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Chapter Text

Keith nearly smashed his own fingers in his car door scrambling to stop himself from eating shit. The tread was completely worn off the toes of his boots, and it was raining. Sometimes the ability to slide if he tried was an advantage, but as he whipped his head around scanning for witnesses to his fumble, he realized that more than a few times out of ten it was decidedly not. He also decided that he hated the rain. 
He straightened up and gently pressed his door closed with a hand flat on the side panel, brushing off the front of his sweatshirt as if that had anything to do with the situation. A quiet “Thank God” burned in the back of his mind. The people in his town could be brutal, and the people that knew who he was could be worse. 

Visibly paying more attention to the placement of his feet, Keith started towards the small alleyway connecting the downtown parking lot to the storefronts that lined the street, dodging puddles the best he could and cursing himself for not wearing his jacket. (It was always too warm inside his workplace on days like these, and suffering for a few minutes as to not end up forgetting where he threw his jacket down later seemed worth the risk. He had spent more time scouring back rooms, bathrooms, dingy basement floors and various garages for his only jacket than he probably spent wearing it.) He fixed his eyes on the row of floor to ceiling windows that made up the front of one of the better coffee shops in town, and tried to walk as quickly as he could without looking like a fool.
The roof was a godsend. The look the barista at the counter gave him when the bells hanging from the door jingled to hail his entrance was not. Pity gave way to a snort and a friendly smile.
“Hi Romelle,” Keith said in the vaguely bored and tired way that he tended to default to when he didn’t really know what to say, pressing his side against the counter and trying to check his fingers for signs of damage. Romelle started to open her mouth with an expression that clearly read I’m-feeling-like-poking-the-bear-today . “Don’t.”
“Seems like someone woke up on the wrong side of the universe this morning.” The voice from somewhere in the tiny storage area beside the bar meant Allura, the cafe’s owner, manager, and personal renaissance man was here, too, to bear witness to one of the grumpiest and most tragic mornings Keith had experienced since waking up after last year’s Halloween show.
“Yeah. Something like that.” Keith didn’t have the energy to think up one of the witty retorts they usually conversed in. His obviously exasperated mood had Romelle already working on his usual order without needing confirmation first. Keith shoved a crumpled five from his pocket into the jar on the counter and leaned over it on his elbows, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the vinyl and watching the clock, he was already disastrously late for his shift, but routine was routine and the girls at The Lion always knew how to make a bad situation better and a good situation worse.

The tension in his shoulders only subsided when a warm paper cup was pressed into his hands, he held it against his chest like the warmth would ease the chill spreading through his soaked body. He took a steady breath in through his nose and let the sweet, sweet smell of properly pulled espresso heal him.
“It’s fucking pouring, if you haven’t noticed. Slept through my first alarm, Red knocked my toothbrush into the toilet, went through three different outfits because apparently there’s more beer soaked into half my clothes than there is in Sal’s stomach by the time we close and I meant to do my laundry last night but then I-”
“You’re gonna be late,” Romelle cut him off midway through his gripe, “you’re usually in and out of here by 9:55.”
Keith let out a soft “ gah ” sound and pushed away from the counter, spinning back around (pointedly carefully this time) to take the final steps to the door backwards and shoot Romelle and Allura a half hearted two finger salute. “See you guys.”

Grabbing the lamp post on the sidewalk in front of the building to swing himself through the door of the music shop next door was a practiced move that he had botched a couple times when he first started working there a year ago. A couple months later he decided it was a tad too childish and added holding a cup of coffee into the mix to make it at least seem a little more carefree and impressive.

“Keith fucking Kogane. How many times do I have to-” a booming voice from behind a tall display of guitar straps was cut short by the sound of what had to be drum sticks clattering across the floor and a very breathy god damnit .
“I know, I know. Bad morning, not my fault.”
“For the hundredth time, a hangover is entirely your fault.”
“I’m not hungover, Sal,” Keith said with a bit more aggression than he usually let into his voice with his manager, and dipped behind the counter to punch his numbers into the register.
“You are infinitely lucky that I’m too nice to fire you.”
“Too desperate, more like.”

Sal’s, as it was vaguely called, had been taking up prime real estate on the downtown strip since before Keith had even been born. It was the only place to get music equipment or your gear checked out without emptying your pockets into the hands of a chain’s CEO, and had clearly, based on Sal’s attitude at least, never been in danger of falling out of business like most of the stores that popped up and closed down along the street. If legend served true, Sal had been the sole member of the operation since he cashed out on a drama fueled restaurant shutdown, and was just as likely to hire on more hands as he was to get rid of Keith’s. 
In recent years, partially due to the rapidly increasing student body of the nearby college, the number of people who either stomped or wandered in had grown exponentially, and he had been hired in an attempt to handle the situation. Keith enjoyed this, as a dedicated member of the local DIY punk scene. He also hated this, as “The Kid Who Fixes Shit” at the only respectable music store in town. If he had to restring a questionably colored Stratocaster for one more guy who had called him one of many choice words in a different setting, Keith was going to chew through his hands and be done with it.

He peeled his soaking wet flannel off with more than a little struggle and was pleasantly surprised to find his sweatshirt was mostly dry underneath. Draping it across the back of the wheeled desk chair behind the counter before flopping down into it, he grabbed his cup and kicked off the wall to slide along the counter down to the corner where his work station was set up. 
“Not The Texas Chainsaw Massacre again, Keith. I’m so sick of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”
Keith jabbed the play button on a chunky remote that worked the brick of a TV on the end of the counter to let The Texas Chainsaw Massacre resume from where he had left off yesterday.

