#uliroweek2017

They had barely defeated that Robeast. But even then, the pounding on his head, the thread of panic, and pain and fear and no no no please don’t go, not you don’t do it don’t leave me! Is still pounding on his head. Shiro had begged Allura for passage, begged her to keep Ulaz on her castle and had forbidden the Galra to sacrifice himself in the fight.

The princess had probably already questioned him, if the tense lines of his shoulders were a sign. It angers him, because she will never understand what happened, what Shiro felt, for all that she demands them to make Voltron for any pin dropped, she has the gall to ignore what would have become of his brother if Ulaz died.

It took him months to have Shiro truly relaxed around him for a few minutes after getting him back –and yet Shiro had been nothing but relaxed around Ulaz once he recognized the Galra. He had been wary, yes, had been curious and strategic in the knowledge the alien possessed, no doubt, but there had been implicit trust and easiness given in an instant.

Given and reciprocated with a quiet intensity that made Keith suspicious. Suspicious for different reasons, which was why he bypassed twenty questions with the Galra prisoner and went straight to the watching room he knew his brother preferred.

“I don’t care,” he states frankly glancing at him from his side, he looks even more tired up close “I want to know what you want”

Because he’s waiting for it he sees the moment it catches him off guard, the slow blink of his eyes, the minute relaxation of his muscles and attacks accordingly, pushing his side on his brother and resting his head on his shoulder.

Cuddling, some would say. Supporting him, he would argue.

He waits and waits until Shiro finally moves rising his arm so that Keith slides more into his chest, hears the uneven beats of his heart and then feels the fingers of his human hand brushing his hair in slow strokes.

“I don’t know” is the awaited answer, delicate in all of its honesty, but even then, Shiro’s hand does not stop his grooming. Keith knows his inner alpha, if there is such a thing, is purring.

“I’ve barely met him, and I want him here.” The fingers on his hair tighten for a bit, and there is more conveyed on that involuntary move than on the words spoken “He has answers I want, and he…”

Shiro’s words die between them. Keith knows he won’t have the answer if he stops prodding.

“Is he what you want?” he asks, placing a hand on his chest and looking up right into those grey eyes. If someone walks through the door, they would think something unfortunate

Oh, he knows the rumors. Heard them, heard them all after the Kerberos Mission. How he now was a mateless alpha; how his performance would fall now that he wasn’t cozying up to the pampered omega of the garrison; how ‘rowdy alpha’ he was now that there was no ‘wet omegan fuckhole to keep him sated’. How he should have ‘knotted that omega so that he never set foot on the mission quarters and wasted the Kerberos Mission on an amateur accident’.

He had gotten on a fight over that last one so bloody he was expelled.

He regretted nothing.

Because all rumors were false. Even though they were close, even if they tended to gravitate to one another, fell asleep together on the same bed, or next to each other after a long night of theorising flight simulations, stargazing and analysing patterns, he and Shiro never had that kind of bond, and never would. Not even when the opportunity presented itself. Shiro was his brother; they were family even if not connected by blood.

That year alone was a nightmare, and then people had dared to insult their relationship!

It didn’t matter anymore, Shiro was back, with him, safe. Not for the lack of trying, but Keith would remedy that, he swears. He’s not a cub that needs protection and it hurts when Shiro does this omega thing of making sure his little siblings are safe and then insisting he should lead Voltron in case I don’t make it.

Gods but does it hurt to think about it. How Shiro is burning and burning without a moment to rest, how he can’t touch the cracks, press forward, and have him lean on him without the fear of pressing a landmine. Voltron is great and necessary, but sometimes, when he sees the cracks this burden of leadership leaves on Shiro he wonders if it is worth it.

He does not trust the Galra, but he trusts the sign of that blade. Ulaz must have used it to free Shiro from the empire, and Keith used one to do the same once he arrived on earth. There are no coincidences in the universe, he has never believed in them.

Once he would do more than pass a hand around Shiro’s shoulders or elbow him in the ribs. But that was the relationship of two boys on earth. If the closeness Shiro needs right now is one he wants to find in Ulaz, Keith will respect the claim.

