shining like the stars

73

Keith laid on top of the tucked-in covers on his bunk, arm draped over his eyes. He'd changed out of the tunic, shoved it into the chute that he'd determined led to either laundry, or an incinerator, and flopped onto his bed intent on attempting sleep, or something. He'd thought about across and down the hall, the bed that smelled like Lance, or even further down, the bed that smelled like Shiro, but was too tired to do anything more than think. It had been a draining few days.

So, sleep.

He rolled onto his side and pillowed his head on his arm. Sleep was not coming easy, even as tired as he was. It didn't help he hadn't turned down the lights. Keith stared across the sparsely-furnished room at a curved, paneled white wall — then held out his hand toward it. Pale, unmarred, human. How long had it been since he'd even thought of himself as anything other than that?

Freak. Half-breed.

Monster.

The knock startled him more than he cared to admit, and Keith flung himself upright. He slid off the bed and walked to the door, touching the internal pad. "I thought you said you weren't coming back," he said, half irritated, expecting Lance's smartass response before the door even finished sliding open.

Keith did not expect for Shiro to be standing outside his door.

There was a moment of profound silence. Shiro wasn't looking directly at him, his gaze downturned. He was only wearing exercise pants, and his arms were folded. "Shiro...?" Keith said carefully, measured.

"Can we talk?" Shiro said after another long moment of silence. He had raised his eye finally to meet Keith's, and there was no masking the exhaustion there. It lined his eyes and pulled at his posture, taking him from a soldier and a leader to something far older, and worn down. "Please," he added, as Keith remained silent.

Keith stepped aside and let Shiro into his room. When the door slid shut behind them both, Shiro just ... stopped. He stood there, in the center of the room, his back to Keith and he didn't move again until Keith's hand touched the back of his arm. Shiro's skin was damp, his short hair spiked with the remnants of a shower.

"Shiro," Keith said softly. "I'm sorry."

His words made Shiro's entire body jerk. He whirled on his heel and stared at Keith, then backed up until his legs hit the edge of Keith's bunk and he sat down hard, leaving Keith standing with one hand still in the air.

Keith was undeterred. He dropped his hand to his side and curled it into a loose fist. He would force himself to say these words, and that would be that. If it affected the team, he'd leave. It was that simple. "Shiro," Keith said his name for the third time, and his eyes finally met Keith's again. "Maybe we shouldn't-"

"Don't." Shiro's voice actually seemed to crack around the word, and the strangled way he spoke it actually made Keith stop. He looked so tired, and Shiro tilted forward where he sat on the edge of the bed, rested his elbow on his knee and put his face in one hand. "I think I just lost Lance, and I can't-" his voice did that weird crack again, "I can't lose you too."

Keith sat down on the bed beside Shiro, tentatively. He didn't look over at Shiro, not yet. "You didn't lose me," he said. "If anything I was afraid I'd lost you, because..." he touched one hand to his throat, the echo of a flurry of violence, here and gone in an instant. "Because of what I am."

There was another long stretch of silence, punctuated only by heavy breaths. Shiro's forehead still rested in his hand. "I'm sorry," Keith said again, and this time looked over to Shiro. "I'm sorry for lying about who I am."