Keith’s pants were covered in a fine layer of grime and sawdust from refinishing a fretboard by the time the front door let out its ear piercing screech. The movie had ended long ago, and Sal once again tried to convince him to put on one of the many documentaries he was always complaining about needing to watch for class, after being reminded over and over again that he had no way to hook his computer to the TV, and “why would I have it with me,” and “I need to take notes, I can’t watch and work,” Sal let out a dismissive grunt. The person who sidled straight up to the counter shot Sal a humored look and waggled their fingers at Keith.
“Trouble with the old man?”
Keith flopped his head to the side and looked over his shoulder at Pidge, classmate turned friend by the hand of some unsavory circumstances, who was propped up on the counter and picking through the bowl of stickers mixed with old candy left over from years of Halloween handouts.
“Don’t you have class?”
Pidge flashed him a grin after successfully fishing out a jolly rancher and worked at peeling the shredded plastic off of the melted and deformed glob.
“Canceled,” they said only after freeing it from its wrapper and popping it in their mouth, “My professor’s house flooded. No idea how considering we’ve only gotten an inch of rain but I’m not a meteorologist. Or a geographer? Any of those.”
“And?” Keith looked at them with eyebrows raised, wondering more about why they were bothering him at work than the details behind the cancellation.
“Broke my sticks again.” Keith reached over the counter to smack them on the head. “Sorry!”
“Don’t be, aggressive drummers are great for business!”
“No one asked, Sal,” Keith called back with a scowl and turned to face Pidge again, “Your bank account is going to kill you. Take an anger management class or something instead.”
“Like that wouldn’t kill my bank account and be less cathartic? No thanks.”
Keith just sighed and swiveled back to the guitar lying on the table in front of him. “You know where they are, man.”

With that, Pidge hopped over the counter and started rummaging through an assortment of boxes on a shelf at the other end. They always wanted sticks that hadn’t been put out on the floor yet. “ Protects their structural integrity, ” they had said once. Keith didn’t understand how that mattered if they were just going to break them within the week. He had a sneaking suspicion they just liked being where they weren’t supposed to.

On their way back towards the register, Pidge sent a meaningful look towards the floor where Sal had clearly rage-quit his attempt to pick up the scattered drum sticks. They slapped the sticks on the counter and waited for Keith to finish brushing the dust off of himself and make his way over. 
“Don’t know why you judge me for being right,” they said as they jabbed a thumb over their shoulder to point behind them.
“You always break them anyways.”
“I’d go through them a lot quicker if your clientele’s boots all had a go at them first.”
“What clientele,” Keith said flatly as he ripped the receipt off the printer and gestured widely to the empty store. Pidge stifled a snort and pointed their sticks at him threateningly. He knew them well enough to know this meant they were gearing up for a favor.

“Speaking of, if business is so slow, maybe you can split early and help me fix my hair? If we start by 6 we can be done by 10.” Keith knew this was a vast display of overconfidence in their ability to do anything at a normal pace. He cocked an eyebrow at them until they continued. “And I just picked up weed. And I finally got my hands on Hunk’s Hulu password so we can finally watch-”
“You had me at Hunk’s Hulu password.” Keith leaned over the counter to shout to an unseen Sal. “ I’m gonna head out at close! ”
He half wondered if he’d taken advantage of the lack of traffic to dip out back to drink or smoke until he heard him yell back.
“Coming in late and leaving early? Kids these days…”
“I think that’s a go,” Keith said back to Pidge and they grinned triumphantly, “So what’s the game plan for your hair?”

By the time Keith had his latest project tucked safely back into its case and his work station wiped down and organized, it was several minutes after close and he knew he had to be quick if he wanted to escape closing duties. Luckily enough, Sal had already left himself and was standing out back by the delivery doors, so he closed the front door as slowly as possible (and yanked it quickly through a certain part of the swing to avoid its telltale screech) and dashed towards the parking lot. He spotted a waterlogged envelope on his windshield as he approached his car and tried to remember the date, so he could label it as the most irritating and unfortunate day he had ever experienced. He grabbed the wet paper and didn’t look at it until he had shoved himself a little aggressively into the driver’s seat.
It wasn’t the ticket he expected, it was just a note. We saw you on the security cam, LOL was scratched across the front in Romelle’s handwriting, with poorly done doodles of her and Allura’s faces with X eyes and a skull. The five dollar bill Keith had paid with earlier was slightly flattened back into shape and tucked inside the envelope.
Bad situation better, good situation worse.

Keith pulled up to the garage next to the Holt residence just as the rain fizzled to a sprinkle and then to a stop. He yanked the garage door up by the handle enough to slide underneath, and jogged up the tiny stairs along the sidewall to the door that led to The Nest, as Pidge called it, which was an apartment situated on top of the garage. The smell of weed hit him like a physical wall before he could even get the door all the way open, and he waved his hand around in front of him like he could fend it off. Pidge’s apartment was probably the nicest of his friends’, and the most comfortable to hang out in. The only setback was the price that had to be paid to enjoy its luxuries: Pidge’s family living next door and constantly barging in or pestering. Pidge’s favorite defense was “fumigation.”

“You made it! I thought you hydroplaned and died in a crash.” Pidge’s laugh at their own morbid fantasy quickly devolved into a coughing fit, and they waved Keith over impatiently as they grabbed around them for a water bottle. 
Keith sat down cross legged on the floor next to them and surveyed the surroundings. Every time he came over they had added to their mass of decorations, and he came over pretty often. He noticed they had strung up more christmas lights zig zagging across a wall that was essentially a giant collage.
“I see you got started without me,” Keith said amusedly and sent a conspiratory glance towards their sticker-covered bong, which had an incriminating thread of smoke rising out of it, and clambered across the floor to rummage through their fridge for a beer, “Did you get dye already?”
Pidge shook a plastic bag of boxes at him.
“I finished building a fucking computer this morning, I think I deserve a little treat. And to answer your question: do I ever come unprepared?”
Keith zeroed in on a bottle and scooted back to where he had been sitting in the center of Pidge’s “organized chaos” living room floor. 
“You didn’t answer my question, you just asked another question.”
Pidge punched him lightly on the shoulder and turned away with a laugh. Sober Keith was bad at thinking straight, talking, acting normal and pretty much anything that had to do with other people, and Pidge was well used to it by now. Pidge wasn’t exactly the smoothest criminal themself, and they mostly got each other. At least they could tell when Keith made a remark that he didn’t mean to be cutting, and they were the only person who didn’t treat him like he was a bite risk. He in turn had suffered their awkwardness more often than he could count, usually with an aftertaste of tiny, warm jealousy. They always came across as endearing, at least. He knew half the time he came across like an unsocialized dog.

