move. Just stay. I’ll take care of you, all right?” A swell of protectiveness fills Shiro’s chest.
“You’re too good to me,” Keith says, tugging on the hoodie strings. “I hope I wasn’t too loopy on the pain meds.”
“You only tried to break out of medbay a few times,” Shiro says with a laugh. “Very on brand.”
“Oops.” Keith ducks his chin. “How did you convince them to let me out? I have this hazy memory of them wanting to keep me overnight.”
“Admiral powers.” Shiro gives a little bicep curl with his prosthetic arm.
“Like I said, too good for me.” Keith suddenly lets out a groan. “Fuck, they cut off my Blade uniform, didn’t they?”
Shiro nods. “I saw what was left of it. It was a little, well, gory.”
“I had something in my hip pouch for you.” Keith lets out a sigh. “Never mind.”
“Really? What was it?”
“Just this little starstone I found. I just thought it would be something you’d like.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Reminded me of you.”
A bubble of hope rises in Shiro’s throat. “You, um. That’s really kind of you. Just the thought, you know?” He glances over at Keith, realizing he’s holding his body at an awkward angle. “Hold on one tic. I’m going to get you a pillow, okay?”
He collects one from a nearby armchair, testing it first to make sure its ratio of firm-yet-comfortable is on point, and then returns to Keith’s side. “Can you lean forward for me just a bit? Yeah, perfect.”
As Shiro bends over Keith to adjust the pillow, the small box of conversation hearts falls out of his pocket and lands in Keith’s lap with a clatter. Before he can grab them, Keith picks up the red box. “What are these?” Keith asks, turning it over in his hand. “Wait—I remember these from the Garrison. That year it became popular to pass them out to your crush. You got so many and I got, well, you shared.”
Shiro feels a flush rise to his cheeks at the memory. “They’re for you.”
Keith’s expression softens. “For me?”
“I, uh, tried to get the cinnamon ones, because you always loved the hot candies so much, but they weren’t available. Still, I thought they might be fun, seeing how it’s part of the holiday.” Shiro tugs on his collar, undoing a button. Suddenly he feels like he’s sweating.
“Holiday?” Keith tilts his head. “Oh, the flowers! Wait! It’s Valentine’s Day.” His eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t put it all together. My days got mixed up with the time shift and, shit, I thought it was tomorrow.” He shakes the box of candy hearts like a tambourine. “I can’t believe you went all out like this.”
Shiro takes a breath before he finally summons the courage to say, “I wanted to do something special for you. There was more stuff, but it’ll keep until after you feel better.”
Keith gives him a wry grin. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“I, well,” Shiro manages, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I’m trying to make up for lost time.”
"Lost time?” Keith looks puzzled. “What do you mean?"
Shiro adjusts himself on the couch so he’s facing Keith, trying to ignore the banging of his heart against his ribs. "I've wanted to tell you this so many times and in so many ways, but it always felt like the universe was conspiring against us somehow. And you deserve something so much bigger than grilled cheese and candy hearts, but I don't think I can wait one moment longer." He takes a steadying breath. "I wanted to know if you’ll be my Valentine.”"
Keith grins. “I mean, I would hope so, considering”
“Considering what?” Shiro asks, feeling his stomach somersault.
“Uh, that we’re dating.”
Shiro freezes. “We’re dating?”
“Why are you staring at me?” Keith leans forward, his smile slipping. “Wait, we are dating, aren’t we? We spend all our time together, we have a Friday usual, you just held my hand while the doctors worked on me! We, we, oh, my God.” He pulls up his hood until it comes down over his eyes, his body twisting away from Shiro. “Fuck. I just assumed. Guess I misread.”
A wave of guilt and shame crashes through Shiro as his brain fires off every missed opportunity he didn’t take to say how he felt since the war ended. It makes his chest constrict to see Keith hiding his face and he fumbles for the words to soothe him.
“Keith, you, um, didn’t misread,” Shiro says, immediately reaching out and squeezing Keith’s wrist before letting his fingers settle against Keith’s skin. “Please, you read everything right. I want to be with you more than anything. I just hadn’t worked up the courage to ask you if you wanted to be with me.”
A snort comes from inside the hood. “Like you have to ask.” Keith lets go of the fabric of his hood and it falls back, allowing him to meet Shiro’s gaze. “Who else would it be, Shiro? Who else would it ever be but you?”
“I,” Shiro says, his throat tightening enough that he has to pause until he can get another word out. “You’re it for me, too.”
Keith bites his bottom lip, his mussed hair falling over his forehead. “Really?”
“Really.” He slides his fingers along Keith’s hand until their fingers link together. “Keith, can I ask you something?"
Keith laughs, the blush still high on his cheeks. “I mean, I just embarrassed myself beyond all reason so, shoot.”
Shiro leans closer until their shoulders touch. "If you, uh, thought we were already dating, which for the record is the sweetest thing ever, didn't you wonder why we weren't doing more?"
"More how? You're perfect."
The flush on Keith’s skin is surely nothing compared to Shiro’s now. "You know, more. I mean, we haven't even kissed."