“I’m not opposed,” Shiro finally says –whispers with a thread of sound. Keith frowns and curses Zarkon and the Empire. Whatever had happened during that year, whatever they had done, whatever Shiro must have done to survive and the fact that his brother doesn’t remember anything – everything. A year ago, Shiro would have admitted this freely, without a hint of shame or self-consciousness –would have even joked about how he was not going to settle down with an alien chick like he had fantasized in his first years in the Garrison but a purple handsome.

They took more than his arm and Keith won’t forgive them.

“Shiro”

“Hm?”

“You deserve to be happy too” he declares, and there is more than one emotion in his voice. His brother’s hand on his hair grows slack, but Keith won’t take it back. Whatever Shiro thinks, this is the truth, the only one Keith will allow, and if the omega finds joy and safety in the arms of a Galra, then everyone else in this castle can fucking suck it up.

“How mature of you,” Shiro replies a bit shaky and does not cry, doesn’t move much either, but he can smell the distress tinted with shame, buried, all buried but Keith’s nose has been better than anyone has and he knows Shiro. This is as far as he’ll reach tonight and that is fine, Shiro needs him more right now anyway, and so he sneaks his arms around Shiro pulling him closer, washing a bit of his scent and humming softly to calm him down.

His goal is all set. Shiro chose Ulaz, and Keith would not allow the Galra to deny him, or cower away from the needs his brother will have. Though he has the suspicion, it won’t be hard at all.

  AN:

An excerpt of my unpublished entry for Uliro week. It kind has become its own thing at this point.

Once upon a Time, I wanted to write Uliro smut. Once upon a time I saw the themes of Uliro Week and said “Oh hey, I can write it with this theme!” and then I did the major mistake of “What if I do one first with a bit of backstory?”

The door behind him slides open. Ulaz closes the archives with a quick tap of his claws, glancing over his shoulder as Coran hails him. He nods in greeting, dodging Coran’s inquiry over what he was looking up, and slips out the door before conversation can be initiated. The eating habits might help; the sleeping as well. Ulaz’s own sleep schedule tends to revolve around a sixteen hour cycle, which he’d never questioned until arriving on the Castle. Food was a daily affair, usually within the mess hall, and tended to devolve into raucous conversation. Perhaps if he partakes in one of these meals or situates himself near Shiro when taking his rest?

Frustration isn’t a new emotion, though it has been growing the longer Ulaz spends devising a plan. The Blade frowns upon relationships outside of common camaraderie, so Ulaz is left quite literally to his own devices. It may be best to approach this situation as though it were a mission to be completed. Information was pertinent; he had exhausted the literary devices available to him, so perhaps it was time for a more direct approach?

Unfortunately, a direct approach garners him little except for the loud guffaw of the Blue Paladin. Lance drapes himself over the back of the couch, grinning wide up at Ulaz. He should have perused the other Paladins before asking the first one he came across. Lance says, “So, you got the hots for Boss Man, huh?”

Ulaz sighs. “I do not understand -”

Lance waves his hands, cutting him off. “You want to do the do with Shiro. Sweep him off his feet. Treat him oh so right. Am I hitting on anything here that sounds remotely familiar?”

Scrunching up his nose, Ulaz waits for Lance to tire himself out. Lance kicks his feet, wiggling his way further over the back of the couch. Soon, he’ll land on the floor. It would likely irritate Shiro if Lance harmed himself while giving Ulaz courting advice. Willing himself calm, Ulaz interrupts, “Lance, the knowledge in the Altean archives is incomplete. As you are human, you can assist me where the data banks fail. What is the easiest way to initiate a courtship between your species?”

Snickering, Lance props his chin on his palm, a feat of true acrobatics. Ulaz raises a brow. Lance says, “Honestly, my dude, you could probably walk up to him and just say in your super formal voice: ‘I wish to court you’ and Shiro would eat that right up.”

Humans have such a curious vernacular. “Is that good amongst your kind? ‘Eating it up’?”

Another snicker, Lance beaming bright and sure up at Ulaz. He immediately distrusts the smile. “Oh, it’s great. Just do your thing. He’ll respond.”

Likely false, just from the absolute glee on Lance’s face, but Ulaz has few options remaining. He bids Lance farewell and wanders the Castle halls, sifting through the limited information he’s obtained. None of the other Paladins fall into his path and he’s loathe to locate them after the disaster with Lance. Perhaps his inquiry into courtship is a hilarious notion? Is it so strange to initiate a courtship amongst humans? Has he already blundered? Frustration wars within him and he finds himself back at the Altean archives, desperate for another look. Coran has thankfully vacated the premises. Ulaz cues up the information on humans and flips through it.

