Errors and Expectations: A Guide for the Scholars of Basic Loving (ongoing)

↳ Levi as a graduate student and OnlyFans model. Levi x Reader. This is the two-braincell smut longfic (sorry). Full summary below.

Wounds of an Endless War (completed)

↳ Modern AU featuring reincarnated Levi, who's trying to reconcile with his past traumas. Levi x Reader/OC. Full summary below.

Teashop Wishes and the Rest of Our Lives (on hiatus)

↳ Levi, Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco's life after the war. Crossover with Hunter x Hunter. Found family wholesomeness with angst. Full summary below.

AO3 One-Shots

The Dirty Song Series (Levi x Reader one-shots):

A Dirty Song for the Captain (currently hidden for revision)

A Reunion in Lust

Birthday Cake on Bare Skin

A Cripple and a Cat Who Refused to Die (Levi angst)

Carnal Indulgence (Levi x Reader smut, technically not a one-shot but it's less than 10k)

Neither Sadness Nor Joy (Levi x Reader fluff)

"You act as if I haven't known you since junior high," Keith scoffed, and motioned for Lance to unlock his car. "You're face was all - infatuated right now and I know only one thing could have made you like that. It was a pretty gross, too. Almost sickening to look at."

"Ugh, you're lucky I like Shiro so much or your ass would be walking home," Lance replied. He frowned and sighed, but his skin still tingled with elation, the latest revelation of his high school life refusing to fade from his thoughts even as the pair continued to bicker. He was going on a date with Allura - tomorrow! "Even if he is out-of-state, I'm sure he'd fly on home for a good old-fashioned scolding."

"Yeah, so continue being on your best behavior," Keith smirked, and threw his backpack into the Kia's backseat. Apparently deciding he had won this round, he remained silent as they climbed into the car and Lance turned the ignition. Blue purred and welcomed her owner back, waiting for Lance to drive out of the parking lot. Before he could reverse his car however, Keith's smirk shifted into a genuine smile, and he asked, "So, what's the game plan for this date of yours?"

It was Lance's turn to smirk, his shoulders bustling with excitement. "Simple: perfection."

----------

Lance woke up a little before 7AM, heart fluttering and legs prepared. The rest of his household was asleep besides his father, his gaze fixed on the Saturday morning paper. When Lance entered the kitchen, his father blinked, confusion written into his stare. "Mijo? You're up?"

"Yep, Papá!" Lance nodded and saluted his father as he headed towards the refrigerator. He opened one of its large steel doors and sighed as his eyes locked onto the giant paper bag on the third shelf. It had been seemingly untouched throughout the night, perhaps due to the messy "DON'T TOUCH YOU HEATHENS" scrawled at the bag's center. Not that had stopped his older siblings before. "I got big plans today."

"Oh, really?" his father asked, his lips curved into the barest of smiles. "Do they involve your homework? Or cleaning your room?"

"Sadly, no," Lance replied, lifting the bag from the shelf and hoisting it onto the kitchen island's countertop. "No plans to indulge in those illustrious activities. But! I am going on a date with the prettiest girl ever."

A beat passed between father and son, and then -

"You finally asked her?" his father's mouth hung open, jaw slack before smiling wide. "And she said yes?"

"Well, yeah, or else this whole driving up to her house with a giant picnic basket in tow would be really awkward."

His father laughed and stood up, pulling Lance's shoulders into his chest. "This is great, Lance! And that date idea sounds perfect for Allura. She's going to love it."

"Thanks, Dad," Lance grinned, briefly closing his eyes and leaning into his father's hold. His father had been a constant source of encouragement and support when Lance's crush intensified, or when he would doubt Allura could reciprocate his affections. But it was happening! Their very first date would be this Saturday afternoon, and a part of him knew without his father's advice, he might never had had the courage to ask. "I just hope she enjoys herself, you know. I want her to be happy."

His father chuckled and broke away from Lance, eyes shining. "Mijo, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you'd do anything for that girl. Trust me: whatever you come up with, it's going to make her happy."

Lance's grin broadened, joy sprawled over the whole of his face. Warm pride bloomed over his chest, overjoyed that the man standing beside him was his father. "I hope so! It'll always be a day to remember, that's for sure."

"I'm sure it will be. Though, I have to wonder..." his father loomed over the large paper bag on the counter, gaze curious. "Cooking isn't necessarily your forte. You gonna woo Allura with a platter of sandwiches?"

"Ha ha, Papá," Lance rolled his eyes, but his smile remained, ignoring his father's teasing. "Don't worry: while I can make a mean cubano, that picnic basket is going to be filled with food so mouthwatering, Allura might just fall in love with me this afternoon."

"Oh, and how are you going to manage that?"

Lance's grin shifted into a lopsided smirk, the corners of his lips digging into his left cheek. "I have a secret weapon."

The secret weapon showed up approximately thirty minutes later, a bright yellow bandanna wrapped around his head. He wore it whenever he wanted his food to taste its best, and it had won him quite a few cook-offs and baking contests.

"Hunk!" Lance exclaimed as he whipped the front door open. He beckoned his friend inside, and practically shoved him into the kitchen once his shoes were off. "Good timing, buddy. I was just about to call you - I thought you forgot."

"It is Saturday, Lance," Hunk stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes, mild aggravation seeping into his voice. "And you didn't let me know about this little ordeal until one in the morning - Pidge and I were killing it on Overwatch."

"Yeah, yeah - keep sulking. You still came over here," Lance chuckled and handed Hunk a box of macaroni. "But seriously, thanks for the help. I wouldn't be able to pull this off without your cooking magic."

Hunk nodded, apparently appeased and went to fill a pot with water. Once he set it on the stove, he paused and frowned, turning his head back towards Lance. "You sure it's okay if I help out? It is your first date after all. What if she thinks you're just lazy?"