Keith’s hips shift a bit. "Oh, I just thought you were being a gentleman, taking it slow. I was being patient." He gives a little wink. “You remember what being patient leads to, right?”
Shiro can’t help the snort that escapes him. “You were being patient.”
“When it comes to you, I’ll wait as long as it takes,” Keith says, tipping his head towards Shiro, his fingers tightening around Shiro’s. “I haven’t, you know, done stuff with other people. I never wanted to, so I figure since you’re the one I want to do stuff with, it’ll happen when we’re both ready.”
Shiro takes a breath, letting Keith’s words linger in his mind for a moment longer. “So you’re saying that you want to.”
Keith’s eyebrow lifts. “Can you be a little more specific?”
“Be my Valentine?” He picks up the little red box, shaking a few into Keith’s lap and choosing a pink one. “Cutie Pie?”
The sound of Keith’s laugh is one of Shiro’s favorites, and this moment feels even sweeter than usual. “Yes, I’m saying I want to be your Valentine.” He leans forward, lifting Shiro’s hand to his mouth and eating the candy out of his palm. “I want to be more than that, though.”
“What else would you like?”
“I want to be with you. Boyfriends.” Keith pours out some more conversation hearts into his lap and picks up a purple one, holding it up to Shiro’s lips. “You plus Me.”
Shiro can’t help but take Keith’s slender, sugary fingers into his mouth for a moment before he pulls back, biting the crunchy candy between his teeth. “Boyfriends. Yes, please.”
There’s a moment when Shiro’s mouth tastes Keith’s skin that he thinks he hears a gasp, but Shiro might not have heard correctly.
“What about you?” Keith asks, fishing around for another candy. “What do you want?” He grins, holding one up. “Ask Me.”
Shiro purses his lips, looking through the candy hearts for the right one. “Damn, these little things could have saved us a lot of time, you know that?” He holds up a yellow one, making sure Keith reads the words First Kiss. “Is this okay?”
A smile spreads across Keith’s face. “Very okay.”
Shiro gently catches the side of Keith’s jaw, careful not to bump the bruises as he smooths over it with his thumb, “For the record, I’m going to kiss you know.”
“I wish you would,” Keith says, breath hitching.
It’s been a long time since Shiro kissed anyone, but he’s been thinking about this kiss for even longer. He longed for this kiss on cold nights in captivity, lonely ones on the Castle of Lions, empty ones in the astral plane, and exhausted ones as the war staggered to an end. The thought that maybe, somehow, one day, this kiss could be more than a dream kept him going through pain, fear, and hell, even death.
When their lips finally touch, Shiro senses Keith relax against him, feeling the sweet slide of his mouth as they change up the angle a little. Kissing Keith doesn’t just feel good; it feels like the place he was meant to be all along.
He never wants it to end.
When he finally does pull away, he rests his forehead against Keith’s. “Wow,” he whispers, smiling so wide it almost hurts.
“Again,” Keith says, tipping up his chin. “And get closer.” He tugs on Shiro’s shirt, motioning at him to straddle Keith’s lap.
“I’ll hurt you,” Shiro protests.
“You won’t. Come on, big boy. Only the bottom half of my leg is broken. Plenty of room.” Keith pats a thigh, grinning as Shiro maneuvers to straddle his lap.
The box of candy tips from Keith’s hand, scattering pastel hearts across the couch as Shiro leans in, kissing along Keith’s neck. He smells like disinfectant and recycled ship air, but underneath is the familiar, distinct scent that could only be Keith still comes through.
“Fuck, that’s nice,” Keith says, letting his head fall back. “Wanna kiss you more, though.” His hands slide around Shiro’s back, untucking Shiro’s shirt and slipping his palms underneath. “Shiro. Please.”
Their second kiss is decidedly different from the first, far less tentative and a lot more needy. Keith’s mouth opens against his and Shiro can’t help but cup the back of his neck as he deepens their kiss, suddenly reveling in the heat. It’s a wild contradiction in Shiro’s brain, as he keeps shifting between the revelatory serotonin of the fact that he’s kissing Keith and his remaining brain cells that scramble to focus on actually kissing Keith. Is he using too much tongue? Not enough? He doesn’t know what Keith even likes in a kiss? Although from the soft moans coming from Keith’s throat, it seems like he’s enjoying this.
He’s pretty sure Keith hasn’t kissed anyone before, but that certainly doesn’t seem to dim Keith’s enthusiasm. After trying a few angles and bumping noses once with a quick laugh, they find their groove as two kisses become three, four, more.
Shiro.
Not a great moment, Atlas.
Shiro, Keith's vitals have significantly increased.
Shiro pulls away, panting. “Fuck.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you okay? Feeling all right?” Shiro slides a hand down Keith’s chest, feeling his heart pumping under the smiling taco on his hoodie.
“Feel amazing,” Keith says, one hand slipping inside Shiro’s collar to trace over his clavicle. “You’re not hurting me, I promise.”
Shiro brushes back Keith’s hair from his forehead, tucking a tendril behind his ear. “You, um, you need to calm down. Medbay agreed to let you go if Atlas continued to monitor your vitals, but I guess they’re getting a bit high.”