Still nothing.

The longer he stares at the scans of Shiro’s biology, the less he understands it. Romance remains a frighteningly sparse part of his experience; the Blade refused to educate their members on the merits of romantic entanglement for fear of causing rifts in the ranks. Bare acquaintanceship was preferred. Shiro is an unknown in so many ways. Ulaz rubs the pad of his thumb against his cheek. Kolivan would scold him for wasting time on such frivolous notions. Antok would laugh. Ulaz blinks up at Shiro’s startled face, frozen in the midst of the scan, and sighs.

Lance’s advice may be his only avenue. Ulaz shuts down the holovids, scrubbing clean any of his history. No use giving the Paladins more fodder toward his fumbling attempts.

Leaving the archives, Ulaz goes in search of Shiro.

There are only three areas Shiro seems to frequent: the mess hall, the training room, and the observatory above the Black Lion. He’s corralled the Paladins for an impromptu training session, a series of drills that push each Paladin out of their comfort zone. Ulaz waits by the entrance, enthralled by the ease with which Shiro moves through the drills, demonstrating for the Paladins before critiquing their performance. It’s a strange mixture of kindness and quick correction; Shiro tends toward the softer side of training that Ulaz is unfamiliar with.

The training concludes, Shiro explaining areas of weakness and complimenting the Paladins on their attempts. Ulaz dallies at the entrance. Lance catches his eye over Shiro’s shoulder, giving an eyebrow waggle that makes little sense, and Ulaz scrunches his nose. Perhaps he should wait until they are alone to ask. Perhaps this was a foolish notion to being with.

Shiro turns, his smile softening when he catches sight of Ulaz. Ulaz stills. He can no more put aside his affections for Shiro than he can cease meals. Shiro has wormed irreversibly under Ulaz’s defenses. It would be detrimental not to try.

Pushing off the wall, Ulaz treks across the training room to join the milling Paladins. Shiro takes a few steps toward him, still talking with Hunk about a particularly effective throw he’d done. Ulaz pauses a ways away from the excitable group of Paladins, warmed when Shiro finishes his conversation and jogs over.

“Hey, haven’t seen you all day,” Shiro says, smiling up at him. Ulaz tightens his hold on his wrists, keeping them safely behind his back. “Did you want to spar?”

“Shiro - ”

“You will cease this immediately,” Allura shouts from across the room.

Ulaz turns, surprised. The rest of the Paladins peer at her in confusion, but Allura has her sights set on Ulaz, clearly agitated.

Oh no.

“You cannot have him,” Allura snaps out, teeth flashing in a clear show of challenge. Ulaz returns the gesture on reflex, skin prickling. He had not expected such resistance, though he should have foreseen it: Alteans were notoriously possessive, that much was fact. If Allura had already claimed Shiro as one of her own - dammit. How she’d come to the realization that Ulaz wished to court Shiro was beyond him. Perhaps Lance? Coran. The archives. He had failed to throw suspicion off himself while gathering information. A simple and unprecedented miscalculation.

Gaze darting over to Shiro, Ulaz takes in the minute widening of Shiro’s eyes and the tense bunch of his shoulders. His uncertainty is clear. The rest of the Paladins stand just behind him, avid stares darting between Allura and Ulaz.

He will not lose.

“I challenge you for him,” Ulaz says, rolling up to his full height.

Allura scoffs, eyebrows slamming together as she bunches a thigh and twists her left foot to the side. “Name your terms.”

“Guys –” Shiro starts and Allura holds up a hand. He frowns, a quick furrow between his brows, and Ulaz breathes out. Shiro does not continue his inquiry, deferring instead to the Princess, and it grates. Her gestures are meant to taunt, to showcase her claim over Shiro, to tease what Ulaz cannot have. Ulaz flexes his wrists, and the tips of Allura’s mouth inches up. She’d noted the reaction. Foolish.

Ulaz considers. She’s smaller than him, her reach not as long, though the definition in her legs could lead to trouble. “Combat. First blood.”

That gets Shiro going again. “Hey, no, what are you two doing? There’s no need for this.”

