Chapter Text
Keith stands on the porch beside the back door, back flat against wooden paneling, the boards still warm from the setting sun. His arms crossed and one black booted leg is bent, sole pressed against the wall behind him. To the outward observer, he has an air of self-sufficiency, unaffected. He looks every bit a brooding rock star, gazing over the Garrison Inn’s carefully landscaped lawns and like a Sovereign surveying his kingdom.
He runs through an exercise in his mind. Focussing his hearing the high-pitched metallic chirp of the Towhee, pausing to taste the remnants of garlic and lime on his tongue, left over from the 3 skewers he’d managed to inhale before the bulk of the guests arrived. He gazes out at the fading golden sunlight reaching through the clouds like the hands of an angel. He is sniffing the air as he feels the phone buzz in his back pocket and his heart recalibrates to a breakneck pace.
He huffs out a sigh of frustration and a flash of wisdom crosses his mind. Maybe, just maybe the high speed with which he has been known to live his life, much to the frustration of… well everyone… is just because he is trying to keep up with his natural heart rate.
Doubling down on his efforts to calm his system he shifts tactics. Inhale 1, 2, 3, 4, hold 1, 2, 3, 4. Release 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Hold 1, 2, 3, 4. After three rounds of breathe, he feels when it starts to work. The red haze at the edge of his eyesight is beginning to fade. Inhale 1, 2, 3, 4, hold 1, 2, 3, 4…
The door beside him opens, and Keith realizes that he is disappointed that it doesn’t squeak. The building is old, and Keith registers that he is seeking some comfort in creeky floors and un-oiled hinges. The place is supremely well maintained and he finds the lack of sound disquieting.
He is still counting in his head, and Shiro must pick up on Keith’s internal process, because he steps through the threshold cautiously, holding a tumbler filled with ice, amber liquid, and a slice of lime, almost as a peace offering.
Keith finishes a final slow exhale before pushing off the wall to accept the drink. Nodding his thanks, because words aren’t available yet.
“You did good.” His brother says, patting Keith’s shoulder with his now empty hand, his prosthetic holding a glass of red wine. He says it in that easy way Shiro has when offering praise, the one that raises emotion in Keith’s throat. The one where Keith both believes the words and doubts them. Like two realities reflecting off one another -- because he has never been worthy, but also, Shiro looks for, and finds , the best in people.
“Most of the press and fan hoopla is done.” He reassures as Keith saunters along the porch beside him. The heat of the day lingers, but an evening breeze rustles the leaves in the surrounding trees and provides a hint of the reprieve soon to come. “You handled that kid really well.” There is teasing in Shiro’s tone and how his lips curve slightly and his eyes crinkle. Keith doesn’t rise to the bait.
“I figure… I understood her somewhat.” Keith’s voice is gravelly when he finally speaks and a slight Texas tang slides into the last word. They stop walking and both stand to face the sunset.
Shiro’s brow crinkles in confusion, it is such an alien look on the man that Keith almost laughs at it. Instead, he clears his throat and takes a small sip of his drink.
“Hmmm,” Shiro’s tone slips back to gentle teasing, nudging Keith with his shoulder. “I must have missed your sobbing for pop stars, fanboy stage.” He muses thoughtfully. “Did I take a long nap that day?”
Keith rolls his eyes because obviously, that is not what he meant. Shiro just raises a questioning eyebrow, because he’s an asshole.
Keith exhales and tries to find the words, “I remember when my emotions would get away from me like that.”
Understanding dawns on the taller man’s features. There is a moment of softness before a gleam enters his eyes.
“You mean, like… yesterday?” Shiro prompts evenly.
“Agh, Ass.Hole.” Keith says pointedly, before huffing out an exasperated sigh and swinging his hand out sideways to swat the bastard, who dodges and laughs, deftly depositing his wine glass on a side table before reaching to muss his brother’s hair. Keith puts his drink down on the banister and leans in to elbow him, and Shiro uses Keith’s momentum to pull him around into a hold, locking his arms to his sides. Keith retaliates by twisting sideways and bringing his leg around the back of Shiro’s to try to trip him. It almost works, except Shiro manages to maintain his center of balance. Still, he loses his grip on Keith and has to take a couple of steps backward to remain standing. Shiro is laughing, and Keith is fixing his hair and trying to feign anger. However, the tension he was previously feeling has eased…
Until he feels another buzz of his phone.