Keith looks stricken. “Calm down? I’ve been waiting to kiss you since, fuck, forever. And you want me to calm down?” He lets out a long breath. “They’re not gonna drag me back there, are they?”
It’s a heady thing to feel Keith’s heartbeat so strong against his metal fingertips, knowing it’s just from them kissing. “Atlas,” he says out loud for Keith’s benefit, “could you maybe recycle some of Keith’s earlier vitals just to, you know, make sure we don’t get any unwanted guests?”
Oh, I am sending them normal vitals. As soon as Keith’s began to increase when you had your miscommunication about dating, I switched out his elevated numbers. Your privacy is secure, Shiro. She hums. I just thought you should know. His oxytocin levels are rising as fast as yours and he—
“Thank you, Atlas,” he says, cutting her off. He’s sure to hear more about how human bodies respond to kissing later, but for now, he’d much rather focus on Keith. “We’re good. She’s doctoring the results.”
Keith gives a soft laugh, covering Shiro’s hand with his own and pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Good thing, because I don’t think my heart’s going to stop pounding anytime soon.”
“Am I riling you up too much?” Shiro leans forward, kissing the pulse under Keith’s jaw.
“Just the right amount.” Keith turns his head to give Shiro more access to his throat, and the subtle shift of vulnerability has Shiro reeling. “Just to be sure, this is really happening, right? Like I’m not unconscious in some healing pod on a Blades base somewhere in Pytron 7?”
“It’s really happening.” Shiro affirms, pressing kisses along Keith’s throat. “We’re actually kissing right now. And we’re actually together right now.”
“And not just in my head this time,” Keith says, squeezing Shiro’s hip. He tilts his head down. “I’m so fucking pissed that I’m hurt.”
“You’ll heal.” Shiro gathers Keith close, pulling him gently into the closest approximation he can to an embrace without bumping his injuries. “You’ll heal and we have time.”
Keith’s cheek rests on Shiro’s shoulder. “Tell me about the plans. What tonight was supposed to be.”
A warm flush moves through Shiro’s chest. “We were going to have a private dinner and then the speeders were ready if we wanted to go for a ride. I got the observation deck reserved for us with champagne and chocolates.”
“Fancy.” He lifts his head, giving Shiro a mischievous smile. “And you loaded your quarters up with flowers in case I came back here with you?”
“Okay, that was all Atlas.”
“For the record, she’s right. I would have.” Keith smooths a thumb over Shiro’s cheekbone. “I just want to be around you, okay? And the kissing, and everything else that goes with it, I want all of that. But being right here, touching you, talking to you, I want that, too.”
Any of Shiro’s eloquent responses are lost in the sweetness of Keith’s words. “You do?”
“You’re my best friend. Have been forever. That doesn’t go away just because we’re making out.”
A huffed laugh escapes Shiro. “It’s more than making out.”
“I know.” Keith kisses him, lips soft. “Everything with you is more.”
Shiro’s half-convinced Atlas is going to chirp an alert that Shiro’s own heart rate is far too fast. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Our dinner and everything else. We can celebrate Valentine’s another night.”
“Um, excuse me, this is the best Valentine’s day of my life,” Keith says, reaching down to find the box of candy and shaking out a few more into his palm. “Let’s see. Here’s one for you.”
Shiro takes it, the blush spreading to his ears. “So Fine?”
“I mean, that one is a little on the nose. Everyone knows you’re gorgeous.” Keith chooses another. “Ah. Here’s a better one.”
“Mmm,” Shiro says, barely able to breathe for a moment when he reads it. “All Mine. Yeah, that’s the truth. I’m all yours, Keith.”
“I meant me for you, but close enough.”
It seems a shame to not go back to kissing now that they can, and so they do, occasionally stopping to find another candy heart and taking turns embarrassing the other with two-word phrases stamped over pastel sugar. Even with his injury, it’s surprising how many ways they can get comfortable on the couch, and Keith insists that he’s already bruised, so Shiro might as well leave a few more marks on his collarbone.
As much as he loves every second, Shiro’s concern for Keith finally wins out and he pulls back, smoothing a hand over Keith’s chest. “You’ve got to be exhausted. You want to get some rest?”
Keith’s pliant under him, eyes half-lidded. “Wanna stay with you.”
“That can be arranged. I’m going to help you up, okay?”
As Shiro climbs to his feet, a candy heart tumbles from the fabric of his half-opened shirt, which appears to have lost a button. He reaches down to Keith’s belly, picking up the heart and reading it. “Oh, this one couldn’t be more perfect.”
Keith peers up at it, his expression softening as he reads it. “I wouldn’t mind if you called me that.”
“Yeah?” Shiro bends down, careful not to bump Keith’s leg as he lifts him up from the couch. God, he’s so beautiful. “You wanna go to bed, baby?”
“Yes, please,” Keith says, his face pressed against Shiro’s neck. More candy hearts fall to the floor, a tiny shower of words yet to be spoken.
“Anything for you, Valentine,” Shiro says, the scent of asters following them into the bedroom and later, into dreams.