“There most certainly is,” Allura replies. Her voice drops and Shiro straightens. Another slight. Ulaz grounds his teeth. “We do not know his intentions toward you.”

“Pretty sure I can tell you,” Lance pipes up. Allura cuts him a look and he quiets.

Shiro chews at his lip, a gesture familiar in its nervousness. Ulaz twists the ball of his foot into the floor, stemming the urge to go and soothe Shiro into calm once more. Instead, he tilts his chin up. “I accept.”

“Wait –” Shiro begins again, but Allura is already moving.

She’s fast, faster than he was anticipating. Lance has just enough time to yank Shiro out of the way as Allura comes in low, comes in hard. When she strikes, Ulaz barely has a moment to get up an arm. Her strength is unbelievable, his elbow buckling under the force. Ulaz turns aside her next hit. Each step back is a devastating loss, Allura countering quickly and efficiently as Ulaz grapples for ground. She ducks when he reaches, darts when he aims to block. Her feints seamlessly shift aside any hope of retaliation. The complexity of her style is damn near impossible to counter. Ulaz casts aside another blow and lands a hit on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Allura does not flinch.

Ulaz spins back, gets up a block to endure the onslaught. She’s concentrating her blows on specific points in his arms, wearing down the muscles with strikes aimed to bruise. Ulaz weaves. Allura darts. She ducks under a possible grapple, slamming an open palm against his sternum. The move knocks him almost halfway across the room. Ulaz catches himself on his hands, pushing up, and Allura darts into his space.

Her smile turns vicious.

The next blow comes from her leg, the seamless pivot of her left foot barely registering before she connects with Ulaz’s side. Something gives - muscle or bone, he cannot be sure - but the cry slips past his lips before he can stem it. Allura falters for a single moment, gaze bright with surprise. Ulaz fights through his pain and strikes back. He locks a hand around her wrist, yanking her forward and tossing her aside, altering the force of the throw at the last instant to aim her down. She strikes hard but bounces up faster, her momentum shifting lightning quick.

He cannot maintain this level of ferocity. The few books the Empire had kept on Alteans had mentioned their fighting prowess, but this. Allura fights with precision and devastating force; her training is that of a warrior able to decimate an entire army alone. He was foolish to accept her challenge. And yet…

When Allura slams into him again, her pure strength overpowers his quick block. Ulaz allows the blow to strike. Deflection is key to his survival here. It flings him back toward the Paladins, back toward Shiro, and Ulaz spins to his feet. Allura follows. Shiro yells both their names. In Ulaz’s peripheral, Shiro stands before the others, his expression lost and mildly horrified.

The momentary lapse in concentration costs Ulaz dearly.

Allura grabs for the arm Ulaz throws up to counter, twisting it fast in her palm and yanking Ulaz around until he’s forced to his knees. The pop! of his shoulder lightnings pain through him; he cries out, bowing forward in hopes of relieving the pressure. Shiro shouts. Allura snaps out: “Yield!”

Ulaz does not. Allura forces his arm back further, until the bones creak, until the tendons scream. He has endured worse. He will endure all manners of hell to win the opportunity of courting Shiro.

Allura bears down and Ulaz gasps through the pain, sucks in breath after breath to counter the howl of his body’s desperation. She has not drawn blood; she is pushing for humiliation over ending the fight quickly. She grits out again: “Yield!” He does not. The force increases.

From the corner of his eye, he catches black on white charging toward the both of them. Allura pivots into the attack naturally, releasing Ulaz to counter the blow that is aimed for her. Shiro falls to his knees beside Ulaz instead and yanks him aside. Allura freezes, thigh twitching with tensed energy. Shiro’s hand is up, though unlit. He’s crouched between the two of them, a living barrier, and fury twitches visibly throughout his body.

“What the hell is going on?” Shiro snaps. “Why are you two fighting?”

Allura looms above them both, her brows up in surprise, mouth twisted in the beginnings of another challenging snarl. Shiro does not know the rules. He does not understand the importance of this fight. Ulaz places a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, a quick ghost of his palm that Shiro tilts back into. The gesture mollifies him. Perhaps not all is lost.

“This is how things are done,” Ulaz says quietly. Shiro glances over his shoulder, frown deepening. His hand remains raised, as though to ward off Allura’s potential attack. Allura has not moved, though her eyes narrow when Ulaz speaks. “Interference can be seen as a loss.”