Whether Shiro hears the sound or just registers the look of panic in Keith’s eyes, he reaches out to pull Keith in for a hug. He does it slowly, and Keith wants to be annoyed at being treated like an injured animal, but he is too grateful for the comfort since his emotions are drowning him today.
He leans into the taller man’s shoulder and feels tears prick against his eyes.
“It's going to be okay kid.”
The words shouldn’t be a comfort, because he’s heard them so many times, from so many people. Lots of those folks had no idea how things would turn out. Many of them were wrong, it wasn’t okay. Sometimes, those words meant, “I need you to be okay.” or “You need to be okay with this.” But Keith has learned, that when Shiro says it, he means, “It’s going to be okay, because I am going be here.” It means, “We’ll be okay because we’ll be together.”---
---
Shiro and Keith take the stairs up to his third-floor room. The sun is totally gone now, and Keith turns off the air-conditioning and opens the patio doors to the evening breeze. The moon is just rising and they are far enough from the city to see stars.
“So,” Shiro prompts. “What did she say?”
Keith opens his phone and drops it on his bed for Shiro to see. His brother picks it up, but Keith reads over his shoulder.
Message
7:53PM
I really appreciated our phone conversation yesterday.
8:17PM
I noticed on your tour schedule that we’ll have a down day in Munich when you arrive there. Would you like to have a late lunch/early dinner together?
8:23PM
Only if you’re up for it. No pressure.
Shiro turns and looks at Keith expectantly.
“She wants to meet in person,” Keith says rhetorically.
“How do you feel about that?” Shiro asks in that cautious tone, the one that makes Keith want to punch him.
“It’s okay.” Keith shifts his arms to cross in front of himself. “I mean… It's fine.” Keith manages.
“Okay and fine aren’t actual feelings.” Shiro probes. Keith grabs the phone out of his hands to look back at the texts before stuffing it back in his pocket and stomping toward the open balcony door.
“Keith,” Shiro calls after him.
“How am I supposed to feel?” Keith bites out, frustrated.
“There is no rule book here, you get to feel however you feel.” Shiro says plainly, sounding like his fucking therapist. Keith looks over his shoulder at him and rolls his eyes.
“Are you having some trouble finding the right words?” Shiro asks, with a lilt of teasing. Keith wants to smack him. “Do you need the cards?” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder. “I can get the cards.”
If Keith wasn’t already a sarcastic little shit when he found his way into Shiro’s family, he would swear his sense of humour came from his older brother. The two of them first found a way to communicate through quips. Keith started with sharp edges, and Shiro mirrored with gentler ones. In the outside world, Shiro’s overall kindness softens his jibes, he pokes fun and people usually laugh. On the other hand, Keith has come to blows over a poorly timed sarcastic joke. At the end of the day, it is still the same dry wit and it’s part of the glue that holds them together.
Keith ignores him because he doesn’t have a response, and because he is at the end of his ability to process this unprecedented situation. To be honest, he’s still reeling from the shock of his m… this woman popping back into his life.
“‘You going to see her?” Shiro asks, joining Keith in front of the open doorway.
“I think so,” Keith says honestly.
“You don’t owe her anything,” Shiro says, protective anger leaking into his voice.
And while Keith knows this, he can’t really respond, he can’t explain. The prospect of meeting this woman fills him with both excitement and dread. There is also an underlying longing, a pull so deep that it makes it hard to breathe.
They share a heavy but peaceful silence, until Shiro rests his hand on Keith’s shoulder, both comforting and an apology. “I wish I could hang up here with you, but… I need to be downstairs.”
“I don’t get it, if there is all this stuff going on at Altea, it just seems a bad time to be on tour.” Keith latches on to this as a new topic, something outside of himself.
“Us going on tour is probably why Lotor is stirring the pot right now.” Shiro responds smoothly.
