#adriel writes

     Shiro had laughed-- laughed!-- at the face Keith had made upon the announcement, his childhood friend giving him nothing more than a pat on the shoulder and a murmured ‘good luck’ before he went, tacking on his monthly reminder of patience and focus as he saw him out. He had fully expected the night to be hell, had braced himself for the headache to ensue, or the fight to erupt the moment he would be left alone with his 'rival’ (self-proclaimed, really). No doubt would Lance want to make this out to be a competition, rather than an exercise of teamwork in surviving the night.

     He swore they would fail this initiation, leaving Keith to beg and plead for another chance, that, or plead with other fraternities to let him in, and Keith was no beggar. He’d rather remain isolated than do so, regardless of what Shiro had told him about benefits and having others watch your back, and teamwork and-- he was getting off track.

     Point being, he had never expected... well... this.

     “It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.”

     It was that simple, condemning statement, that had led him to this very moment. Not to say this ‘moment’ was bad-- far from it, actually-- simply that it had been something a bit... unexpected to occur. A good sort of unexpected, and it was a correlation he had thought he would never make within the presence of one simple boy from Cuba who never seemed to shut up.

     Lance’s ramblings, however, worked surprisingly well for the hour that it was (ungodly, as some would put it), and Keith found himself even partaking in the conversation, contributing to human socialization as he didn’t regularly do with many others. The situation must have really spooked the guy, Keith reasoned, recalling just how superstitious the other was. Maybe he thought the building was haunted?

     The wind caused the windows to creak, and harshly did the brunet beside him stiffen in fear.

     “Hey...” He began softly, taking hold of the other’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. It had always worked on him when he needed to be grounded, so he only hoped it would work for Lance as well. “It’s just the wind. You know the place has only been empty for like... two years, right?” A pause, allowing the silence to fill a bit more space between them before continuing. “... because of a leak?”

     Not exactly the most terrifying conditions to abandon a building, really.

     “I--! ... I-I know that! I just!!” The brunet began, leaping at his own defense as he usually did, but not quite able to follow through to the end. Lips pressed into a thin line, the lights from the outside school yard easily illuminating the old nurse’s office. “... It’s just scary, okay?” Came the eventual admission as he shifted to lay on his side, facing Keith fully as he huddled a bit defensively. “I’m not... I’m not as brave like you, man...”

     Now that, Keith could add to pile of ‘unexpected events’, dark brows shooting high in surprise.

     “... Brave?” He murmured in confusion, facing his companion in a mimic of his posture. “Like... me?”

     “Yeah!” Lance returned with sudden vigor, fire igniting his eyes. “You’re always so brave and act so tough! Everything you do is just so easy to you, you don’t even break a sweat! How do you do it?! This place is scary as hell, and you’re just so casual about it! Are you even human?” It was then that his voice quieted, head bowing low whilst his knees rose closer to his chest, curling into himself but not letting go of Keith’s hand just yet. “... How are you so cool without even trying?”

     He remained quiet for a moment, unable to produce a suitable answer to Lance’s sudden outburst-- The silent confession of admiration he held for his supposed ‘enemy’ that he swore he had throughout high school. Had it all just been a facade? A lie he had conjured to tell himself he needed to fight to become better? A projection of the self the drove him to become something more than he already was?

     It seemed the only thing Lance had accomplished all this time, was avoiding the opportunity to make a new friend.

     “I’m not... cool.” Keith mumbled awkwardly in response, pressing his cheek further into the cheap cotton pillow. “But uh... thanks for that.” He pressed on, giving their conjoined hands a slight wave in unison. “You’re cool too, you know. In your own way... You don’t... have to be someone else’s cool to be cool... y’know?” Was he even making sense at this point?

     Lance’s brightening gaze told him what he needed to know.

     “Yeah... I guess you’re right.” The brunet murmured in return, a smile growing on his lips. “Thanks Keith... this is... actually kinda fun-- Like a sleepover!”

     “I don’t know what kind of sleepovers you’ve had, but... yeah, sure, I guess.”

     One thing Keith had always admired from the other, was how easily he tended to look on the bright side of things.

