White Trashin' (With You) // Sheith Oneshot

White Trashin'

The sound of the beer bottle smashing on the concrete cracked like the sound of a warning shot, the contents of the bottle- which might be beer but could just as easily be piss- splatter across the shoes of the guy who had been the semi-target of the assault. There was a stretched out second of silence, and then:

"You're fucking dead , Kogane."

" Heh. My bad." Keith grins, toothy and feigning innocence before he counts off in his head the odds of one against five. No dice. He doesn't even bother with a snark, he just turns heel and books it out onto the pavement, swinging around the corner to the sounds of the guys yelling after him that they were going to kick his ass. He believes them, but generally speaking he was a little quicker on his feet than damn near anyone else in this shitty town. He flies past the decrepit Blockbuster building and cuts across the street without looking, waving his hands in apology to the woman who nearly clips him with her car. He hops the curb and hooks a left, too concerned about getting some distance on the mob of pissy teens to notice that he isn't alone on the street until he smacks right into the back of the guy.

"Fuck-!" Keith yelps, jumping back as the guy turns around to face him, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, his thumb still hovering over the screen of his phone. Guess he'd stopped to text like a fuckin' grandma. "Shit. Sorry, man."

"Oh- no, it's okay. You should watch where you're going." The guy smiles, lopsided and genuine. Keith clears his throat and rubs at the back of his head, shoving his hair up a little to get some relief from the heat.

"Yeah, I will next time." Keith agrees, and then he squints up at the guy. He seems familiar, with his undercut and broad shoulders. "Oh. You're Takashi, right? You play football."

"Yeah." He gives a short nod. "I prefer Shiro though. You're-- Keith, right? I've seen you around school."

"Uh-huh," Keith replies a little absently, glancing over his shoulder as he recalls why exactly he was running fast enough not to see Shiro coming. Those guys can't be far behind him. "Hey, uh, you're pretty fast right?"

"Fast?" Shiro frowns, looking past Keith to try and track down what's caught his attention. "I guess."

"Okay, great. 'Cause we gotta run."

"Wha-"

"They're gonna think you're with me!" Keith laughs, the flash of Lotor's bleached-to-Hell hair catching in the light as he crosses the street. Times up. Keith grabs Shiro's wrist and runs, dragging him along for a few paces until he gets the gist and keeps up. It's hot as fuck with the Texas sun baking their backs as they run for blocks, darting around corners at random to try and lose track of Lotor and his meathead friends. Keith's legs are fucking burning from the strain and his throat is dry, so he's relieved when he gets the chance to turn a run to a jog and then a jog to a meander as he approaches a high fence, the wood bleached silver by the year-round sun.

"Are we good here?" Shiro asks, panting a little and shoving his bangs back from his forehead, shiny with sweat.

"Not quite. Gotta jump the fence. Gimme a boost?"

"Then what? I can't jump that high I don't think." Shiro says as he glances up to the top of the fence, assessing the height.

"It's okay, I'll pull you up." Keith waves off his concern and when he's met with a flat expression he rolls his eyes. "I'm stronger than I look. Get over here."

Shiro sighs in resignation and wanders up the slope, crouching down and weaving his fingers together to make a stirrup. Keith beams at him, bracing himself with a hand on Shiro's shoulder before stepping into the offered hand. Shiro pushes him up on a three count, and Keith easily springs up, catching the top of the Fence and hauling himself over. He vanishes for a moment, before popping back over the top of the fence and offering his hand down. Shiro flashes a look of doubt once more before taking the offered hand, and Keith keeps his word. He helps him with the jump, dragging him over the top of the fence as he drops down into the long grass on the other side. It's dry and scratches at his skin through the holes in his jeans.