“How does he even have a seat at the table or a pot to stir?” Keith asks, pleased at Shiro’s wince when he mixes the metaphors. He already knows the gist of the coming answer.
‘He doesn’t.” Shiro says bluntly. “He holds a small amount of interest in the company, but enough for him to have access to the Board of Directors and plant seeds of distrust.” The older man rubs his scar for a moment before continuing. “They have a valid point Keith, Allura’s membership in our band, our management presence at their offices, it is a conflict of interest.”
“But you would never…” Keith starts.
“Not knowingly.” Shiro interrupts with soft seriousness. “We would never knowingly take advantage of the things we know about the label, but it is fair that people don’t like it.”
“So Lotor isn’t doing a terrible thing?” Keith asks with disbelief.
“Lotor is definitely up to something, even if he is addressing a valid concern. My guess is he wants to create instability, to put people on edge so he can take advantage. I am not sure what his endgame is, but I don’t trust him one bit.”
Keith mulls quietly thinking of the position Allura is in. “I don’t like the rest of the band not knowing this is going on.”
Shiro sighs, “This is exactly the problem Keith. This is an issue with the label’s management. I shouldn’t know about it, you shouldn’t know about it, and the band definitely shouldn’t know about it.”
“But Allura…” Keith begins.
“Allura chose to stay in the band and run the label. She made that decision knowing what it would look like.” Shiro smiles sadly, “She knew she would be divided, and felt called to do both. I can empathize as a friend with how hard it must be. But being both her manager and negotiating with her company on behalf of my clients… it’s.” He sighs deeply, “It’s complicated.”
Keith doesn’t have words, so he gives Shiro a slight punch in the shoulder as support.
Shiro smiles, giving him a playful punch in return, before heading back down the stairs.
---
Keith has a sixth sense for when Lance is looking for him. He can’t remember the first time in high school when he felt the lanky boy’s focus on him, but one time he just looked up and there he was. Then and pretty much every time they met after that, that first glance was usually followed by some irritating nickname.
It isn’t just that Keith wanted to avoid the intensity and loudness that is Lance McClain, he actually wanted to disappear into the background in most situations. An idea that seems laughable now, because Keith didn’t realize how much he stood out or why. He didn’t know how many people were paying attention while he was just trying to hide.
He did know how much he struggled to walk away from a fight. Unfortunately, people looking for a fight figured out they’d find one with Keith. Yes, an instigator need only brag about injustice, or offer evidence of their own cruelty before Keith’s fists would enter the fray. If provoked, he would give it, and give it in spades. That aside, invisibility, while unattainable, was always the goal.
Conversely, Lance was looking for attention, courting it, if it wasn’t already focused on him, he was inviting it.
Worse yet, Lance never let him sit on the sidelines, when Keith would have been happy watching ‘Lance and Friends’ from a distance, say a back row bleacher, the taller boy would start calling Keith out. It was through a confusing series of incomprehensible insults/compliments Lance would loudly point out all of Keith’s details to an audience: his gloves, his jacket, his motorcycle, his hair.
Always, his fucking hair.
He figured it developed as a defence mechanism, if he could sense Lance looking for him, he had the choice of whether or not to hide. He didn’t have to be found, he didn’t need to be center stage with Loud Mouth Lance.
So when Lance walked out of the building under Keith’s balcony that night, he knew he had a choice whether or not to be found. Honestly, he was waiting for it and tonight, he needed it. Somehow, over time, being seen beside Lance eased something inside of him. Lance let Keith hide in plain sight.
Alone, he was always going to be that troublemaking orphan kid.
But beside Lance it was different.
---
Keith waits for Lance on his balcony, toying with his phone. He had responded to the text, saying he would meet up in Munich. The build up to finally pressing send is anti-climatic and leaves him buzzing on the inside, like a shaken bottle of pop. He texts Matt to tell him about the meet up… and then turns off his notifications and puts his phone in his back pocket.
Sounds drifted upward from below, melding together, crickets and cicadas punctuated by the murmurs of people who’ve moved outside to talk shop. Kincade’s low tones, talking about mushrooms growing underneath the porch? He overhears a couple bickering as they walk to the parking lot and he flashes back to the few memories he has of his parents together.