     “Lance…” He murmured gently, prodding at the younger’s cheek with the very tips of his fingers, hoping to rouse the other to consciousness. “Lance, please… open your eyes…” There was a slight tremor to his left arm as he cradled the brunet’s head against the crook of his elbow, his right unsettlingly steady, as though unable to translate the distress that slowly consumed him. “Please–”

     Shoulders tensed upon a deafening explosion just beyond their four walls, what remained of the alien home that served as shelter shaking at it’s very core. No doubt would the other paladins be fighting their hardest, doing their best to compensate for the foreign planet’s gravity whilst giving it their all to protect the planet’s inhabitants. It was an important battle, life or death weighing upon their shoulders at all times.

     But Shiro couldn’t bring himself to budge from his spot, unable to think rationally– Take Lance back to the castleship, return to the fight; Call for backup, leave Lance in the care of one of the locals in one of the many designated safe shelters. Nothing that his mind attempted to reason with him had seemed appealing enough, and selfishly did he cling to Lance’s unconscious form.

     “Lance.” He spoke more firmly, his grip tightening upon the brunet’s shoulder, galra prosthetic lightly tapping a tanned cheek. “Lance, wake up. You have to wake up, right now. You have–” He jolted, another massive explosion rattling the foundations of the building, rubble and dust peppering the floor around them. “Lance, come on. We need you.”

     I need you.          Lance, please… don’t do this…

     His vision became blurred, breath wavering as his practiced composure all but slipped through his fingers. Shoulders trembled, lips quivered, and yet his right hand remained steady as ever, as though it were mocking him. There was such horrifically great strength within the advanced piece of technology, and yet it was unable to protect someone he held dear.

     Shiro grit his teeth, lashing fluttering rapidly in an effort to stave off frustrated tears.

     It was all in vain.

     “You need to wake up!” He was sobbing now, wailing without restraint and fueled by desperation as his voice grew in volume. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you!” Roughly did he press his face against the other’s, holding Lance close and far too tightly to be of any form of pleasant. Those words were like a mantra on his lips (I can’t do this without, please wake up, I can’t do this, I can’t), the sound of his voice foreign even to his own ears.

     Broken,          Pained,               Anguished.

     ‘Your eyes… pretty… it breaks…’

     Shiro froze, tensing at the soft sound of a familiar voice. All too rapidly did he pull away, grey gaze wide and wild as they focused on Lance’s own weary and worn azures. He was smiling– he had the audacity to smile at a time like this!

     “Lance…?” It was all he could manage in his shocked state.

     “I-I said…” The younger murmured, a raspy clear of his throat whilst a hand gingerly rose to dab a few stray tears off the elder’s face with the back of his knuckles, gentle and lovingly, eyes watching on as though in awe. “Y-your eyes… a-are so pretty when… when you cry… but i-it… it breaks my heart, too…”

     Speaking words had suddenly become a foreign concept just then, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared down at the other with drawn brows and a watery gaze. A broken heart was the least of Lance’s problems, and yet he had the nerve to brush off his condition as though it were nothing (It was familiar, if he were to be honest, but he would ignore that realization for now).

     Arms drew the other near to him once more, pointedly ignoring the distant sounds of destruction from beyond the walls in favor of holding the brunet close and pressing a series of soft, but firm kisses to his forehead and temples. It was only after the younger inquired about the waging battle that Shiro gathered himself in preparation to get Lance to the safety of the castleship and join the rest in the fight.

     “You gonna be alright?” He inquired softly, raising the younger in his arms with hardly the effort.

     “Yeah.” Lance breathed in response, eyes shut with the slightest curve of his lips. “J-just a few broken ribs… a-and maybe a punctured lung… no biggie…”

Shiro had never believed in fairytales. Growing up, his grandfather had weaved intricate tales of spirits and demons, ones that prowled the streets during odd hours of the late night and early mornings. They had been entertaining as a child, the fantastical stories that made their world just a little bit more magical, but they were nothing more than just that: Stories .

‘They’re everywhere, Takashi.’ His grandfather had promised, a warm smile on his lips, as though he were sharing something precious. ‘No matter where you go, they’re there, but don’t worry. They’re not all bad.’

