A New Hope

7. You Mean That Much (Keith)

Keith

Living among the Galra means easy access to training grounds, which I appreciate right now. No one gives you the stink eye just because you need to beat the living shit out of something, aka my current goal. To obliterate the image of Shiro saying 'I do' to Curtis, the image of kissing them for the first time as a married couple, I head to the arena in the Senate building and try to reduce the local training bots to splinters. For a moment, it feels terrific. The adrenaline coursing through as I evade their attacks and systematically destroy them when they charge at me five to one lets me forget about Shiro, weddings, and fucking invitations, and the fact my departure left an open door for Curtis to swoop in.

Which is dumb. Shiro never considered me a partner. We'd known each other six years before I left, and not once during that time did he suggest he saw me as anything else than his responsibility. Plus, after my retreat to Daibazaal, he got together with Curtis within a couple of weeks. I did him a favor.

With a roar, I deflect the last bot's blade and cleave through him. It explodes into a firework of sparks and dies at my feet. Oblivion crashes over me, letting me forget my misery, but once I exit the arena and head for the showers, all my regrets return to gnaw at me, worse than the bots.

This early in the morning, the locker room is empty, so I take advantage and collapse on a bench to catch my breath for a beat before heading to a shower and washing the workout sweat away. When my communicator chirps, I swipe to answer without checking who's calling. At this hour, it can't be anyone else than Krolia, who's an even earlier riser than I.

A little holographic screen pops up above my wrist, and I realize my colossal fucking mistake when the voice I tried to purge from my memory echoes through the silent room.

"Hi, Keith."

My first reaction is to kill the connection fast, but something in my expression clues Shiro in, and he lets out a rapid-fire speech, stopping my action.

"Please, just give me a moment. It won't take long."

"What do you want?" I spit out. We haven't spoken in five years, and this is how I greet him. It's a pathetic attempt to keep him at a distance, to make him realize I'm a huge jackass. If I'm lucky, he will end the call and stop talking to me forever. I don't deserve it. It's also the only way to stop me from blurting out things I struggle to keep tamped down.

I'm still hopelessly in love with you. Don't marry Curtis. I am yours if you'll have me.

Shiro flinches at my harsh tone, and I feel like the worst person who ever personed.

"I just wanted to talk."

Shiro's voice dances over my skin like silk, leaving nothing but goosebumps and longing behind, and I allow myself five seconds to study the most precious face in the entire universe. It's been a long time since I saw him, so of course, there are changes, such as the subtle laughter lines bracketing his eyes, hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses he didn't use to wear. Or the unruly forelocks, cut short and brushed back instead of flopping into his forehead. The dusting of stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw. But fuck, despite all that, or maybe because of it, he looks even better than I remember. Like all my dreams and desires, wrapped into one unavailable package.

"Then talk."

Another flinch, and I have to clench my teeth to stop myself from apologizing. This isn't me, the acerbic, hateful man, but I have to pretend in the name of self-preservation.

"Since you missed the call yesterday, I wanted to ask if you were coming to the wedding. I assume you got the invitation."

"Yes. Congratulations." I pour all the disdain I can scrounge up into that single word, but Shiro is undeterred, even if his face pales a little. Bright spikes of pain pierce my body in random places, simply from spewing pretend hate at the person I love with my entire pathetic being, but there's no other option. I need to protect myself from going down this rabbit hole again.

"Will you come, Keith? Please. I want you there."

"Sorry. I'm busy."

"With what?" Good to know even Shiro's calm isn't endless. His voice sharpens, and his grey eyes flash behind the glasses.

"Galra... stuff." Wow. Four years as a Senior Advisor, and the best I can think of is 'stuff.'

"The reports indicate the situation is calm on Daibazaal."

"Well, not everything makes it into those, does it?"

"Keith. We both know that's not true. What's the real reason? Why don't you want to come? Do I mean that little to you?"

Head bowed, I pinch the bridge of my nose. How can he be so oblivious? When I find the courage to look at him, his eyes are locked on me. They're just as kind as I remember, warm grey and outlined by thick white lashes fanning his cheeks when he blinks. My throat closes up. The adrenaline rush from my training fight is long gone, and exhaustion tugs at me. I can't keep lying to him. Not when I love him so much that my heart is trying to burst out of my chest, cross the distance between us, and land at his feet.

Steeling myself, I meet his gaze head-on and say, "No. You mean that much to me."

Shiro opens his mouth, but I cut the connection before he can respond.

Well. That could have gone better.

I sit on the bench, unable to move, trying to collect my scattered thoughts while ignoring the insistent buzzing of my communicator.

There's nothing else I can say.