It’s not that he remembers them fighting, quite the opposite. He remembers his mother smiling at him while she tucked him into a carseat or segmented an orange to feed him piece by piece. He remembers murmured voices. He remembers silences. He remembers his father’s face the times Keith would forget she was gone, and ask for her.
Maybe it is the memory of his father's face, that traps Keith into the dark place he sometimes finds inside himself. Lance arrives with a drink in hand and eyes full of mischief. He teases and prods and tries to make him laugh. Yet, Keith stubbornly resists. He feels disconnected, detached, too far gone for Lance to draw him out of his mood. Keith has set up camp in the shadows, staked a claim, he's decided to stay.
But there’s a moment where an expression of fear and sadness crosses Lance’s face. It happens so quickly, that Keith wonders if he imagined it. Seeing that expression is like being doused with cold water. Suddenly Keith's periphery opens up. He is no longer in a dark tunnel, he’s on a balcony on a starry California night…
with Lance
Lance, who is pulling out every trick in the book to cheer Keith up.
He feels a small lightness in his chest. It’s like he’s shaken off a heavy blanket.
Looking down, his gaze lands on Shiro. Keith almost snorts, because it is clear his brother is trying not to lose his shit. More than a decade of pushing the older man’s buttons gives him insight on his tells.
And dude is stressed.
He feels the smirk before it reaches his own lips.
"Betcha can't drop that into Shiro's glass from here."
---
Keith finds his way back down the stairs, not even sure where he is going. He can’t go back to his room, it's way too small. Keith needs big spaces right now, he needs vastness, endless skylines. Being inside is making him literally want to climb walls.
It has taken every ounce of energy in his body to stay calm, to walk away, to close the door behind him. But as soon as there was a definitive click he ran. Taking stairs two at a time, pushing through the steel doors and finding the lobby. The desire to run is strong. He wishes he could jump on his bike. He needs to get away from here, maybe he could take that long stretch beside the bay, at this time of night it would be clear.
“Hey, Hey, Where are you rushing to at one in the morning?” Shiro catches him by the shoulders as he races through the lobby. Keith must be wild eyed and panting, because Shiro begins with the injured animal's voice as he draws him away from the door.
“What happened?” Shiro’s voice is soft beside his ear. His arms are solidly guiding Keith toward the lounge, and Keith becomes aware that Shiro is nodding to other people as he passes.
Keith comes back to himself enough to realize it’s probably pretty bad optics if he takes off into the night, from an event meant to launch his band on their European tour. Right, he can’t just blow everybody off the way he used to. Not very grown up. Not very responsible. Something wild inside him rebels, but Shiro’s steady hands ground him and he remembers to breath.
He tries to resists the urge, but cannot help looking around to see who is still here. Relieved to see the lobby almost empty, he leans into Shiro and starts counting. Shiro guides them into a darkened and empty lounge area and Keith registers his heart slowing enough for him to try speaking.
“Do you think Lance is like Lotor?”
“Keith, what are you talking about?”
“You know,.... H-h-how he destabilizes things… t-t-t-a…” His voice breaks and tears form in the corners of his eyes.
“Just… forget it.” He says, turning to leave.
Shiro pulls Keith back by the shoulders. “Nope, this is a talk. If you come to me with that , we need to talk.”
Keith sighs, not willing to argue that he didn’t actually come to anybody, he was, in fact, trying to get away from everybody. Instead he sinks down onto one of the plush chairs. His hand to his forehead, fingers on his temples as he covers his eyes and replays the scene in his head. Shiro lowers down after him, waiting for Keith to start talking.
He realizes Lance never asked for a kiss… but he reacted as though… UGH. What did Keith just do?
“It might have been me.” He finally says. “I may have acted… on impulse.”
He expects a huff of laughter from Shiro, but nothing comes. He uncovers his eyes to look up and sees his brother isn’t finding humour in this. Instead, he looks deeply concerned. Keith reverts back to a million times his impulses had catastrophic consequences and feels dread.
But before Keith can be swallowed by the rising anxiety:
“I am going to need more information.”