“I can’t sit by and let the two of you tear each other apart,” Shiro pleads. Allura shrugs when Shiro glances at her. “What are you two even fighting over?”

“You,” Allura says simply, crossing her arms. Her right ankle tightens and Ulaz pushes up into a crouch. She won’t hold off much longer; likely, she will force Ulaz away from Shiro before continuing the fight. First blood. If he can get one good hit…

“Wait, what?” Shiro stands at that, gaze darting between the two of them. “What do you mean ‘me’?”

Ulaz moves before Allura can, dancing back and away from Shiro as she darts forward. Ulaz dodges when she steps into him, slashes out with claw and palm. Allura catches his wrist. She twists. Ulaz follows the motion, thrusting with his fist against her elbow until she releases him. They break apart. Shiro’s shouting for them to stop, but they’re too intertwined. Allura steps forward; Ulaz hooks her ankle with his foot and lifts. She yanks Ulaz down with her, the both of them rolling before breaking apart.

Popping to her feet, Allura crouches, waiting. She’s eyeing him now, curious and slightly impressed from the tilt of her chin. The twinge of Ulaz’s shoulder still sends tiny shocks through his system; his ribs protest each breath, fighting against him. He needs to finish her and fast.

When Allura springs forward, Ulaz meets her. Feint left, knick her across the thigh. He calculates, quick, quick, and when Allura spins, Ulaz swipes.

The two of them strike a barrier and ricochet off.

Electricity trickles up Ulaz’s spine as he rolls to a stop, curling in on himself as he gasps.

Pidge has a holographic maze up. “Listen, this was interesting at first but you’re both being crazy. Can we talk about this?”

Allura stands tall on the opposite side of the invisible barrier. Ulaz pushes himself up, unable to catch a breath. Shiro speaks up, “Thanks, Pidge. Now take it down. Ulaz, I’m coming in. Allura, don’t - ”

Too late. There’s a quick pop of electricity, the hum of the barriers dropping, and Allura moves. Ulaz twists on his knees, catching her strike in the palm of his hand, taking the brunt of the blow even as his ribs finally give. The pain is immediate and devastating. He tightens his hold on Allura’s hand, nails digging in hard.  Allura punches him right in the face.

Blood is drawn.

They both stop, Allura shaking her hand in agitation and Ulaz smarting furiously from the near fracture of his jaw. Blood thickens over his tongue. When he flashes his teeth once more, it’s in bloody understanding. Allura holds up her clawed hand and returns the gesture, fury coiling in the arch of her spine. Shiro pushes between them again.

“Stop it! We don’t need to fight! We can talk this out!”

“The challenge has been made,” Ulaz says. “She has contested my courtship of you.”

That draws Shiro to a halt, his eyes widening. “What?”

“What?” Allura says, startled.

Lance crows from behind them all: “I told you so!”

Ulaz pauses, confused. “Is that not what the challenge was for?”

“No!” Allura stands, hands bunched by her sides. Her lips are twisted in disbelief. “You have been perusing the archives for weeks and studying Shiro’s file! I was under the impression you wished to remove him from Voltron!”

“What?” Shiro repeats, still staring, still gobsmacked.

Pushing to his feet, Ulaz says, “I would never remove Shiro from such an important position. I simply wished to expand upon our current relationship.”

“Treat him right!” Lance calls again. Ulaz sighs. A flush has worked its way over Shiro’s cheeks, his gaze darting from Ulaz to the floor and back to Ulaz in silent disbelief. Swiping his tongue over his teeth, Ulaz contemplates his next words carefully.

Allura beats him to it. “You wish to court Shiro? Goodness, I am terribly sorry. I believed - it is no matter. I should not have accosted you so.”

Surprised, Ulaz says, “It was a misunderstanding on my part as well, Princess. I did not realize you were unaware of my affections.”

“What,” Shiro says again, softer, quiet disbelief flooding his expression. He’s gone an alarming shade of pink, his ears tipped with red. There was nothing in the data banks about sustained blood flow in these areas, though Shiro seems unconcerned with the changing colour of his skin. He stares up at Ulaz instead, lips slightly parted, confused and a touch wary.

It’s unorthodox, but this entire situation has been Ulaz floundering from one situation to the next. He has the information he requires at this point; there is no need to withhold. He turns to face Shiro.