After hacking away at their hair with a razor blade for the better part of an hour while yelling at them to stop moving, Keith was now faced with a new obstacle.
“Black at the ends would look cool, I’ll admit. But you’ll never get it out.”
“That’s what you said last time. Plus, you’re like the poster boy for making the impossible happen. Just do it, worst that happens is I cut it off.”
“If you say so.”
“You’ve got it, I trust you,” Pidge waggled their fingers to imitate casting a spell, “Work your magic.”
Keith gritted his teeth, because he knew they shouldn’t.

It took them until midnight to meticulously place green and black dye across Pidge’s head enough times that it was as jarringly saturated as they wanted. In that time they’d watched all three movies they had been waiting forever to get their hands on, and moved on to an astoundingly extensive youtube video about one man’s lifelong personal quest to expose proof of alien contact with Earth. They only half paid attention, because Keith was always laser focused on the task in front of him, and Pidge always had news or gossip or something they had to get off their chest. He really thought they should start seeing a therapist.

Keith admired the finished product, and hoped it would still look as well done when he was sober.
“Thank you as always, you’re a real one,” Pidge yawned as they clapped him on the shoulder while he got to his feet, “Next time you mess up and I notice it, I won’t make it obvious to the crowd. You’ve earned it.”
“I don’t mess up.”
Pidge just looked at him smugly.
“The Blades don’t mess up, we improvise .”
“Sure thing, man, whatever you say.”

Keith blew a forceful breath out of his nose, mostly for show, irritated from exhaustion and knowing he can never win bickers like this with Pidge. They knew how to get him riled too well, and loved to take advantage of the fact that he didn’t know how to quit.

“Nobody even knows our songs well enough to be able to tell if we did hypothetically mess up. You only know because you’re always crashing with me when I have to practice and your memory is insane.” Pidge had begun making talking motions with their hands like they were accusing him of defensively lying, and him batting their arms in response had turned into the both of them swatting at each other like children. “Improvising live is an important part of performance, by the way , and it takes a lot of understanding and trust and synchronicity to be able to pull it off well, so I don’t wanna hear-”
“You guys take yourselves too seriously.”
Pidge was pushing him out the door so he threw his hands up in a silent plea for a truce before swinging his keys around one of his fingers. He closed the door behind him and took the stairs down two at a time.
“But we don’t mess up!” He yelled half heartedly towards the garage and laughed as he dashed for his car before they could fire back. Their playful banter always made Keith relax a little, and he’d long past stopped trying to figure out how contradictory that was. He knew he knew the word. Family.

He waited until he had peeled out of the Holt’s driveway and put a safe distance between him and the house before cracking his window and lighting a cigarette. He had been the victim of Mrs. Holt’s anti-smoking crusade far too many times since high school. He let the cool air ground him and let his thoughts drift to the stars he watched in the sky straight ahead of him, enjoying the silence of the car on the muscle memory drive from Pidge’s to his apartment. 

When he got inside, he pulled his boots off with a grunt and shuffled through the clothes littering his floor to throw himself on his bed. Red, a fluffy little black cat Keith had taken pity on in the parking lot behind his job in some spur of righteousness about a month ago, jumped a little at the movement and settled back down where she was curled on the pillow next to his, watching him skeptically. He could hear his neighbors fighting and a dog barking and somebody racing down the strip. For a man who dedicated so much of his heart and energy to such loud music and loud noise, he absolutely craved silence. He pulled a pillow over his head and groaned, before throwing it off and pushing himself up on his elbows to plug in his phone. Pidge had sent him a text, an emoji of someone sticking their tongue out. He snorted before shutting his phone off.

-

The next morning lit up his room far too soon. It was Friday, which meant three things: His assignments were due, Sal’s closed a couple hours early, and he had a show to play.

Keith checked his phone in one hand while blindy grabbing through the pile of clothes next to him with the other. He snatched at a grasp of fabric that had the texture he thought he was looking for and yanked until it came loose from the tangle. Most of his clothes were varying shades of fading black, looking wouldn’t have helped him much anyway.
Thirty two missed texts from the group chat with Pidge, Lance, and Hunk. Keith nearly threw his phone at the wall when the conversation striking up again kept scrolling the app away from where he was trying to catch up on what he had missed. The plan for later was the same as always. Congregate at Pidge’s once everyone was free, force each other to submit their assignments under their watchful eye, pile into Hunk’s van to get to the Basement early enough to get trashed before setting up.
Keith only had to check a discussion post for spelling errors before submitting it, which wouldn’t take long, so he offered to pick up food on the way from Sal’s. His reasoning earned more than one suspicious response, but nobody wanted to turn down a low effort meal.

The drive to work was the same as always, but the day of a show Keith was always wired. A terrifying mix of nervous and excited energy coursed through him, doing absolutely nothing to help his already borderline impulsive nature. Through years of practice, he was the king of calm, cool, and collected. (Calm, cool, and a cunt, as Lance had put it so kindly when he was the only one that didn’t visibly jump one of the times they had all been watching Pidge play Five Nights at Freddys.) He ran through the setlist in his head, not that they had many songs anyway or that they changed it up very much, (or that they ever actually stuck to the setlist, since their frontman had a habit of simply starting whatever song he felt like doing next, but he usually had a good read on the crowd and made good calls.) He pulled into his usual parking space right as he finished thinking over the transitions between varying combinations of songs, and trying to remember which franken-pedals Pidge had wired together to use for which parts. 