"Nah, I don't think that's what she'll take from it," Lance said, keeping his eyes focused on the food in front of him. He slathered a thick coat of mustard on the Cuban bread, and then started to pile roasted pork and honey-glazed ham over the condiment. "Allura knows I don't cook a whole lot. But I think she'll be impressed I asked for help - like I didn't care too much about making it all about me and how I can provide for her or something. I don't know, I just want her to be happy."

"Just want her to be happy, huh?" while Lance kept his back turned to Hunk, he could hear the fondness in his voice, perhaps even a smile lazily drawn onto his lips. "You think my macaroni salad and your cubanos are gonna do that?"

"Well, she loves them both separately," Lance shrugged. After the swiss cheese, he topped the sandwich with thin dill pickles, and marveled at the fat amount of food in front of him. Maybe there'd even be some left over. "Together? It's gonna blow her mind."

Hunk laughed. "Whatever you say - but I don't see anything for dessert, and you know how much Allura adores sweets. What's your plan there, lover boy?"

"You act as if I'm an amateur when it comes to Allura. Trust me: I have the perfect spot picked out for dessert."

"Ah, so you're going somewhere else! Very classy, Lance. Maybe you got this whole 'date thing' down - even if it's your first one!"

"What is it with everyone and trying to crack my self-esteem?" Lance grumbled, though his chest remained light and his head continued to buzz in anticipation. A few more hours...a few more hours and he'd be driving Allura to his favorite park, where they'd sit and eat and talk; just the two of them. On a date.

"So, where are you going to take her?"

Lance folded his arms and lifted his head to the ceiling, mock offense spilling into his voice. "That's for me to know and for you to find out later, after Allura and I have finished making out in -"

"Alright, alright, you can stop now or I'm definitely going to leave you stranded with some soppy macaroni."

Lance laughed, and walked over to the pantry and grabbed the aluminum foil from the top shelf. It was then his phone chimed from his pajama pockets, and he unlocked it as he set the foil near the sandwiches on the counter. His phone read Message: Allura <3, and his eyes softened as he opened the message, the text displayed a moment later.

Good morning, Lance! I hope you slept well. I'm looking forward to our date. : ) You're still picking me up at noon, correct?

Lance could have chuckled, but he refrained and read the message again. She was just so...wow. He couldn't think of another way to describe it. His stomach fluttered, his heart swelled with snug affection. And it was just words, a simple good morning text. But it meant so much to him - it showed that she cared, that she was excited, that she wanted this date just as much as he did. He had waited and waited for this moment, for the right opportunity to lay out his feelings. And she had accepted them - she had been thrilled.

And now, he was at the point where he could text her back. Text her that he couldn't wait for their date to start either.

Smiling to himself (and ignoring the bemused chuckle from Hunk), Lance wrote out a reply.

0808080808080

Allura spun around in front of her full-length mirror for the fourth time that day. She felt goosebumps spread across her shoulder and travel down her arms, and she giggled as a lock of hair fell from behind her ears and into her eyes. Wonderful; she felt wonderful.

Perhaps it was the dress she finally had the chance to wear. It was a standard flared dress, but the fabric was a soft cotton, perfect for the fall. The color was a muted aquamarine, with white lace trimming its hem. Her neck was adored with a pearl necklace, a gift from her mother for her eighth-grade graduation. The matching pearl studs were latched onto her ears, and the creamy white complimented her rich, brown skin and brightened her blue eyes. She had decided to style her hair into a braid, and she loved how her long white tresses felt against the curve of her back. While she wasn't one to brag or gloat about her good looks, Allura couldn't help the giddiness that clasped onto her chest as she twirled in front of her mirror for the fifth time. She looked pretty - she felt pretty!

Usually I just feel tired, Allura thought and she smiled at herself, watching the ways her eyes sparkled, happiness evident on every inch of her face. Maybe it was the dress that was making her feel this pretty, this wanted. Maybe it had to do with the lipstick she was wearing - a glossy pink that glistened against the sunlight spilling from her bedroom window. Maybe it was even the anticipation of the food she would eat - she was sure anywhere they went today, her mouth and stomach would be assuredly pleased.

Maybe it was the dress, her hair, her makeup - or maybe it was just Lance.

The thought of Lance shot a chill up her back, and she continued to smile, thinking of his lean form and playful blue eyes. She wondered what he would wear on their date - their very first date - where he would take them, what he planned. She wondered what he would say, how this day would be different than all the other days she had spent with him. This was new territory for the both of them: Allura had spent the majority of high school studying and focusing on volleyball and volunteer work, while Lance swam and played water polo and wrote witty pieces for the yearbook. The thought to date had crossed her mind, but it wasn't something essential, especially since she was sure she'd attend college out-of-state. She wanted adventure, excitement - and while she loved her hometown, there was so much more to explore and see. Even as she missed her father with his long trips overseas, she would squeal and sprint down the stairs as his next package arrived, filled with souvenirs and sweets from the country he was working in. Allura wanted to see the world like her father, and she knew college was the first step towards that.

Now however, there was something else Allura wanted. Something she had believed inessential became essential, and someone who had been a dear (albeit flirtatious) friend became a guarded crush. Her heart would skip when she would see him approach their lunch table, she would laugh at every little joke he would slide her way. She would feign annoyance at some of his more overt compliments or come-on's, but it was clear to everyone at their table (and especially to Pidge) that she was enamored by Lance and his charm. Certainly, he wasn't a terrible choice for a first date either: attractive, funny, free-spirited and compassionate...had she thought about this a year ago, she would have scoffed. Maybe even laughed at the preposterous notion.

But now the thought of her date, mere minutes away, made Allura feel as if she was glowing. As if her heart was a beacon of light, and Lance was arriving to answer her call.

