i actually miss writing keith but i’d rather just keep one blog so i’ll be adding him to my multi muse @corvusrequiem later on today.

   “I’m actually really disappointed I didn’t get to see your hair in a ponytail—I think Lance likened you to a pineapple.”

   Shiro can tell Keith is just barely toeing the line of acknowledging exactly what it is that’s bothering him—it’s a good thing he has patience in spades, because the last thing he wants to do right now is twist Keith’s arm about it. It’s not one of those types of scenarios where he can push as hard as he wants, and Keith doesn’t need a bigger shake-up than his head is already giving him.

   But he’s not sure how else to explain to Keith that’s he’s open and waiting, that he’s safe, and that whatever is hurting him in his sleep can’t hurt him here.

   All he can do is be patient.

   “I know, babe.” Keith’s frustrated exhale against his neck makes his lips quirk up in a wry smile. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not trying to rush you. I’m just worried about you—I want you to rest, but I don’t know how to help.”

  “Allura said something about braiding it after seeing it up.”

 There’s a fondness to Keith’s voice when he speaks, a warmth that draws a small smile to his lips. It’s easy to feel calm when he’s tucked against Shiro’s chest, listening to Kosmo’s soft snoring behind them, and the calm hum that came from the controls in Black’s cockpit. Was it possible for someone to feel at home just because they were with another person? It’s not like Keith ever had a place to call home in the first place. The Castle of Lions had been the closest thing he had ever gotten.

 There’s a soft hum against Shiro’s chest, and Keith tries to piece together some kind of sentence that would start the flood gates.

   Shiro hums in acknowledgement, thumb tracing slow circles against Keith’s hipbone.

   Even Defenders of the Universe need defending, sometimes.

   “Keith, sometimes it’s easier to not start at the beginning. Talking about things that are… difficult for you to process can’t always be a straight line, and that’s okay. I don’t care how you talk to me about it—you can draw me a pictograph if that’s what you want… but I do think you should talk about it. It’s something we both need to get better at doing.” He wishes they were back in bed so he could curl around Keith, protect him with his entire body, cocoon him in the sheets and wrap him up in soft warmth.

   Surrounded by Black’s presence is a second best, he hopes.

   “I’m sure you’ve heard from everybody else by now about my terrible drawing skills.”

  It’s a light attempt at a joke, but Keith’s not sure if it hits home or not. There’s another reason why he’s being hesitant. The particular incident he has to talk about was technically when Shiro’s essence was still inside of the Black Lion. There’s a fear of pulling up bad memories or feelings and Keith wants to avoid hurting Shiro as much as possible. 

  But this conversation was going to hurt no matter what and Keith knew it. 

  “Talking isn’t really my strongest quality,” He notes, stalling. He hates himself for it, and he knows he should just bite the metaphorical bullet. Every time he starts something else takes over and throws a complaint out instead. 

   Shiro goes from bemused to fondly amused in the span of a minute as Keith manhandles him around and guides him down into the seat, making a low, half-hearted noise of annoyance when Keith smacks him in the face.

   Of course he’s not sorry, the little brat, but Shiro saves that dig for another time because he’s currently got all of Keith’s lean limbs trying to fold themselves into his lap.

   He chuckles softly and spreads his legs, hooking Keith by the hip so that he’s sitting sideways and leaning into his chest, and waits for him to get the blanket situated the way he wants before tucking one arm beneath his knees so his legs don’t slip off and slipping the other one around his waist. “Very,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss Keith’s temple.

   For a while, he just enjoys the silence and the rise and fall of Keith’s body against his, warm and syrupy, his fingers playing idly with the drawstring of his hoodie. Keith seems to be relaxing in slow increments, but it doesn’t make Shiro feel any better about how he woke up in the first place.

   “Do you want to talk?” he asks softly, pressing his cheek to the top of Keith’s head. “I know we haven’t had a lot of time to talk about a lot of things, and… I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with all of this own your own.”

  Sometimes, Keith feels incredibly small in Shiro’s embrace. He’s not sure if it’s because for most of their relationship Keith was the smaller one. Space had changed that, obviously, but there were times Keith felt tiny.

 It’s a thought that keeps him quiet for a little while as he leans his head against Shiro’s chest. For a moment it’s almost like Keith had drifted off completely because he doesn’t respond right away when Shiro speaks up.

 He wasn’t sleeping though, just not sure of how to approach a conversation he’s been avoiding.

 He shifts in Shiro’s hold a little, mostly so he can tuck his nose under Shiro’s jaw. Keith can still see the flashes from his dream when he closes his eyes. The lingering memories cling on tight and always manage to slip back no matter how hard Shiro works to chase them away.

   Shiro laughs warmly at the attention, smoothing his fingers through Kosmo’s fur in long, languid strokes. “He’s perfect for you,” he finally says, although it’s not news. It’s just worth it for the smile that Keith tries to half-heartedly hide from him. “C’mon. Enough standing around.” Shiro tugs at one of the edges of Keith’s blanket and coaxes him into step beside him, Black rising tall and regal before them as they approach.

   Shiro considers his options for a brief moment—it’s chilly outside, and it’s even chillier up top, exposed to the wind—but Black seems to take the decision out of their hands, lowering it’s head down to the ground in one slow, smooth motion, its maw dropping open. Shiro exchanges a quiet little look with Keith and nods for him to go first.

   Black’s cabin is significantly warmer than the cold desert night, and the kind of familiar sight that puts Shiro at ease—he can feel the Lion move, shifting itself upright. The front panels glow purple for a moment, bringing up the holo screens that shift to show them the view of the outside before everything around them dims once more. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out how they’re going to situate themselves into the single pilot seat.

   “… I can sit on the floor. Keep your feet warm.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Keith sounds almost offended by the suggestion. He’s slept in Black enough times to know the limits. He puts his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, ushering him towards the seat, and forcing him to sit down. For a second Keith wonders if that might make Shiro uncomfortable, but the thought drifts away as fast at it appears once Kosmo settles in behind the chair blocking the doorway. No going back now.

 He unwraps the blanket from around his shoulders and tosses it at Shiro, smiling lightly when he manages to smack him in the face with it.

   “Sorry.”