It was a strange statement, seeing as how many precautions Shiro was made to take out of paranoia.

He had been told to stay away from the river just behind the house, and so he did. He had been told to avoid the garden patches if he had ever heard a strange noise, and so he did. He had been told to keep his head down when walking seemingly alone, and so he did— These were all due to superstitions his grandfather had believed, and each visit had left Shiro feeling more and more ridiculous as he grew. Still, he never questioned the old man’s logic, because Grandpa Jiji (it wasn’t until he was older that he had realized he had been calling his grandfather ‘grandpa grandpa’ ) was fun and loving and his summers on the island had been the best memories he had made whilst growing up.

Back home in America, such superstitions were entirely forgotten until his return to Grandpa Jiji, or the moment something turned up that reminded his father of the stories he was told when he himself had been Shiro’s age. It was a fond memory to be brought up every time, his mother and father sharing a moment’s laughter as they recalled some outrageous story his grandfather had told.

Life back home was normal, and the constant travel back and forth between normalcy and abnormalcy had always kept Shiro’s life plenty eventful.

That is, until the week of his tenth birthday arrived.

Grandpa Jiji had never been of poor health. In fact, Shiro recalled the man to be rather strong for his age, carrying the boy effortlessly around his shoulders, as well as any fishing supplies they brought along for their trips. The man was in great shape, he had to be, to support his field of crops, to care for an energetic and growing boy who became heavier and heavier with each passing summer— The illness had been sudden.

Doctors didn’t know what to do.

‘Takashi, please, Jiji needs his rest right now.’ His mother had gently told him, urging him out the back door. ‘Go play outside for a while. I will call you when he wakes, okay?’

He had complied easily enough, leaving the solemn home in favor of the chilly outdoors. Bundled in various layers of coats and sweaters, a warm red scarf shielding half his face from the cold, Shiro had disregarded all warnings his grandfather had laid out for him in that single day. What Grandpa Jiji didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, right? He was too tired, too sick to say otherwise.

What Grandpa Jiji never told him was that there was another little boy who lived on the other side of the river.

It had struck Shiro as a strange absence of information, seeing the dark-haired child crouched just on the edge of the riverbank, terribly underdressed for the season, poking and prodding at the water’s surface with a branch. Social by nature, it was only natural to strike up a conversation.

The boy’s eyes were a strange color, dark, with the barest hints of blue in them. It was almost like looking into the deepest parts of the ocean where no light could reach.

It unsettled him.

‘Want to play?’ They had spoken to him, the words in the island’s native tongue, but Shiro had known enough to understand him (though he could hardly speak it). ‘Come on, then! This way!’

The boy beckoned to him, hand outstretched, pale lips curled into an inviting smile. It had taken him a moment to realize that the boy wanted him to cross the river. Though shallow enough to tread across, should be careful enough, it was far too cold to cross. Surely the other was joking, right?

‘Come on! It’s okay! Let’s play!’ The boy enticed, voice heavy with glee, laughter laced betwixt childish words. ‘Here, watch!’ It had been an awe inspiring display, the boy wading into the river as though it were but another warm summer’s day. He looked undisturbed, in fact, he was pleased by the water’s temperature, going as far as to give a little splash in delight. ‘Now you!’ He encouraged.

Shiro, though fascinated, was hesitant. ‘It’s cold.’ He stated tentatively, mitted hands clutching at the scarf around his face, further muffling his words.

The boy shook his head, eagerly gesturing for him to come near. He had insisted, proceeding to dive beneath the waters only to resurface just a bit closer. Closer, and closer, until—

It was difficult to recall how it had happened exactly, but the next thing he knew, he had been submerged in ice cold water with nothing but that delighted look on the boy’s face in sight. Shiro had screamed, though nothing but bubbles of what precious little oxygen he had left escaped him. He thrashed, tried to grab what he could as purchase, but thick winter mitts hardly allowed room to properly enclose his fingers around anything solid. His scarf felt like a noose, thick and suffocating, pulling tighter around his neck to further aid the water’s task in drowning him.

And those eyes were on him the entire time, dark, like the bottomless ocean. Waiting. Watching. Entertained.