Allura looked pleased when he walked through the door of the cafe at his usual time on the dot. When he walked up to the counter with a “ Hey ” she leaned towards him and ruffled his already ruffled hair.
“Make sure you’ve got a ride home, Keith, and no -” she cut him off with a hand as he started to refute her obvious dig at last week’s events, “ Not with Kolivan. I plan on having a fun and stress free evening tonight in the comfort of my own home and will not be sober enough to drive you to wherever it is you run off to in the event your friends decide to abandon you.”
“It’s not that far. I can even walk.” (That’s what he had said last Friday, and she still shoved him in the back of Coran’s mini cooper (not even the front!) and gave him a scolding about safety as she reverse-kidnapped him from her house to his.)
He hated that mini cooper. Coran loved it, said it was “ posh .”
Allura looked at him disapprovingly until he changed his mind.
“I will get a ride back with my friends,” he recited, as she had made him repeat this promise back to her more than a couple times before, and tried to sound as bored as possible, “If they are leaving, I will go with them.”
“Good good,” she tutted enthusiastically and whirled away to start on his coffee. Her white braid was rapidly losing its integrity with her animated movement in a way that made him want to recite the health code violation she would be getting for not having a hairnet. 

Sal’s was too busy for a weekday but just busy enough for a Friday, as summer edged closer and students who didn’t have classes that day started creeping back outside. Keith ended up fully turning his body away from the room just to keep himself from watching the clock, which helped more than a little with scaring inquisitive college students away when he glared at them in response to being asked “what are you doing over there?” for the thousandth time.
He was so focused that he almost jumped when someone cleared their throat behind him. His mental clock was telling him they were probably about to close, and he groaned at the thought of having to entertain a customer when he was supposed to be wrapping up.

“Uh, excuse me?” 

Keith finished clipping the last string he was working on and bent the end in so it wouldn’t snag and oh - the customer had a nice voice and that was not something he usually handled well. He imagined shooting himself in the head five times before swiveling around in his chair and placing the guitar down gently on his work table, trying to signal that he had heard the man but still steeling himself for the social interaction. He stood up and placed both hands flat on the counter, and leaned forward in what he mentally referred to as his intimidating-the-customer stance .

“What?” Keith asked, calm, and realized a second too late when the man seemed a little caught off guard that he probably sounded rude as hell. He cringed a little at the misstep but took it in stride.

“Hey, I know you’re about to close and it’s a big ask, I’m running a bit behind today-” the man ran a hand over the back of his neck and through a bleached forelock that jutted over his forehead from the rest of his closely cropped dark hair, shaking his head a little and smiling as if trying to convince himself to, “I know you don’t need the whole story, sorry. You guys can repair stuff here right? Basically I’ve got this guitar that’s pretty sentimental and I’ve just been able to get it out of storage and its got a crack right through the middle, probably from moisture or heat or cold or something I don’t know and-”
“Acoustic?” Keith asked. The man nodded. “Wood?”

The man nodded again, the bleached part of his hair moved a little with the speed of it. “Yeah, pretty old too.”

“Want it to see any action or just need it to sit there and look pretty?”

Keith knew he was capable of being funny. The man smiled a little at that and his gaze flitted away. Keith held his stare like his life depended on it. Hearing his voice with his back turned had been one thing, and Keith almost regretted turning around. He should have yelled over his shoulder that they were closed. He should have thrown the clippers he was using at him. He should have said he was busy and deferred him to Sal. He wasn’t blind. He sort of wished he was.

“Ideally I’d like to play it again, but I can be gentle if I need to.”

Keith nodded acceptance and snagged a notepad from the counter beside him. 

“Cool. Can I see it?”

Any nervousness the man had held in him when he first approached melted away and he reached down to pull a hard case up from where he had leaned it against the counter. It was black and uniquely textured and definitely looked like it had been in storage. He spun it around almost effortlessly to lay it on the counter with the latches facing Keith, and looked at him expectantly.

Keith had gone through the last few hours locking down in preparation for the show and had no problem playing the long game. He just looked back at the man until he leaned forward into Keith’s space to open the latches and pull the top open. The moment he saw the crushed purple velour of the lining he stuck a hand out to delicately drag two fingers across the top ridge of the case.

“Dude, there are so many bugs on this.”

And there were. It looked like it had been used as a fly swatter against a human sized swarm of gnats and mosquitoes. They were flattened into the cobwebs that strung around the plastic of the case and Keith briefly remembered a horror movie with a man made out of millions of flies smashed together, moving in unison.

The customer didn’t elaborate, just laughed lightly and said “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Keith pulled the case open when the man stayed frozen and his eyes immediately went to the crack running through the body of the guitar. It was obvious the instrument was old, he wasn't stupid, but his keen eye didn’t miss the fact that it was also obviously well-loved. Rough patches on the neck where hands had rubbed off the coating on the wood stood stark as glaring textural differences. A dark patch along the edge of the pickguard and the top edge of the body had to be from skin resting there. Keith gritted his teeth and willed his brain to quit feeding him images of the hands in the corners of his vision moving along the instrument in front of him.

He went to work inspecting the crack itself. It wasn’t too bad, it didn’t go all the way through the wood and seemed to start and stop on either side of the bridge. Whether that would make his job easier or harder was unclear to him, he hadn’t done a lot of this type of work before, and not with older instruments like this. Either way, he was determined to fix it. It was a solvable problem and he had the tools to do whatever he could come up with.

“What do you think?” The man’s voice snapped him out of his inspection. Keith looked up at him and back down at the guitar.

“I’ll have to look at it a little closer to make sure, but I can work with this,” Keith said confidently. He blew out of the side of his mouth in an attempt to fling a stray piece of hair from out of his face where it had fallen. He didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes lit up at that. He couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he saw it fixed.

He had to fix this.

“Amazing, that’s great, thank you.”

Keith flicked his gaze briefly to the clock behind the customer’s head and realized they were well past closed, and wasn’t sure whether or not to be surprised that Sal hadn’t barged into their interaction to see what the hold up was. He picked up the notepad and pulled a pen out of his pocket.

“Name?”

“Shirogane. Uh, Takashi,” the man said sheepishly and Keith wondered why that was what he seemed nervous about fumbling.   He jotted it down without sparing a look at him.