“I have been told the direct approach is best,” Ulaz begins. Shiro blinks. “If you would permit me, I wish to court you.”

The Paladins whoop, all four of them, and Ulaz winces. Privacy may have been the better route for this. Shiro opens his mouth, closes it, and then turns over his shoulder to glance at the Paladins. He does not address Ulaz’s request. Another blunder, another miscalculation. Ulaz does not fidget, though it is a near thing. When Shiro turns back, he’s still silent, still wide eyed, and Ulaz droops.

A mistake.

“I apologize for bringing up such a sensitive topic in company. Please, take your time. I will - be elsewhere.” It’s cowardly. It’s ridiculous. Between the horrific misunderstanding with the Princess and now causing Shiro clear discomfort, Ulaz has caused enough strife.

He leaves without another word. Shiro does not call him back.

After a brief stint in the medical bay where Allura once more apologizes for her gross misunderstanding, Ulaz wanders. He removes himself from the usual haunts: the kitchen, the mess hall, the training room, and the Paladin’s quarters. He remains in the lower areas of the Castle. He is not hiding, regardless of how Kolivan would sneer at him over it. He is simply reorganizing his thoughts, poking at a problem of his own making, and desperately wishing he had the foresight to implement a contingency plan.

As it stands, Shiro may spur his advances. Ulaz briefly entertains the idea of contacting Kolivan and demanding a mission. Cowardice once more. Regardless of Shiro’s feelings in the matter, Ulaz must remain the liaison between the Blade and Voltron. He must rise above the hurt that swims sickly through his chest and maintain a calm head. He has no claim on Shiro.

Granted, neither does Allura now. The thought brings him some satisfaction.

His wanders have led him back to the Altean archives. Ulaz glowers at the closed doors, of the information that had spurred a series of horrible choices. The archive, with its failed understanding of humans, had led him astray. Though, with that same thread of logic, Ulaz could place the blame on Lance. Sighing, Ulaz opens the archives doors. It is neither Lance nor the archives fault. It is simply Ulaz.

Oh, how that smarts.

The archives come online, small tendrils of blue light collecting to create the database. Ulaz quietly brings up the information on humans once again. Shiro’s caloric intake has dropped since the training with the Paladins, which means the he hasn’t eaten yet. Each display updates depending on where the Paladin is in the Castle, their vitals increasing and decreasing. Ulaz briefly eyes over the others, noting that they’ve cooled from their training sessions. Shiro is still warm, his vitals still above normal. Ulaz furrows his brows.

As he types in the commands on the console, the door shushes open behind him. Beads of light dance above Ulaz’s head, reaching for the new person with an inquiry. Ulaz bows his head. One cannot hide forever. Turmoil twists in his gut.

“Lance apologizes,” Shiro says, coming to a halt beside Ulaz. “Says he gave you some bad intel.”

Ulaz closes his eyes. It will be a slow rejection then. “It was another misunderstanding. There are many instances of human communication that I am unfamiliar with.”

“Like how to woo someone?”

From context, Ulaz infers that ‘woo’ is similar to courtship. He sighs. “Yes. It was in bad taste. I understand if you have dismissed my request.”

“I don’t know about that,” Shiro says. Ulaz glances at him, surprised. Shiro squints up at the holographic display, the Paladins frozen in surprise. “There are worse ways I’ve been confessed to.”

Remaining quiet, Ulaz clicks off the holographic display. He simply wishes to know, to begin healing the hurt within his chest, to leave Shiro be. Kolivan may have a reason for labelling romantic entanglements as taboo. Ulaz despises him for a vicious moment.

“Did you get your jaw looked at?” Shiro asks. A gentle touch skims along Ulaz’s wrist, startling him. He glances at Shiro, at the concern in his gaze and the quick smile he darts Ulaz’s way. It’s strained, far from the usual softness Ulaz is used to. Shiro continues, fingers flexing against Ulaz’s arm. “Allura packs a mean punch. I’ve been on the other end a few times. I’m surprised you didn’t yield sooner.”

“There was reason not to,” Ulaz bites out. He shifts his arm away from Shiro, unsure how much longer this process will take. “Am I to take your avoidance of the subject to mean rejection?”