And suddenly they were gone, yanked out of his field of vision, hands which had held him down vanishing along with his presence. Despite the absence of force, Shiro was far too drenched, far too tired and frozen to move. He was terrified, and if he could, he knew he would be sobbing fat, wet tears.

But hands were on him again, though this time, they had pulled him out of the water’s clutches. They peeled the scarf from his face, unzipped his jacket just slightly and brushed a wet fringe from his face. Shiro gasped for air, coughing roughly in between, cries escaping him as he flailed weakly all the while, refusing to open his eyes in fear he may see that dark void staring back him.

‘Hey, it’s alright. I got ya, kid.’ Came another voice entirely, warm breath tickling his skin as he was cradled close.

Warm… Safe…

With a strained breath, he peered up to meet those eyes— Dark blues that appeared violet in the right light— warm and expressive. Still, Shiro cried, breath labored in between the action, his lungs expanding and contracting painfully within his chest.

He was terrified.

‘They’re not gonna hurt you anymore, okay?’ The stranger had reassured as he pressed the back of his hand to Shiro’s flushed cheek. There was concern, a brief flicker crossing his gaze, but there was nothing more to be said. Shiro was too tired to ask questions, too tired to doubt the stranger’s words. The next moments were a blur, the sequences jumping from one to another in a strange disconnection of time. He remembered questions ( ‘Where do you live?’ ‘Are your parents close?’ ‘What’s your name?’ ), they had kept him awake all the while, responses mumbled and clumsy, but they seemed to satisfy the young man.

He remembered his parents, worried and panicked, his mother enveloping him into her arms, sopping wet clothes slapping the hardwood just out of his sight before he finally dozed off.

Between feverish dreams he recalled the voices down the hall: His mother, his father, and even his grandfather’s, though he had sounded weak and brittle in comparison. A fourth had murmured alongside them, quiet in tone, almost conspiratorial in a way, as though they were sharing in a secret that no one else could know. Shiro’s head was heavy, and still he shivered as though exposed to winter’s harsh weather, and yet he had managed to escape his bed regardless, drawn the whispers.

There had been a gasp, more concerned voices directed his way, but consciousness refused to provide the details of his travels. He could only remember finding his way into familiar reassuring arms, a gentle pat rhythmically pressing against his hair, and the faint rumble of a voice beneath a chest against his ear as a name was spoken in reply.

‘Keith… My name is Keith.’

The intersection was busy, traffic being it’s noisy usual self as he stood in wait for the light of the crosswalk to signal go , but the moment a red hand turned into a walking stick figure of a person, Shiro had caught sight of those familiar eyes. Frozen on the spot, he could only watch helplessly as the memory returned to him, replaying in his mind like some horror story come to life. He was only lucky his didn’t have a tragic end.

It still made little sense, though.

This young man— Keith— didn’t look a day older than when he first saw him. He could barely pass for an adult, Shiro felt, and briefly did he consider he had remembered the wrong face in his memories. Then dark eyes rose to lock onto his own, a flash of familiar well-worn red being exposed behind the high collar of his jacket, and suddenly Shiro knew he couldn’t have been mistaken.

“Shiro?... Shiro, are you alright?” They weren’t spoken by the one he knew as Keith, but instead, by his co-worker, Allura. It wasn’t until Keith had rose a brow at him in passing, as though thoroughly creeped by a stranger’s stare, that Shiro had managed to tear his gaze away, sputtering stupidly for a moment as all manner of speech eluded him.

“I… Y-yeah, I’m… I’m okay, I just… Thought I recognized someone…” He trailed off, shooting a gaze back towards the other’s retreating back, but Keith had already vanished amongst the rush hour crowd of the city’s hustle and bustle.

At his side, Allura seemed to consider his words silently, following his line of sight in search of the mysterious stranger for a moment before gently touching his arm and guiding him away. It was already late, and no doubt would the trains be packed— ‘With the unsavory sort’, in Allura’s words— if they caught it any later. She always made sure to get them both home at a decent hour.

“Well, if you thought , then it means you aren’t certain . Unless you’re absolutely sure, be mindful and keep up the pace, unless you’re willing to carry me on the train when there are no open seats?” Her words elicited a small bit of laughter from him, knowing full well how she was exaggerating with her statement.