“Number?”

Takashi blinked. Keith looked back at him like he was dumb as a brick.

“I need to be able to contact you when I’m done.”

“Do you have a timeframe? I can just come by to get an update if you give me a date.”

“Number,” Keith said again, more like an order this time, “Or alternative easiest way to contact you.”

Takashi was hesitant but recited the string of numbers he said linked to his home phone as Keith scribbled them down next to Cute guy Shirogane / cracked vintage. He tore the page out of the pad and stuffed it in his pocket. Takashi straightened up, and he tried incredibly hard not to notice the way his shirt pulled on his shoulders as he moved. His well-fitted, put-together-without-looking-too-put-together outfit made Keith uncomfortably aware of his own. He was covered in dust and oil, in an old shirt with his friend’s band’s logo cracking off the front and the sides unevenly cut off, and the most embarrassingly emo looking ripped skinny jeans of anyone he knew. The well worn jeans and thick flannel of the man across from him somehow put him to shame, but he wrote it off as anything looking good on someone built like that . He wondered if Takashi had a good sense of style or if his outfit had been a product of chance like his own.

“Right,” Keith started, “I’ll let you know when she’s done.”

Takashi nodded at that, he seemed to nod a lot, and took a step backwards before turning to head to the door. He waved back at Keith as he pulled on the handle. “Call me.”

In all of Keith’s own personal struggles with utilizing language the way it was meant to be utilized, he couldn’t tell if he had meant call me with an update, call me call me, or was just restating the plan.

The drive back to his apartment was torturous. He felt like he was a solid stone with a slight fissure, and if the condensation on him froze over he would split. He tried to think of the plan for the rest of the night. The steps it would take to gather his equipment. He cataloged the last known whereabouts of his bass and cords and amp and pedals and god why did he need so many things in the disastrous war zone that was his apartment. He recounted his friends’ orders from the fast food place down the street from the Holt’s and how much cash to shove in his pocket. Every thought he had frustrated him to the point of trying to throw it away. Only when he did, the only thought left was Takashi leaning over the counter looking into his eyes with a spark that would put Pidge’s stash of fireworks to shame. He had to fix that guitar.

Of course the biggest hitch in his hasty follow through with the night’s agenda was trying to find his cursed jacket. When he finally pulled it out from under a duffel bag full of laundry he had been meaning to do for weeks, he shrugged it on and tried to carry as many things as he could handle at once out to his car.

Keith’s tried, true, and trusted bright red 1990 Jeep Cherokee was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it was big enough to hold anything he needed to put in it and could handle being dragged against its will through fields, rocky patches, and floods if need be. A curse because parts were hard to find and he always needed to work on it himself, and it reminded him of his mother. The interior reeked of stale cigarette smoke and the telltale signs of teenage hotboxes that never aired out, and he had one singular bumper sticker that simply read “ FUCK YOU ”.

When Keith’s mother died, he was surprised to find she had already arranged for everything to be left to him. “Everything” meant the Cherokee, a 9mm semiautomatic handgun, a spearpoint knife with an engraved sheath, and three thousand dollars. He spent months feigning surprise that her death had been sudden to people who cared so much that they wished he cared more, the same months he had spent living out of the back of her old car since it was her name on their lease. But he had known her, and both of them knew she would go out like that one day.

Keith finished loading his gearbag into the trunk and took a deep breath through his nose, willing himself to channel focus. He had a cigarette lit and between his lips before he had his door closed, and peeled out of his small apartment complex’s parking lot in the direction of Frosty Freeze like hell was on his heels.

“Hell” turned out to be Pidge, Lance, and Hunk, who were not at all happy with the fact that he was an hour late and hadn’t responded to any of their calls. Keith kicked the door to Pidge’s apartment open and tried to shake the takeout bags as enthusiastically as he could to distract from their frustration with him.

“I thought you died , man!”

Lance’s statement was followed by a solemn nod by the two friends sitting next to him. Everyone was seated in a circle on the floor, as was custom in The Nest, and it felt like walking into a courthouse with a council hell bent on ending your fate early and dragging you through the dirt to get there.

He could already tell he had fucked whatever hopes they could have had for the night. He was, after all, the king of digging his own grave but being kind enough to dig them for the people around him as well.

They ate, and utilized Hunk’s streaming logins to switch between shows with a speed that made Keith’s brain swim, much to Hunk’s surprise. Lance patted him on the shoulder and nodded sagely.

“You forget, Pidge is a wizard, of course she knows your logins. Probably snagged them from your computer.”
“Or just remembered watching you type them in,” Pidge turned to face the three of them from where they were sitting in front of their computer, navigating to the most recent suggestion, “And Lance, for how girl crazy and borderline misogynistic you are, how do you keep thinking I’m a girl?”

Lance flew backwards like he had been shot and put the back of his hand to his forehead before dragging it down his face, like he didn’t know how to act. Keith had gotten to know him well enough over the last four years to know that he was panicking. Keith also knew Pidge, and knew they meant it more as an exaggerated dig of an observation than a genuine call out.

“I don’t think you're a girl!”

“Then stop calling me ‘she’, nobody else does.”

Hunk nodded and shoved Lance’s shoulder.

“Yeah, man, you look like an idiot.”
Keith wasn’t oblivious enough to not notice that struck a chord with him. He had spent years overanalyzing their behaviors and thought patterns. 

“Whatever!” Lance threw his hands up before crossing his arms, “Whatever, I told you I’m working on it.”

They finished the rest of their food in silence, with a compilation of comedic highlights from a streamer who Keith was the odd one out for not knowing captivating them. When they finished, Hunk was the first to gather all of their trash together, compact it all into one of the two takeout bags, and shove it into the overflowing trashcan in Pidge’s kitchen.