Before Allura could spin again and shake off some of the excess, jittery energy engrossing her body, she heard a knock at the front of her house. Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest and her thighs shook, knowing precisely who was at their front door. She took another glimpse in the mirror and pushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear before grabbing her purse and denim jacket from her vanity and rushing down the hallway.

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard her mother approach from the kitchen, her hair up in a messy bun and her "Saturday morning clothes" splattered in gray and yellow paint. She had decided she would repaint the kitchen and bathroom walls before Allura's father arrived, and Allura's date had done little to detract her from her schedule. Still, her smile was open-mouthed and genuine as Allura descended the stairs, and she motioned for Allura to open the door.

"Oh, baby girl - this is it! Your first date!" her mother tried to keep her voice low and quiet, but Allura was sure Lance could hear her from the other side of door. Allura tried not to be embarrassed; she knew Lance wouldn't mind. Still, perhaps it would have been better if her mother wasn't perched on the balls of her feet and practically bouncing like a child. "You have everything you need?"

"Yes, mother," Allura replied, looking through her purse one more time. As her father always recited: never can be too sure. "Phone, keys, wallet, pepper spray...all here!"

"Good girl," her mother nodded and jumped to hug her daughter. Allura was surprised, but quickly composed herself and hugged back, glad she had her mother's love and support. "Have a good time, sugar. I love you."

"I love you too, mom," Allura replied, voice soft. As they pulled away, Allura was once again struck with anticipation. Nerves fluttered across her stomach and tightened her throat, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. This was it. Her very first date. With Lance.

Her mother peeled away from the front door's entrance and walked back into the kitchen, providing Allura with the privacy she wanted. Allura silently thanked her mother, took another breath, and opened the door.

Lance's hands were crammed into his varsity jacket's pockets, a telltale sign that he was just as nervous (if not more so) as Allura. He wore dark blue jeans and black sneakers, complimenting the white sleeves and the red body of his varsity jacket. Apprehension twisted his face and stiffened his shoulders, but it soon faded once he caught sight of Allura, and his lips drew into a tender smile. His eyes were soft as he took a step forward, and Allura could feel the heat and adoration spilling off his body and seeping into her skin.

His voice was soft, too, and Allura's heart skipped at the sound. "Hi, Allura."

Allura returned his smile, hoping that it radiated with as much warmth and affection as his. "Hello, Lance."

"Your mom inside?" Lance asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "I should say - "

"No need," Allura shook her head, a sliver of dread crawling over her lungs. She did adore her mother, but she could be just as bad as her godfather in regards to embarrassing her in front of cute and charming boys. "My mother is attending to the the kitchen walls this afternoon. I'm afraid company is the last thing she wants at the moment."

Lance chuckled, but shrugged and dropped the issue, apparently assuming it was best to believe his date.

Off to a good start, Allura thought, bemused.  

"So, you ready to go then?" Lance asked, motioning to the Kia Soul parked beside their mailbox.

"Of course," Allura nodded and followed him onto the driveway, her heart light. The sun warmed her skin and soaked into her bones; perhaps the denim jacket was unnecessary.

"Hope you brought your appetite, by the way," Lance said as he opened the passenger door for Allura. "We're about to eat a feast fit for a princess and her entire court."

"Her entire court?" Allura quirked an eyebrow, amusement evident in her tone. "Lance, there's only two of us."

"Yeah - and you know and I know that we can take down an entire Chinese buffet if we wanted to," he replied, prompting Allura to giggle into her hand. She noticed his smile widen from the corner of her eyes, and understood that nothing had changed between them. He liked her, she liked him - but nothing was fundamentally different. Or at least, not yet.

"So, where are we headed?" she asked as they exited her neighborhood and turned towards the freeway.

Her date put a finger to his lips and winked, causing heat to pool in Allura's stomach. She knew Lance was objectively attractive, but the way his eyes bordered on mischievous, how his lips curved into a coy smirk - it was if he had become someone else entirely. Someone she desired and wanted to kiss. She was reminded of the brief kiss she had bestowed upon his cheek yesterday afternoon, and she wondered how many times the image had looped in both of their heads. "It's a secret, princess. But I promise you'll love it."

Allura rolled her eyes, but giggled once more and sunk into her seat. "Okay. I trust you."

She had closed her eyes then, so perhaps it was her imagination. But she swore Lance had taken a sharp, deep breath - as if what she had said was somehow life-changing - and croaked out, "Thanks."

An easy, comfortable silence fell between them as they drove onto the freeway. Allura kept her hands folded in her lap and watched as they passed familiar exits and shopping malls. At this point, Allura suspected Lance was taking her to a place she'd never been before - maybe even in a city she'd never seen in either. She could only imagine the hours he poured into finding the perfect location for their first date, thinking of her likes and dislikes, how they complimented his own tastes. She smiled to herself and watched Lance from the corner of her eyes, stare focused on the road but his body at ease, his shoulders slumped into the back of his seat.

"I've been meaning to ask," Lance's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to him, his face a little more solemn. A little more on edge. "You heard from your dad? I know, uh - I know he sent you that package last month, but I haven't had the chance to ask if, you know...anything else has come up."

Allura refrained from frowning, but her heart grew heavy and she turned her stare towards the gold bracelets on her wrists - one studded with pink diamonds, the other studded in blue. She had thought of her father frequently in the past week, but only as an event, an object of some sort. It was when her father had departed for his current business trip, when he had told her he wouldn't be home until winter, that these feelings for Lance had bloomed inside Allura's heart. She remembered tears streaked her cheeks, and she remembered Lance smiling kindly, gently as he brushed them away with his thumb.

"I know it hurts," Lance said, his face so close to hers that Allura could see the flecks of black splattered across his blue eyes. She had never seen him like this before: he had always been encouraging, supportive of her passions and dreams. Yet, he had never seemed so tender, so completely entranced by and understanding of another person before. And that person - that person he was looking at, reveling in - happened to be her. "But I promise he's going to be thinking of you as much as you're going to be thinking about him. He loves you, Allura. And he's going to be so proud of everything you've accomplished while he's gone."