It was distracting banter by just enough to get him to their destination, his mind finally wandering once more as they took their seats.

Grandpa Jiji’s words rang in his ears. ‘They’re everywhere, Takashi. No matter where you go, they’re there.’

His attention drifted down towards the bay as the train’s track crossed over the bridge, spotting a lone figure standing by the water’s edge. Behind them laid a discarded coat, and before he knew it, the person had submerged themselves into icy waters, looking far too pleased to be considered natural.

‘But don’t worry.’

A chill ran up his spine as he averted his gaze, memories flashing across his mind once again as he settled his attention elsewhere, this time, from within the cabin. A young woman who stood in the corner locked eyes with him, and briefly did he feel… something, tug at him from inside—

“Hey, what do you think about a group dinner tomorrow night?” Allura’s voice suddenly intervened, leaning forward in her chair and effectively breaking his line of sight. She seemed to be staring at him intently, and it took Shiro a moment to realize she had been intentional in her actions.

‘They’re not all bad.’

Shiro gave her a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but silently thankful.

“Yeah.” He breathed, lowering his gaze to avoid catching anyone else’s. “Sounds good.”

Thank you for reading!

To answer any questions that may have risen: No, Keith didn't recognize Shiro when he saw him, and that's why he gave him a weird look haha~ Yes, Keith did keep Shiro's old red scarf, and that's what was poking out from beneath his jacket's collar. Yes, Allura is also a fae/demon/mythological/immortal person-thing pfft. I have no idea what to call them, but yes, she's of that nature and is 110% aware of the others around them.

I loosely based the kid who almost drowned Shiro off of the Japanese myth of the Kappa! c':

     It wasn’t quite time to retire for bed, and faintly did the other’s voices carry down dimly light halls and distant corridors, but the distance was necessary, he reasoned. No doubt would the withdrawn demeanor raise concern, but pitying gazes and gentle inquires of concern were the last things Shiro needed– and yet silence coupled with solitude left him feeling just as bad, if not worse. Alone, the control deck felt much larger than usual, the vast expanse of never ending space beyond it’s windows seemingly increasing it’s size tenfold. 

     A brief moment passed in which he regretted his self-imposed seclusion, but Shiro reminded himself adamantly that the other option wouldn’t have been much better. Difficult as it was to remain composed in front of the others, it was necessary– it was always necessary. Regardless of what he preached, of allowing others to open up and express helplessness in their time of need, it was a luxury he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in.

     He was a hypocrite, and he knew it.

     Shoulders jolted upon the sound of a door sliding open, a familiar figure strolling in far too casually for Shiro’s current comfort and looking among the empty seats in search of… something, only to visibly perk up upon the sight of the black paladin occupying one of many chairs within the room. 

     “Hey, Shiro! We thought you went to bed!” Lance exclaimed, flashing a bright smile before eyes locked onto their initial target, a small ‘aha!’ escaping the brunet as hands lunged for the object in particular– headphones– and held them up in triumph. Only after claiming his prize did he return his attention to the taller man, gaze oblivious to the discomfort Shiro could feel dripping off every and any expression he attempted to come off as friendly. “Doing some leadership thinking stuff, or something?”

     “Or something…” Shiro muttered just loud enough for the other to hear, hearing the dejection in his own voice. He winced at the sound, knowing that even Lance would be able to pick up on it– and he did, if that look was anything to go by. The beat of silence the proceeded almost had Shiro hoping that the other would simply drop the matter entire and leave… and yet another part hoped he’d stay as much needed company.

     “Hey, uh… are you okay?” Came the dreaded question, the grimace to follow upon hearing it being completely against his will, and poorly did he conceal it with an aversion of his gaze. “Whoa, okay, I’ll take that as a no…” A pause, followed by the sound of shuffling which tempted Shiro to look and see just what exactly the other was doing. “… Do you… wanna talk about it?” Lance sounded far too enthusiastic in the offer.

     With a hesitant look tossed the boy’s way, Shiro could practically see the hopeful gleam in his eyes, bright and blinding. Lance appeared ready to leap into action, as though he had something to prove, though what exactly that was, Shiro hadn’t the faintest. Still, the offer had been presented to him, and though words of dismissal had been on the tip of his tongue, the elder found himself hesitating.