That was the signal to get moving on their ritualistic parallel play that was probably the only reason any of them were staying afloat in school. Keith, as a fifth year, only had two classes this semester to finish off his degree in art history and they were both interesting and easy, so he had it the best out of the four of them. Pidge’s computer science work was more grind work than difficult for them to conceptualize, and Hunk’s political science degree, after switching from engineering, was kicking his ass in a way that he seemed to be incredibly enthusiastic about. When they had first all met in an intro to philosophy class four years ago, Lance had stated matter of factly he was going for psychology because it was the easiest degree. When it became obvious that it was a lie, since it wasn’t easy at all, he moved on to self aggrandizing end-goal tactics.

“Lance, I don’t know how many times I’ve said this,” Pidge said, with less heat in their voice than Keith expected for them picking on their friend, “But you don’t want to be a therapist. You just want people to gossip with you.”

Lance looked up at them from where he was laying face down on the floor in self pity, and they patted his shoulder.

“I could do both…” He trailed off and flipped onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“Let me take a look at it,” Keith said as he swiped Lance’s laptop from in front of him. He had years of practice fine tuning Lance’s pathos-heavy, if not long winded, assignments into something that a professor would see as a project he was simply passionate about. This time, though, his brain was fried, and there was a wall in his head preventing him from thinking too hard about any of it. He skimmed the paragraphs he was submitting, deleted a couple things, changed the wording or order of a couple sentences and handed it back to him.

“You’re a lifesaver, Keith.”

“Don’t mention it.”
Keith stood up and grabbed his keys. He saw his friends shoot pointed looks at each other but didn’t feel like mentioning it. He ran down to his car and carried his bass back up, before posting up in the corner of Pidge’s living room against a shelf of comic books and hammering out the parts he struggled with the most in the Blades’ discography in preparation for the rest of the night.

Blades of Mercy had begun as the passion project of a man named Kolivan. Years of poetry kept private and an impressive talent with the guitar had turned into an untameable beast when he enlisted his closest friends to help him bring his vision to life. Backed up by Ulaz’s rivaling skill on rhythm guitar, Antok’s unquestionable ability to pull off insane things with his drumset, and Thace as the voice of his rawest emotions while laying down dominating bass lines, Blades of Mercy had quickly become both popular and respected with a detached sense of awe in the local scene. They fed off the energy of the crowd while steering it in a way none of the other local bands had been able to master. They were always a hit when they came on, even if Keith thought their music was probably lacking in more areas than a few, and there was no denying their talent and potential. 

When Thace broke his hand in a car accident, they had taken on Keith.

While their music was mostly percussion driven, and largely focused on fancy rhythms and undeniably hard breakdowns, bass came close to second in holding the band together. With Keith left to his own devices to focus on playing, they were able to expand more than when Thace had been juggling hitting root notes at the right time while screaming at the top of his lungs. Kolivan and Antok’s dueting made you want to take a baseball bat to a body and cry at the same time, and everything together made the music seem like it was taking the form of something bigger than itself.

They all had secret dreams of greatness and martyrdom.

“You’re stress-playing,” Pidge called out from where they were crouched by Hunk’s shoulder, reading something on his laptop. They raised a knowing eyebrow at him and held his stare.
“I’m not-”
“Oh, yeah, you totally are man. You never practice during sacred study time.”

Keith redirected his glare from Pidge to Hunk. They had interrupted him right in the middle of something he genuinely felt like he needed to practice.

“You play the same things almost every week,” Hunk continued, “you don’t need to run them like a drill.”

“You play the same things every week, and play them on every off day in between I’ve ever been a witness to,” Lance said like he wasn’t witness to the many other things Keith had to do in his free time as one of his closest friends. Keith had hobbies. Keith loved hobbies. He was a well rounded man.

“What’s got you tied up?” Pidge leaned back on a hand and lowered an inquisitive if not expectant look onto Keith that he nearly felt the need to brace himself against. Nothing about that stare was warm. They were looking for dirt for later.

“Nothing.” 

His mutinous brain strayed to thoughts of being tied up in a different way, by someone he was desperately trying to stop thinking about for even five minutes, and he had to dig his hands into the carpet of Pidge’s floor to stop himself from hitting his own head. He wasn’t even into that. His thoughts were trying to end him.

“I’ll skin you alive,” he added after a vigorous shake freed him from his thoughts.

Pidge gathered whatever they needed to gather from his painfully unsubtle deflection and smirked like they couldn't hold it in, then readjusted their glasses and leaned back down to Hunk’s computer like they didn’t just send Keith into both a panic and a crisis in the span of three seconds. Keith tugged on the front of his jacket to straighten it and looked back down to the bass in his lap, performing an intent to return to it. He pictured himself dying a gruesome death like spontaneous combustion.

Calm, cool, and collected.

Chapter Text

Soon enough it was an hour out from door, and time to pile the four of them into Hunk’s minivan with Keith’s gear in the back. When his friends slowly started shaking off the stress of the educational system and slipping into the electricity that the night of a show, and the first night of a weekend, always enveloped them in, the change in energy was gradual but obvious. Pidge was talking animatedly with their hands while trying to secure enough bracelets onto their arms that you could barely tell there was an arm beneath them, just two leather sticks of studs and spikes poking out from beneath the denim jacket they had cropped so that the sleeves were cut off and fraying a little above the elbows. The worn in grime of the fabric made it nearly indecipherable from their bracelets. Lance was struggling to keep his pants tucked into his boots and resigned to pull the legs up to rest at the top of them with a sigh while Hunk methodically removed the piercing jewelry from his nose and eyebrows.

“I swear to God I’m having a growth spurt, man. This has never been a problem before!” Lance threw his hands up in frustration and defeat and gave both of his legs an experimental kick, studying how his pant legs behaved with the movement.

“You’re twenty one, Lance, you’re not having a growth spurt.” Keith pulled a hair tie from his wrist and pulled it back on his fingers to slingshot it at Lance’s chest. The impact was audible before it tumbled to the floor.

“ Hey- oh, thanks.”

Keith stood up and stuck a hand out towards Hunk.

“Keys?”