She had forgotten what she had said, but it was irrelevant. Something had changed within her, changed between them that Allura had almost pointedly ignored it. Now that she could reflect inside Lance's car, Allura realized: she had been scared. Probably just as frightened as Lance was. From that moment, they had yearned for the other, and a part of them must have known, must have understood the gravity of their feelings. But they had continued with their make-believe for several months after, and had it not been for Matt Holt and his pleasant compliments, perhaps they still would be.

"He called mother and I a few days ago," Allura replied, voice small. Her father didn't know of her date with Lance, or even her crush on him. He had always liked Lance's playful nature, but she wondered what her father would think of him now. "He sounded happy, but a little tired. He says the negotiations are going well, and that he might be home in time for Thanksgiving."

"Ahh, that's great!" Lance exclaimed, throwing Allura a large smile. "I would love for him to try my mom's ham. She makes the absolute best ham for Thanksgiving."

Allura closed her eyes and chuckled, but her heart remained heavy. She should not be missing her father - she should be enjoying herself, pleasantly chatting with the boy she adored. But she did miss him, and the fact that he hadn't been there to laugh with her mother as she tried to shoo the pair from the front door chilled her chest and emptied her lungs.

Perhaps she should have replied. But she didn't, and she noticed Lance's gaze dipped into worry. He waited until they took their exit and turned right on a street lined with tall, winding trees before he spoke further, his voice low. "Allura, if - if you ever want to talk about your dad with me, you can. You can right now, if you want. I won't mind."

"Thank you, Lance," Allura replied. While her smile was small, she hoped her appreciation was reflected in her eyes.

"And if you're not having fun and you don't want to be out anymore, that's totally fine too," Lance continued. "I just - I just want you to be happy. And if you're not happy, I'm not happy."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind," she nodded, and looked out the window, eyes widening as they drove into a large parking lot. She couldn't see a restaurant or a shopping mall, but instead - "This is a park."

"Yep! Sure is," Lance confirmed, parking his Kia Soul near a playground filled with rowdy children and exhausted parents. "It's called Heritage Park, and it was my favorite park to visit when I was a kid. They even have a little pond and amphitheater at its center. It's about a ten minutes away, but if you don't mind the walk, that's the perfect place to eat."

"Eat?" Allura asked, tilting her head even as her heart started to lift. Did he mean they - they were going to have a -

"You haven't guessed?" Lance's smile grew wide, and he winked at Allura for a second time that day. Goosebumps shot across her shoulders and thighs, and she almost shivered at the pleasant sensation. "We're having a picnic. Got the feast all ready to go and tucked away in the trunk."

"How exciting!" Allura nearly leaped out of the car, simultaneously feeling breathless and full of energy. "I haven't had a picnic in ages."

"Well then, today is definitely your lucky day," Lance replied as he propped open the trunk, revealing a large and stylish wicker basket, painted a deep burgundy. "Not only have I prepared the best sandwiches known to modern civilization, but I also received some help from the number one chef in town."

"Hunk helped you?" she asked, mouth watering. She loved everything that Hunk had ever shared with her, but if he had prepared his signature macaroni salad, there was a possibility she might swoon and fall onto the crusty asphalt beneath her. "This is incredible, Lance. I can't wait to try everything in that basket. Oh! And to see this park, of course. It's quite lovely - the trees are still so lush and orange, and it's the beginning of November!"

Lance chuckled softly, eyes warm and tender, like that time five months before. "I thought you might, princess."

And just as Allura had believed, the park was breathtaking. The grass was thick, and when they approached the pond, Allura held in a gasp. The water was a clear blue, matching the cloudless sky above. They found a spot just on the water's edge, and Lance laid out a large picnic blanket designed with squirrels holding acorns and pieces of fruit. Allura's smile broadened as Lance unpacked the macaroni salad from the basket, and hummed her approval as she took her first bite of the stuffed cubano. She laughed at all the stories Lance told of his family, and he listened to her discuss the latest book of her favorite science fiction series.

It was all wonderful; perhaps even perfect. Except, of course...

"You looking for something else, Allura?" Lance inquired, his chin in his palm, eyes dancing in amusement. "I'm sorry to say, but we ate everything. I don't even have anything left to give to the ducks."

"Oh, no...it's just that..." Allura trailed, not sure how to ask the question without sounding incredibly ungrateful and inciting disappointment in the boy across from her. But he did know her, and he knew how much she loved dessert, especially after a tasty, savory meal. A store-bought cookie would have sufficed her, really. And yet...

You're being ridiculous, Allura. This has been fantastic and you're ruining it.

So, instead, Allura shook her head and smiled as pleasantly as she could. "I'm not looking for anything. I'm quite stuffed, actually."

"Great! Let's pack up and head back to Blue. I'm sure she's already missing me."

Allura swallowed the disappointment threatening to sour her memory of this charming afternoon. It was just dessert, she would be fine. It wasn't like she waited for their weekly outings to their favorite cafe and scoured through the pastry selections before deciding on which brownie or croissant would bring her the most joy. It wasn't as if Lance daily kept chocolate in his backpack, and snapped off a few squares to offer Allura when she missed her father or was worried about an upcoming exam.

It's just dessert, Allura recited. She would be fine.

"So..." Lance trailed as he started his car, flashing Allura a brief grin. "I could take you home. Or..."

He waited for Allura to turn her head, and she noticed the excitement stitched into every corner of his face. There was something else he had in mind. That expression all but proved it. "Or what, Lance?"

"I could treat you to the best milkshake this side of San Bernardino County."