     “I… I really don’t want to talk about it, Lance.” He stated honestly, watching the other deflate.

     “Oh… Uh… O-okay, then…” Lance nodded in, what Shiro assumed was, understanding. “… I, uh… I-I’m here too if… if you need me, okay?” God, why did he have to sound so sad? And why did he have to say it like that? It left him feeling guilty.

     “Actually, I–” He found himself speaking up before Lance could walk away, catching the younger mid-turn. “–I could really use your company right now.” They felt like the right words to say, even if they were difficult to get out. Lance, however, appeared to have caught onto the effort taken to speak the simple request, brows drawn as his focus shifted elsewhere for a brief moment.

     “Do you… Do you need me?” He inquired in a tone Shiro had never heard him use before, the sound drawing the elder’s gaze to meet with cobalt blues. “… Or do you need someone?” He continued on after a beat, eyes glancing away in what Shiro could only assume was mild hesitance. “There… There is a difference…” They were the most profound words he had ever heard the boy speak, and it left Shiro feeling stunned. Before he could analyze the other’s words further, tanned fingers rose to tangle themselves in short, brunet locks, scratching at the base lightly as shoulders shrugged in Lance’s best aloof manner. It seemed as though the silence was too much for him. “I could like… you know… go get Keith or something…?”

     Keith… Keith was far too good at reading Shiro like an open book, pages well read and worn like a favorite novel. They were best friends, of course, and after all they had been through together, it was only natural for the two to become tuned to one another’s emotions. It was easy to tell when the other was troubled, and most of the time, Shiro was grateful to have such a great friend as he. But right here? Right now? Shiro didn’t need to be read openly; He didn’t need his thoughts to be exposed for what they were, nor for his insecurities to be laid bare. He needed… He needed…

     “I need you.” He murmured softly, so much so that for a moment, he thought the other hadn’t even heard him. Words caught in his throat, lips opening and closing in an effort to repeat the words, but before he could produce any semblance of a sound, Lance had all but plopped himself into a chair nearby and kicked back, legs resting atop the coms whilst fingers laced together against his chest. He seemed… happy?

     For a moment, Shiro felt tense– awkward? Despite not wanting to speak, wanting nothing more than to remain silent and make no effort at conversation, he felt the need to say something now that he was in the presence of another.

     “Do you think the castle has books on alien constellations?” The younger began speaking once more, putting a stop to the desperate grasping of mental straws. “I mean, they have a really big library, Pidge showed me, so they probably do, right?”

     Did Lance expect him to respond? Shiro hadn’t the faintest of what would be the proper answer– yes, perhaps? A maybe?

     “You think they name them after like… gods and animals and stuff? Like we do on earth?” He went on without prompting, fingers tapping lightly against one another, foot wiggling off the edge of it’s perch. “Or maybe they name them after flowers and fruit? You never know. Or maybe royalty. That’d be cool. Or you know? Maybe they don’t name them at all! That’d be weird–”

     Shiro tried his best to find an opening to interject and contribute to the conversation, but try as he may, Lance merely continued to speak nonsense, topics leaping from one to another in a nearly seamless manner. It was then that he realized just what the other had been doing the entire time: providing both company and a distraction with absolutely zero requirement of conversational contribution.

     And it was exactly what Shiro needed.

     Faintly did he feel the corners of his lips tug upright at the corners, a small hum of acknowledgement leaving him as he simply leaned back and followed the other’s example, becoming far more comfortable in his seat than is appropriate. Lance’s constant (and eager) chatter, coupled with the ever changing position of the stars beyond their boundaries, left him feeling drowsy and relaxed, eyes growing heavier and heavier as he continued to listen to the other prattle on about everything and nothing.

     …

     He couldn’t remember falling asleep, much less, wrapped within the comforts of a baby blue blanket that felt just right against his chin and cheeks– and yet it was exactly how he found himself waking, fingers lightly touching the material in slight confusion beneath the confines of his cacoon.

     A fond smile made it’s way onto his face, followed by a small huff of gentle laughter.