“What?” Shiro blinks up at him, reaching out once more. Ulaz contemplates sidestepping him, but he recognizes his weakness now. Shiro’s touch, Shiro’s voice, the quiet hum of a connection between them; he is weak and it infuriates him. Shiro touches him, fingers tight around Ulaz’s wrist, and tugs until they’re facing.

“You wanted me to think on this,” Shiro starts. He bites at his bottom lip, brows furrowed low as he contemplates Ulaz’s captured hand. Ulaz remains still, awaiting judgement. “I don’t know what a courtship looks like in Galra society.”

That throws Ulaz off guard. “Shiro?”

“There’s a lot about human courtships or - or dating that I don’t think would fly here. Do you do presents? Dates? What’s the usual amount of time you wait before holding someone’s hand?” Shiro turns over Ulaz’s hand, flesh fingers warm against Ulaz’s palm. Ulaz swallows, hope prickling low in his chest. Shiro slots their fingers together, his smile turning wistful. “Is it too late for me to tell you I accept? Was there a time limit on the courtship request?”

“You - accept.” Ulaz curls his fingers against Shiro’s, folding their palms together.  

Shiro smiles up at him. “Yeah. I would’ve said it in the training room but you were already gone. We humans take a bit of time to process that kind of confession.”

Carefully, gently, Ulaz brushes the tips of his fingers against Shiro’s smile. Shiro pushes into it, lashes slipping low, his smile widening. It is an unbelievable truth, what Shiro has just said, and yet Ulaz eagerly grasps what he can. He traces the indent in Shiro’s cheek, the laugh lines around his eyes, the bumpy ridge of his scar. Shiro waits him out, druidic hand pressed against Ulaz’s stomach. When Ulaz cups the side of Shiro’s neck, Shiro hums lowly and tilts his head up.

“Thank you,” Ulaz whispers, ducks his head to brush their noses together. Shiro huffs out a laugh, bumping up onto his toes to return the gesture. Ulaz rests their foreheads together, thumb gentle against the hinge of Shiro’s jaw.

Shiro has granted him yet another gift in this war. He will guard it with all the ferocity the Blade has instilled in him.

Ulaz placed the tray he was carrying on the nightstand on Shiro’s side of the bed and knelt down beside him. Shiro glared at him with the one eye he had visible over the pillow. He flopped back onto his side when Ulaz cocked his head and turned his ears down. Shiro had gotten very good at reading Ulaz’s very specific expressions and this one said “stop being dumb.”

Ulaz huffed at Shiro’s acquiescence and ran his finger back through Shiro’s hair, pulling the sweat soaked locks off his forehead.

Shiro coughed but closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Ulaz could hear the rattle in his lungs from here and feel the heat radiating off of him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Shiro.”

Shiro peeked his eyes open once more, only to catch a reprise of Ulaz’s “stop being dumb” look.

Shiro sighed.

“Head hurts.”

“Is that a new symptom?” Ulaz asked.

Shiro’s smile was barely perceptible but Ulaz spent enough time staring at his face to catch it. He swallowed. “No, Doctor Ulaz. ‘s not.”

Ulaz frowned.

“How often do you have headaches, Shiro?”

Shiro squeezed his already shut eyes and chewed the inside of his cheeks as he thought.

“Most of th’ time.”

Ulaz’s eyes widened. “You have a headache all the time?”

Shiro nodded. “Not normally this bad.”

Shiro coughed again, a hacking sound, his lungs obviously trying to clean themselves out. Ulaz provided a tissue for him to spit into.

Ulaz grabbed the water from his tray as he took the tissue and put it in the wastebasket by the bed.

“You need to drink.”

Shiro didn’t see Ulaz put the powdered fever reducer and pain medication in the water and he didn’t need to. Shiro would never take anything that dulled his senses, not when there was the chance that his team could need him. Ulaz would always try his best to respect Shiro’s wishes, but not when it meant hurting his health; not when it meant that Shiro put himself in pain.

Ulaz helped Shiro sit up and held the glass to his lips. Shiro grabbed it from his hands, took it all in a few short gulps, and fell back into the pillows with a sigh. He turned into the pillows.

“Wake m’ up if you need me.” he mumbled into the fabric at his nose, nuzzling into it.

“Will do,” Ulaz responded, gathering his tray, turning down the lights, and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.