"Oh, wow..." Shiro's breath had caught as he turned the man over, black tresses falling over his face. The man's skin was fair, his nose sharp, and his lips full and pink. A satchel was wrapped around his body, but Shiro had no desire to pry into the man's belongings. Shiro had blinked, unsure what to do with the stranger except stare at him and his pretty face. And had it not been for Kovu's persistent hissing, that might have been a real possibility.

Now, here he was: waiting in the shadows of his reading corner, waiting for the man to wake up. He had his knife tucked into his back pocket and a chunk of his hair wrapped around his right arm. Had mother been there, she would have hoisted him out of the window and buried him in a ditch in the forest. But for all her lessons, for all her insistence that people were inherently evil and would come to ravage Shiro and his gifts at a moment's notice, Shiro could not harden his heart to that capacity. His mother may have seen the evil of man, she may have been manipulated, betrayed, and abused - but Shiro hadn't. And the least he could do was give this man the chance to speak for himself and justify his actions.

Besides, there was a small part of him (a very, very small part, he assured himself) that wondered what his eyes looked like. If they were as pleasant as the rest of his face, his heart might actually skip a beat. And that - to feel what was written in all those romance novels and fairy tales - was his most private, most coveted fantasy.

-----

When Keith woke up, the back of his skull was pounding.

He moaned as he attempted to open his eyes, the pain amplified with just the slightest tilt of his head. He tried to move his arms to soothe the ache, but he felt ropes wrapped tight around his shoulders and waist, effectively restraining him. God, what had hit him? The last thing he could recall was looking at those murals. He had been surprised by how detailed the paper lanterns were, and how lush and green the trees appeared. He wasn't an expert, but he knew that took skill and years of practice. Had his life not gone to complete shit in the past twenty-four hours, he might have stuck around long enough to meet the artist.

Well, wish granted, Keith cringed and shook his head. At the very least, he had to open his eyes and get used to his surroundings again. If he wanted to survive this ordeal, he'd need every sense available. He squeezed his eyes a second time, and slowly relaxed his face to open them. At first, his vision was blurry, but he could make out the trace of the window he had entered from along with its stream of accompanying sunlight. As his eyes adjusted to the light and the ache in his skull subsided to a dull, nagging pang, Keith could see the plants sitting atop the window, as well as the mural of vines and woodland sprites spiraling around the window's brick frame. Keith blinked and turned his head, unconcerned with his head's persistent protest. He drank in the murals that seemed to touch every corner of the walls - he especially liked the quintet of cats near the bookshelf, though he wondered why the artist had decided to color a few of them in such outlandish hues like bright blue and neon green.

"Amazing," Keith breathed out, his voice feeling scratchy against his parched throat. God, when was the last time he had anything to drink? And how long had he been restrained to this chair? His arms and legs felt stiff, and his stomach emitted a low growl, alerting Keith to another problem. He could do without that, really. It wasn't like he could feed himself with these ropes -

"Who are you?" a soft, deep voice penetrated the quiet of the tower, and Keith whipped his head towards its direction, wincing as his vision swerved and his headache intensified. That voice sure didn't sound like anyone he would expect in this tower. Though, to be fair, everything about this place was unexpected. When he had first discovered the tower, he had assumed it would be abandoned - the perfect place to hideaway for the next few days. But the murals had looked too fresh, the plants too lively, and the scents too potent for the tower to be vacant. He would have left after a little more meandering through the first floor but, well...

At least he had a good idea as to who knocked him out.

"My name - " Keith caught himself. Unveiling his real name to a complete stranger bordered on moronic. He gathered his thoughts, and recollected a boy from his hometown with clear, hazel eyes and black hair similar to his own. That could work. "My name is Akira."

"Akira...that's a nice name, actually," the voice said, a hint of wonder lacing its tone. But that wonder was soon replaced by coarse, rigid words, an unspoken threat intertwined with every syllable, "How did you find this tower, and why are you here?"

"I was...escaping a few, uh, ruffians who were after something of mine," Keith replied, doing his best to remain as vague as possible. Wouldn't do to have this stranger know his profession revolved around stolen crowns and street brawls with castle guards. "I found this tower while I ran through the forest. I thought it was abandoned, and thought I could use it to lay low for a few days. Or until I thought I was safe."

He paused, unsure if that was a satisfactory answer. He decided to continue, more for himself than the stranger hidden in the shadows. His stomach was wracked with both hunger and guilt, and he couldn't - he wouldn't - have someone think he was a common thief ready to kill and maim whenever necessary. "I didn't mean to alarm you, and I promise I won't cause you harm. Had I known this tower was someone's home, I wouldn't have intruded. I...I apologize."

"Do you mean that?" the voice asked, the wonder returning to its voice. Keith couldn't quite place it but the words, while confident and assured, seemed stilted, as if they weren't used to talking to others. Though, Keith could imagine that living in a tower this far out from the rest of the kingdom prevented its occupants from taking many social calls. Perhaps Keith was the first person they'd seen in a long, long while.

"Yes, I do mean that - I won't harm you," Keith nodded, his face steeled with conviction.

"Okay...okay," the voice said. "I'll undo your restraints. But, if you're lying, you'll have to answer to me and my cat."

"Your cat?" Keith quirked a brow. At his words, a vicious hiss shot throughout the room. It seemed to be directly behind Keith - maybe the cat was propped up on top of a dresser or closet shelf. But whatever the cat looked like, Keith was sure that the voice was not one to make empty threats. "Alright, you have a deal. But, it would be nice to see who I'm talking to, and who hit me so damn hard."

"Oh - I, uh, apologize about that," the voice stammered, its tone growing sheepish. Keith almost smiled, amused that he, the intruder, was being apologized to. "You're the first person besides my mother and I to ever be in this tower."

"Really? That's sort of - " Keith's next words were interrupted however, as he felt the ropes wrapped around him loosen, his arms and legs tingling in response. He looked down, unsure how the stranger had done that from the shadows. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the long, thin black strands tied by thick, white ribbons every two feet or so. Mild fascination and horror swirled through him, his fingers tugging at its soft, fine ends.