Shiro stabilizes him with his military voice, his foster dad’s go-to when the two of them got overly rowdy, usually (but not always) before furniture or bones got broken.
‘We were fucking around.” Keith begins, gesturing and trying to stamp out the vulnerability coming up just thinking about it. “Daring each other to do different stuff… you know the way we ramp each other up?”
“I am aware.”
Keith can’t tell if Shiro is referring to knowing they were getting into shit, or knowing how they egg each other on. Probably both. He can hear a hint of humour in his brother's voice, and that further staves off his panic.
“We went back to his room, and I got all… I mean…” Keith groans rolling his head backward and clutching his hands into fists with frustration. “I should have just gone to bed.”
“Keith.” Shiro’s prompts, his voice low and steadying. Shiro rests his elbows on his knees.
“You know he’s such a fucking flirt.” Keith leans in but can’t look at Shiro when he says this. He is throwing Lance under the bus because whatever Lance had been doing, it wasn’t flirting. At least not at that moment. Dammit Lance, I dare you to dance all close and sexy with someone. It is kinda his fault. Keith has had to deal with his flirting ass for years now, and honestly, if he would just stop…
“Keith.” Shiro’s voice cuts through the spiralling thoughts.
Keith rubs his fingers together, feeling the callouses there, to ground himself. He thinks about the song he is writing.. How good it felt to blow off steam with Lance tonight and… ‘ Do you ever think about kissing me ?’
“I kissed him.”
There is a beat of silence where Keith holds his breath. Then looks up at Shiro’s carefully schooled expression.
“And?” he prompts patiently.
“He kissed me back.”
“Then?”
“I asked if he’d been drinking.”
Shiro doesn’t manage to school his wince at Keith’s words. Keith isn’t sure if it’s for himself or Lance. Maybe it is for the whole fucked up situation.
Shiro clears his throat. “Go on.” he says, leaning forward.
“Then I left.”
Keith almost shrugs as he says it. As if it was a given that Lance was drunk. As if anyone kissing Keith would have to be two sheets to the wind… ah… that is why Shiro winced. Keith’s own eyes narrow upon realizing this.
Shiro presses his fingers against the centre of his forehead for a moment, as though he is trying to draw on celestial guidance.
Keith watches him, aware of how tired he is, aware of how Shiro has spent so much of his young life dealing with Keith’s fucked up shit. And while he feels guilty, he is also so grateful.
“Lance isn’t like Lotor.” Shiro finally says. “I don’t think he means to destabilize things. I think he mostly tries to keep things pretty balanced. If he instigated anything, on purpose or by accident, It wasn’t designed to throw you off.”
Keith half laughs, half scoffs at Shiro’s gentle words for two reasons. His brother took the flirting comment to heart. He also knows Shiro's words are true. Lance's teasing a flirting weren't meant to mess with Keith. Still, he resents being impacted like this by anyone, but mostly by Lance, who always seems so oblivious to it.
Shiro adds credence to this when he says, ““I find Lance tends to do things that throw you for a loop when he’s off balance himself.””
Keith sits with this, and he starts to wonder what would have Lance off balance, but Shiro pulls him back.
“Keith, you’re working so hard to stay centred and grounded, especially with everything that is going on. Maybe just give him some wide berth, focus on what you need right now, while he sorts himself out.”
Keith nods, understanding, but torn. There are times, like earlier tonight, when Lance is his salvation, he can let loose and just be with the other guitarist, they laugh together, do crazy shit, write beautiful music, argue, and then laugh again.
But Shiro’s right, there are other times, when Keith can’t maintain the boundaries, the times when he gives everything, takes every chance, rides every wave, and gets drawn into the rollercoaster of wanting more. More than the flirting, the verbal jousting, and the deep writing sessions, Keith starts to want more than is his due and he ends up feeling broken.
Shiro has seen him through this at least once before.
Even with this reality in front of him, Keith debates whether it would be worth it, maybe just one more time. The thrill of taking a hairpin turn, at high speed, on his bike. Then he remembers how he’s feeling tonight. Just one kiss and how off-kilter it made him. Keith realizes how much he cannot afford that right now.