Keith returned from loading the gear from his trunk into Hunk’s with the neck of a cheap bottle of whiskey gripped in his palm that he had already opened and partially emptied. The sound of his friends’ giddy cackling was the final push he needed as he pushed open the door to Pidge’s apartment and tossed Hunk’s keys back at him. He did this all the time. Tonight would be fine. He was cool. Everybody liked him. Confidence is key.

These statements were partially true and mostly contingent on him staying one step ahead of the people around him and behaving in very specific ways. Posturing had been the only thing to save his ass, and it had needed to be saved, over the last year. Pidge smacked him on the arm as they led the others through the open door Keith was still standing in.

“Ready?”

“Something like that.”

Keith sprawled across the backseat of the van with his boots resting on top of Pidge where they sat cross legged on their seat. He nursed the bottle in his hands with a self control he rarely was able to muster anywhere else, watched the flashing bright and dark of passing streetlights light up Lance’s face in the passenger seat, and tried to discern what exaggerated expressions he was making to go along with his rant.

He spotted Antok’s old black towncar from across the field next to the Basement where attendees littered their cars. Once Hunk had the van in park, Keith popped open his door and swung his legs out unceremoniously.

“Alright guys, gotta regroup, catch you later.” 

He stuck his arm over the backseat to snag a paper bag from the outer pocket of his gear bag while his friends jostled him and clapped him on the arm and shoulders. Keith tapped out a two fingered salute against his temple and tossed the glass bottle and its concerningly small amount of contents in Lance’s lap before shutting the door and heading for Antok’s car.

Keith slid into his usual post in the back passenger seat, squeezed a bit between Ulaz taking up space in the middle and the hard wall of the door. Everything about the Blades made Keith feel small. They were bigger than him, and better than him, and had it together more than he did and were far more collected than he could ever hope to be. They gave off such an air of maturity and confidence that Keith felt childish in their presence, and they moved like one organism. He felt like a standoffish teenager overcompensating for what he lacked in self esteem trying to pick a fight with a band of hardened veterans. He knew they wouldn’t be keeping him around if they didn’t want to. He also knew that meant they would only keep him around for as long as they wanted to, and he could never read them.

He leaned forward toward the center console and upended the paper bag. A handful of small plastic baggies scattered across the leather and the four men each picked them up before leaving room for Keith to reach over and pocket his own.

“Well done as always, Keith.”

Ulaz’s tone seemed as genuine as Keith was capable of picking up from him. He saw Kolivan slide him a cool look that clearly meant something Keith couldn’t decipher. It was like they could all read each other’s minds, and Keith was scrambling to keep up.

That’s how it felt to play with them, and how it felt to walk with them, too. Even after a year, Keith felt like he stuck out as an obvious outsider in the group, despite the obvious headway he had made and the risks he had taken to prove himself. Keith only fell into his place in their line after grabbing his bass from Hunk’s van and jogging a little to catch up with them. He tried to school his expression into some semblance of an above-it-all cool guy persona, just to look like he matched the rest of them, to no avail. He decided his natural resting bitch face would have to do as they approached the building where Romelle was setting up a fold out table outside.

Keith had always been like this. Aggressive, standoffish, bored. He liked being in charge but didn’t like making decisions. He liked calling the shots but didn’t like having to lead. Lance had attributed it to his “unstable upbringing” once while flipping through one of his psychology textbooks. He briefly wondered what Lance would have to say about the effects of the last year’s events on his ability to calm down and not jump at every movement. He was a thinker, sometimes at least, not in the traditional sense but one that was his own. Devolving into a skittish overthinker would be his undoing if left unchecked.

Romelle waved and looked at the instrument Keith carried, ignoring the rest of the Blades in a way that would have been rude if they didn’t see each other at least once a week. Besides, they were empty handed at the moment, having dragged a small hitch trailer full of their belongings up along the wall of the house close to the entryway to the basement.

“Allura said you can put that up in her room to keep it safe and sound, if you want. You guys aren’t on for a bit, think there are two sets before you.”

The Basement, the venue, was in fact the basement of a house that Allura, Romelle, and Coran shared on a property on the edge of town. Its lack of proximity to people who cared about noise ordinances made it the perfect place to let intoxicated adults be as loud as they could for several hours every week. If anyone’s home was going to double as a venue and general congregation spot, it couldn’t have been anyone else but Allura. She was the only one hard enough to keep control of everyone and knock them back in line. She was tall, and scary, and had eyes that could cut right through you. People seldom crossed her.

After Allura decided the crowds were growing too large and too rowdy to be allowed to enter through her house, she had cut a large hole out of the side wall and built stairs down to the basement floor, allowing large amounts of people to move in and out as they pleased. The upstairs, now, was reserved for friends and people who could be trusted to be respectful. It was also where Keith and his friends spent all of their time when there wasn’t music blasting downstairs, and where Keith was planning on getting trashed to calm his uncharacteristic nerves.

Tonight was just like all the other nights. It was going to be fine.

His skin was buzzing. He felt so alive , like he was thrumming with it.

What was wrong with him?

It didn’t take long for him to find himself sinking comfortably into a large U-shaped couch that he, his friends, Allura and Romelle were all slouched on. They were watching a video of a man building an oven out of clay on the TV, with an embarrassing collection of bottles and cans surrounding a fizzling out roach discarded on a saucer on the coffee table that stood in the center of them all. A sudden strained noise pulled Keith out of his comfortable mindless stupor, and he looked over to see Pidge and Hunk leaned close together, both nose deep in their phones.

“Wait, Lotor is back? Like… Lotor Lotor is back in town?” Pidge flipped their phone around to show Allura the screen, which was zoomed in incredibly close on a screenshot of an instagram story. In the blurry grain, you could clearly see Lotor’s face in the background. There was no question.

Allura groaned and flopped forcefully against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling for patience or guidance.

“Acxa and Ezor both followed him back again,” Hunk added, “it’s not looking good, man.”

“Wait, do you think they let him back in the band?” Lance shot up like it was a complete outrage, even though it was a situation he had close to zero stakes in. “They were doing so well, they were such a cool and stylish girl group…”

Allura deflated even more than she had at seeing proof of his return to the locality.