The ropes weren't ropes at all.

"That's hair," Keith's voice was calm despite his unnerving realization. He had been tied down by really strong, really long hair. His list for the day's unpredictable events was starting to become daunting, and he wasn't sure if he could stomach any more of it. "You bound me to hair."

"I apologize for that, too," the voice consoled as the hair spiraled off of Keith and slithered into the shadows. "We don't keep ropes in the tower."

"Why?" Keith asked, grasping onto the ends of the chair's arm rest until his knuckles went white. He had promised he wouldn't hurt the voice, but that didn't rule out self-defense. Without ropes, no one could escape the tower unless they were exceptionally skilled at scaling walls. Was the voice lying to him, trying to catch him off-guard? Where was their "mother" anyway?

He could hear the voice take a deep breath and clothes shuffle, as if hands were smoothing out wrinkles on a shirt. Soon, he heard a pair of feet approach him. The footsteps weren't loud or skittish or fast - they were controlled, deliberate, slow. He could also hear hair rustle against the floor as well, but that confused Keith the most. For hair to drag along the floor...

But then a form finally stepped out of the shadows, and all thoughts of hair and footsteps dissolved.

From the voice, Keith had suspected it was a man, and a man he definitely was. He was tall, maybe four or five inches taller than Keith, with broad shoulders and a full chest. He wore a black, long-sleeved tunic, and a thick, brown belt was fastened around his waist. Brown breeches finished the simple ensemble, his feet surprisingly bare. But that wasn't what Keith was truly amazed by.

The man's face was a complete vision. Like something out of a storybook.

His skin was a lush olive, contrasting well against his tunic's collar. He had a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, and a long, refined nose. Wide lips, a few shades lighter than his skin, filled out the bottom of his face. Thick brows framed his eyes, monolid and accompanied by long, black eyelashes. And his eyes - his eyes were a dark gray, reminding Keith of clouds before a storm, or smoke above a dying fire. They shined as they took in Keith's stare, as if the man was stupefied by his presence, by the fact he was still in the chair watching him approach. His frame may have been poised, his back straight and his lips void of a smile or a frown - but his eyes were elated. They sparkled.

There were diamonds in his eyes, more precious than any jewel or treasure Keith had stolen before. He was sure of it.

So taken by the man's eyes, he almost missed the vivid white bangs swept against his forehead and the long, black hair that traveled down his shoulders, passed his legs, and onto the floor. His hair was kept tidy by the white ribbons. Instead of the ribbons making him look dainty or effeminate, they made him appear sophisticated, regal.

"The hair...that's your hair," Keith let out when the man was a few feet away, his heart swelling with unspoken words. He had never felt so compelled - he had never felt compelled at all - to tell someone how beautiful they were. Was this tower enchanted - was this man? There had to be some kind of spell in the air, something that was filling his lungs with a crackling adoration for a man he had just met.

"We...we don't keep ropes in the tower because..." the man began, his eyes shifting from Keith's face to the floor. He spiraled a chunk of his hair around his arm, and crushed one of the ribbons underneath his fingertips. "Because it's a precaution. So that no one can steal me away."

"Steal you away? Why would anyone do that?" Keith asked, even as he knew precisely why he would whisk this man out of the tower.

The man paused and closed his eyes - perhaps weighing his options towards telling Keith the truth or keeping it a secret. He grimaced, but then soon turned his attention back to Keith, the diamonds in his eyes glossed over in resolve. "You weren't after me? You have no idea what I'm capable of?"

"No. No, I - all I wanted was a safe place to stay," Keith almost pleaded, but he kept his tone as composed as possible. He felt heat in his cheeks, shame clawing at the back of his throat. The man searched Keith's face for answers, judging if Keith was someone he could trust. Keith had already lied to him, had already showed his true colors. He wasn't a man anyone should trust, least of all someone so beautiful as the person before him. "But you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. And I promise, once I leave I'll never -"

"You want to leave?" the man interrupted, something akin to hurt giving his voice a raw, raspy quality.

"I thought you would want me gone as soon as possible," Keith replied. "Before your mother returns. If she thinks everyone is after you, I'm sure she wouldn't hesitate to throw me out the window the moment she found me in this chair."

The man blinked. A moment passed, and he cracked a smile, his eyes sparkling elation once more. The smile was soon followed by a giddy laughter, and Keith's ears tickled at the sound. "Yeah - that was one of my first thoughts, actually. My mother would be throwing your body down a cliff by now. Maybe even offer your corpse to the wolves down south."

"Lucky me, then," Keith sighed, tempted to roll his eyes. Good to know that in his sea of bad fortune, death and dismemberment had yet to be fished out.

"Lucky you, indeed," the man continued to smile, straightening his back and offering Keith his hand. "My apologies, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Shiro, and behind you is my cat, Kovu."

Keith took the man's hand - smooth and dry - and hoisted himself off the chair. He returned the smile and reluctantly let his hand slip from his grasp. "It's good to meet you, Shiro. Again, I'm sorry for -"

Something jumped onto Shiro's shoulders before he could finish, forcing Keith to stumble backwards, the back of his legs hitting the front of the chair. He winced, but turned his attention back to Shiro and the black cat now perched on his shoulders. Yellow eyes bore into Keith, and Kovu's nose flared. It seemed while Shiro was willing to trust him, the cat required further observation.

"Uh, nice to meet you too, Kovu," Keith didn't dare approach the cat, deciding to provide Kovu with a casual salute instead. While he wasn't afraid of a few scratches to his face, being maimed by Shiro's cat could damper the start of their friendship.

"Apologies for my cat as well," Shiro gave him a sheepish grin, and leaned his face into Kovu's fur. The cat purred at the affectionate gesture, placated for the moment. "He hasn't seen anyone besides my mother and I since he was a kitten."

