Chapter Text
"This is a space where you should feel safe to ask the questions you have for each other. Questions that maybe, ordinarily, you'd be afraid are hurtful, or reflect badly on you, you can be honest with each other about when I'm here to help you process, and find what you really mean. What you really need from each other."
Ms. Richards had said that when they started coming to her office. The trouble was, Shiro really didn't have any burning questions for his husband. And wasn't that the problem, in itself, encapsulated? Shiro knows he should have an interest in his husband's life beyond the comfortable surface of domestic sweetness, chaste kisses and long hugs and someone to cook for, to call handsome, to warm him in the winter. He knows he should long for a window into Curtis's inner world, should be eager to let him in on his own inner struggles, his lingering pain, his memories of war and torture. He knows that's what love feels like. He remembers that.
But his marriage to Curtis is just that-- domestic. Comfortable. Slow, quiet; dependable. He didn't even remotely think they needed counseling, until Curtis asked for it.
But Curtis thought so, and Shiro could do it for him, of course. And Curtis had questions for him.
Do you love me?
Well, yes. Shiro loved his husband deeply. But he knew it wasn't the way you're supposed to love your husband. He loved Curtis the way he loved his close friends, the way he loved Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran. The way he loved his grandmother, the memory of his parents. Remembrances of the good times with Adam. The way he had loved the Black Lion, once. But-- his heart did not hunger for Curtis. He didn't feel that unbearable thirst to combine himself with him, to dissolve into their union, to never be apart. He had never felt like he needed Curtis. So-- no.
Maybe he wished he had been slapped, or screamed at, when he said it. But there was just a sigh, not even any tears, from Curtis, and across the table Ms. Richards's expectant eyes, and her busy fingers, taking notes.
Did you ever?
He wanted to answer that. He didn't know how. Maybe? He'd thought so. Or, at least, he'd thought it could become love, the kind of love you're supposed to have for your life partner, for your husband. He'd really, really liked the feeling of Curtis loving him, of someone looking at him without awe and hero worship, and without the expectation of anything. And it had seemed... reasonable, that if he liked that feeling enough, he could start returning it some day. And he'd fake it until then. Except, the faking hadn't ever stopped. So-- no. Not really.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Curtis. I've wasted fifteen years of your life." He was crying, by that point, but Curtis wasn't. Curtis just seemed-- quietly resigned. And he had more questions, of course.
Why did you marry me, Takashi?
He could answer that one. He'd always wanted to be married, to feel needed, to feel pride and capability in taking care of somebody. For all his love of space travel, of exploration, of going ever further, for all that had ruined his last attempt at domestic bliss-- he loved domesticity, too. He wanted someone to come home to. And, of course, he wanted someone to raise children with.
When he was a child, when he'd first realized his daydreams weren't like the other boys', he'd been afraid he couldn't ever have that. Could never be a provider, a father, somebody's rock. His grandfather had taken... a while to come around. And he still felt those doubts, sometimes; maybe that was what he'd been running from, into the long jaunt to Kerberos, into the Black Lion, into the astral plane. So to look at someone, a man, a good, kind, generous man, and know that I could ask and he would say yes-- of course he'd wanted that.
But he'd wanted it for all those other things. He'd never wanted it for Curtis, not really. He'd been so, so selfish. Fuck.
And then. And then, the last question.
Are you in love with your friend Keith?
Fuck. Fuck. That was where he had to pull the plug on that session.