"All is forgiven," Keith chuckled. "How old is he anyway?"

"Seventeen," Shiro answered, matter-of-fact, and frowned at the sight of Keith's bulging eyes and open mouth. "Is that unusual?"

"Most cats around here are lucky to live past a decade," Keith replied. "And I guess staying up here would help him stay alive a little longer but...his coat looks so fresh, and I can't find any gray in his fur or whiskers."

"That might have to do with mine and my mother's -" Shiro recoiled, tearing his stare from Keith and back to the floor. "I apologize...again. I don't think it's safe to tell you."

"Look, Shiro..." Keith trailed, his heart fluttering. It was strange, bizarre. He had had one of the worst days of his life. He had abandoned his best friend in that forest outside the tower, at the mercy of the castle guards. And he had just met this man, and knew so little about his life. But he felt like he would do anything to obtain his trust, to obtain his affection.

It had to be his eyes. His eyes must have hypnotized Keith, bound him to his soul. It was his only explanation for the yearning that whirled through his stomach and shook his fingers.

"But despite everything my mother has told me - I want to tell you," Shiro admitted, glancing back to Keith. "You didn't intend to, but - but you found me. I've never met anyone else in my life and even if I did...I don't think I'd want to tell them as much as I want to tell you."

Keith parted his lips and sucked in the stale tower air, his body warm. It seemed then, more than anything, Shiro wanted someone to listen to him. Perhaps it had been complete luck that Keith had been the first to find and scale this tower, but he would be a fool to throw this chance away. For the majority of his life, fortune and favor had eluded him. Now, here was a pristine, kind man who could offer him a sliver of something good - something worthwhile. "Well, what do you think is safe to tell me? Something that wouldn't betray your mother's trust?"

Shiro narrowed his eyes and creased his brows in concentration. He took a step backwards, and his gaze traveled from Keith to the walls and its murals. While Kovu moved from his owner's shoulders and jumped onto the floor, Shiro looked past his bookshelf and his cookware, his stare venturing towards the right side of the tower. It wasn't until Shiro's eyes caught onto the mural of the paper lanterns, his lips drawn into a wistful smile, that Keith made the obvious connection.

On top of being gorgeous, Shiro was one hell of an artist.

"On my birthday, every year, these lights shoot from the forest and into the sky," Shiro said, his voice almost at a whisper. "I've always wanted to know where they come from, what they mean. I've asked my mother for as long as I can remember if, just once, she could take me to see them. I've promised her I would never want to leave the tower after that - I'd stay and protect my gift forever, with just her and Kovu for company."

"And...what has she told you?" Keith asked, though he was sure Shiro's answer would prove unpleasant.

Shiro sighed and turned back to Keith, the diamonds in his eyes fading, "It's too dangerous. Even with all my training and learning how to defend myself - she says the people out there would find a way to capture me and lock me away in a dungeon, where my powers would be used for their own selfish gain. When I was younger, I didn't understand, and I would cry and throw myself onto my bed. But now...I've accepted that this is my life. I can't wallow. I just have to make the best of my circumstances. If not for myself, then for my mother and all she has done for me."

Keith processed Shiro's words, glancing over to the painted paper lanterns. This was all he wanted, to see the paper lanterns that mourned the kidnapped prince? The wish seemed simple enough. Why would his mother rebuke him, even after all his training? Shiro was a man (and hardly one Keith would call small or scrawny). He could take care of himself, just like Keith.

Wait, now there's an idea, Keith reflected. He held his chin in-between his fingers, and looked back to Shiro. "Where is your mother right now? She leave you alone often?"

Shiro nodded, "Yes, usually to get food and whatever else we need around the tower. Instead of ropes, she uses my hair to climb the tower."

"Pretty strong hair," Keith chuckled. His words elicited a faint pink to adorn Shiro's cheeks, and his grin widened at the response. "But what's she doing now?"

"For my birthday, I asked her for new paints to work with and a good book. She left this morning, actually."

"Okay - and how long will it take for her to get back?"

"She has to go into a village on the other side of the hills to get the paints. It can take her anywhere from three to four days to return, but I suspect with the book hunting, it'll be four this time around."

"And she left this morning, right?"

"Yes...she did," Shiro reiterated, his lips pursed in confusion. "Where are you going with this?"

"Well, your birthday is tomorrow, right?" Keith took a few steps towards the paper lantern mural, his mind buzzing with fortuitous possibility. If he had Shiro in tow with him on his return to the kingdom, he could hit three birds with one stone: drop off the crown to his contact and receive his reward, find Lance to plan their escape out of the kingdom and into Galra territory, and escort Shiro to the see the paper lanterns. Maybe he could even convince Shiro to abandon his life of confined solitude and come with him instead! Of course, befriending Shiro could prove to be a liability - he still didn't know what his "gift" entailed, or what his mother was capable of if someone stole Shiro away.

But, Keith was a thief - a good thief. And stealing risky, priceless treasure was all part of the package.

"Why don't you come with me? To see the lanterns?" Keith finally suggested. "We can travel through the forest together, look around the kingdom, watch the ceremony, and then get you back here with enough time for your mother to never suspect a thing. It's the perfect setup."

"What?" Shiro whipped his hair behind him, his stare incredulous. "Leave the tower, to see the lanterns? With you? Why would you do that?"

"Look, it's the least I could do - I invaded your home, scared your cat, and would definitely be dead if your mother was around," Keith acknowledged, crossing his arms and moving back towards Shiro. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again. But...this could be your chance. To know what's out there."

Shiro curled his fingers into fists, his knuckles white. His body was stiff, his stare void of emotion. Keith could only imagine the dilemma Shiro faced. He hadn't expected this opportunity to ever present itself. And if he had, Keith could tell by the way he smiled at those painted lanterns that he had given up on those dreams some time ago.

"If there's people out there - people who know who I am - will you protect me from them?" Shiro asked, his eyes not quite meeting Keith's. "I don't...I don't want my mother to worry."

Keith wasn't entirely sure what compelled him to reach across the room and press his hand into Shiro's shoulder, but he suspected it had to do with the yearning in his eyes. How the diamonds returned and glistened with the possibility, a thousand fantasies pouring into his head. "Sure, Shiro. I promise I'll protect you, no matter what."

Shiro tilted his head to glance at the hand on his shoulder, his mouth formed into an o. He soon smiled, and placed his hand on top of Keith's, squeezing his fingers gently. "Thank you, Akira. You have no idea how much this means to me."

And with Shiro's diamond eyes so close, his hand warm and large against his own, Keith wondered how Shiro's lips would feel pressed against his own, fingers wound tight around his lower back -

A wicked hiss intruded his thoughts, and he felt teeth nip at his ankle. Shiro gasped as Keith threw himself back, almost stumbling into the chair for the second time that afternoon.

"Kovu!" Shiro exclaimed, voice cracked and cheeks flushed. "That wasn't - he wasn't doing anything. Are you okay, Akira?"

"Yeah, yeah - I'm fine. And I promise I had no intention of ki - kicking him in the shins, or you know, whatever bad people do," Keith corrected himself, his face hot once more. Maybe this plan wasn't as perfect as he thought...

Shiro scratched at the back of his head, an embarrassed chuckle accompanying his next words. "But, you know - Kovu and I can take care of ourselves. All that training has to amount to something."

"Yeah, I figured," Keith nodded. "But it's the thought that counts, right? I'm sure I have a few good punches in me."

"Definitely more than a few," Shiro's hand traveled from his head to the back of his neck, his posture relaxed but his body bristling with an excitement, a hope that spilled butterflies into Keith's stomach. "Does your offer extend to Kovu? I'm afraid I wouldn't feel right leaving him behind."

Of course the cat was coming with them. That was another detail he'd forgotten. Keith tried to keep his displeasure at a minimum, and shrugged. "Yeah, that's fine. More the merrier and all that."

"Great!" Shiro's smile broadened as he practically raced towards the stairs, his bare feet quickly reaching the second floor. "Let me pack up a few things, and we can be on our way."

"I'll be waiting," Keith replied and waved up to Shiro, his chest light. The man's giddiness was infectious, it seemed. Not that he could blame him - his life was about to begin.

Kovu stood behind, his yellow eyes never leaving Keith. His stare prevented Keith from looking into his satchel and inspecting the crown. He opted to cross his arms instead, and shot Kovu a challenging glare. He felt the crown's weight against his side however, and sighed in relief. Finally, he had a way to escape this miserable kingdom and find his way back to his family.

And maybe...I have something else too, Keith thought as he looked up towards Shiro's room, wondering just what the man could be packing. Books? Knives? Gourmet cat food?

She tries to answer and agree, but she's cut off by an unpleasant, throaty cough. His blood cools and his face pales, afraid this might be a bit more serious than previously thought. He's still naked as he scrambles to her side, fingers burning - shaking with a terrible want to hold her. But he can't afford to catch whatever she has, if only for her sake.

Still, she looks so unlike the Malva he adores, crumpled beneath him with bloodshot eyes. And what kind of man would he be, if his lover sweats and sniffles alone, without his comfort and support?

"Do you...do you want some soup?" he asks when her cough calms and she sits herself against the bed frame, the blankets slipping from the top of her neck to the ends of her shoulders, "I can make you some - it won't take long, I promise."

Malva turns her face towards him, and he can tell she wants to smile, but her lips are chapped and swollen, and it must hurt to even breathe, "It'll help, right?"

"Of course," Siebold nods and kisses the top of her forehead, the taste of stale salt clinging to her brow, "I'll be in the kitchen. Just try to sleep for now, okay?"

"Alright," Malva replies, her voice heavy and soft all at once, "I'll be waiting."

He's reluctant to leave the bed - to leave her at all - but he reassures himself that she'll be fine, that it wasn't that big of a deal. It was only his lover (who wasn't quite his girlfriend), sick in his bed, vulnerable in the worse way, needing him in a way she didn't before....

His heart remains restless as he prepares Malva's soup, ensuring each  measurement is exact. He hates that he can't just throw the ingredients into the pot and light the stove - that he can't find one can of tomato or chicken soup in his pantry, ready to open and microwave. Malva is sick - in his bed - and he has to cut three potatoes, has to fish out a dirty teaspoon from the sink so he can measure the precise amount salt and cloves.

It's in these moments he realizes the extent of his obsession, and that maybe he should do something about it.

But the thought flees him when Malva coughs from his bedroom while he finishes her meal, adding a soft bread roll and a glass of water on either side of the large bowl. He doesn't panic, but his feet hit the wood floor harder than they should, and the door swings faster than he would have liked.

She's sitting up again, and now she's crying, her fingers knotted into thick, pink hair. When she notices him, she turns away, likely ashamed to be seen in such a state. Most of all from him - the lover not yet anything more.

And he can't - he can't drop the plate of food onto the ground and run towards her. Can't take her cold hands into his and kiss away every tear streaming down her cheeks.

Not until he sits the food onto his dresser. Not until he knows her food (his art) is safe.

"Siebold," Malva whimpers from the other side of the room, "Siebold..."

He pulls her into his arms seconds later, whispering, "Do you think we should go to the ER?"

She doesn't say anything, and he knows that's as much of an answer he'll receive.

Pride blinds her like obsession blinds him, after all.

Her hold loosens, however, and she leans the whole of her back into his chest, breathing just a bit easier, "Stay with me."

Just as much of a command as a plea - but he'll comply nonetheless.

"Always, ma fifille," he murmurs into her damp hair, "Always."