“ What are the chances…” She trailed off a bit, shaking her head, “Lotor joins them again on the same night that they’re playing at my house for the first time ever, after all this time.”

“It might not be a coincidence,” Pidge pointed out, which earned them a sour look from both Lance and Allura.

“They’re right,” Keith finally figured out how to chime in, “you know these guys, you know how they are. Chances of it being on purpose are probably pretty high.”

“If I see him with my own two eyes, I’m going to! I’m going to-” Allura bit off whatever she was going to say and clenched and shook her fists. Romelle grabbed her wrists gently, but looked her in the eyes and nodded like she was encouraging her to go through with enacting violence should he end up in her sight.

Lotor was a tornado of a man who was as devastatingly cold hearted as he was devastatingly beautiful. Formerly one of two guitarists in The Generals, he had both nearly broken up the band and broken Allura’s heart past the point of being salvageable. Keith never fully got the whole story, but no one did, Allura didn’t want to share any of it besides her anger. From what he and his friends had garnered, he had been using her to try and further the networking progress of the band and take advantage of both her abilities and her generosity. Beyond that, everyone just knew that Allura threatened to hunt him down and kill him with her bare hands regularly. Keith knew well enough to know he had truly hurt her.

“We can block him at the door,” Hunk suggested, “We do that to people all the time! People suck, people get banned, it happens.”

Pidge shot him a skeptical look, “And does that ever hold up for more than five minutes and a couple digs online?”

“I can’t play guard all night, I have things to do,” the looks his friends around him shot Keith could have burned holes through his body, “I say we just let Allura kill him.”

That got to Allura and she laughed lightly. Her expression seemed much less distraught than it had minutes before. She looked up at all of them and smiled.

“Let him come here, let him dare show his face in my house. He’ll get what’s coming to him.” She said it with the confidence of someone who didn’t nearly break down a minute ago at the thought of having to see said person.

It took visible effort from all of them to work up the courage to venture downstairs. Romelle had left to work the door once people had started arriving, and they had found a thousand poor excuses not to go down until the music was about to start. They dilly dallied on the way down the tiny hallway with the staircase, debated whether to go outside and enter the basement through the main door, and made small talk about how many people they thought were down there for long enough that Keith thought he was going to lose it. He knew all about ripping the bandaid off, and he was drunk enough to not care about being a dick on purpose.

“ Enough , guys.” Keith slammed the heel of his palm on the door leading downstairs hard enough to shove it open and walked through like a man on a mission. He kept his head high, didn’t look around for anyone, and hoped it was enough for the rest of his friends to follow his lead. Pidge had said once that it was endearing when he was mad, that he took long, confident strides that were somehow humorous, since his half asian genes and small stature made him prone to having to fight for his life in order to be seen as anything other than variations of cute. They never said anything to that effect again after he decked them on the shoulder without a shred of hesitation so hard that their brother had to pop it back in.

Keith spotted Lotor almost immediately, but part of that was because he was incredibly tall and had bright white hair that was glowing under the UVs. Keith weaved through load bearing metal poles with layers of foam mats ziptied along them to the open space in front of the “stage” area, where a ratty mat was thrown down over the corner of the room with large speakers lining it on the floor. Keith didn’t think they worked, to be completely honest, but they worked nicely as a divider. He watched his peripherals where Lotor was ducking under the water pipes that ran along the ceiling, and delicately maneuvering himself through the crowd and past people who were clapping him on the back or throwing an arm around his shoulders.

He was heading for the stairs.

Keith hated being right sometimes.

“Hey, man,” Keith said as plainly as he could while trying to angle his body between Lotor and the path to the stairs without it being too obvious. If Lotor took a swing at him like he was a genuine opponent, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come out on top. He was bigger and faster than him, a combination of things that the people Keith usually fought almost never were. He felt trapped. He didn’t like the feeling.

“Hello,” Lotor squinted like he was trying to figure out who he was, which was fair since they had never been introduced face to face. He flicked his gaze down to the Blades of Mercy patch on his sleeve, a cryptic looking symbol hand painted by Kolivan that all of the members wore, and turned a bemused look back up to Keith’s stare. “Oh, right, you must be the Blades’ new pet, poor thing. Though I can’t say I’ve seen how they play with you, I haven’t seen them at all since-”
“Since the accident. I know. Very common, actually.”
“So poor Thace’s hand, not looking good is it? Tragic.”

Keith, although against his better judgment, and against all the shreds of self control he was using to try to protect his friends, could not help but instigate him. He really was a dick.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m only there because I’m better at playing bass than a man with a broken hand. Vying for the position, huh? Miss the attention?”

Lotor’s fingers twitched and he narrowed his eyes briefly.

“I don’t need to,” he said it like Keith was stupid, “I’m completely capable of securing my own.”

“Are you? Because last I heard-”

The rest of his retort was drowned out by feedback and the sound of Zethrid checking the mic. Lotor pressed his mouth into a frustrated line so hard it nearly looked like a pout, and lifted his head to turn a terrifying gaze toward where the rest of his band was setting up. He looked formidable, but he was hard to take as too serious of a threat when he had tiny green laser stars swimming around on him and purple lights making him glow in the dark. He said something, but Keith couldn’t hear him, so he just tapped his ear and shrugged with a smile that bordered on a smirk. Lotor jabbed a finger against his chest before shoving him out of the way, hard enough that Keith actually moved despite how hard he was trying to brace himself. He walked straight through the spot where Keith had been standing to get to the stage, as if he had genuinely been in the way.

Keith decided he was so, so sick of being insignificant.

The Generals finished off their set by raising all their hands in the air to show off the giant Xs marked across the backs of them. Ezor clacked her drum sticks in the air in their own X formation while Acxa and Narti recited a mantra about overcoming in a way that made it sound like a summoning. Pidge must have had a similar thought, because they nodded slowly in agreement in response to his “I think I could go for a good witch horror movie right about now.”

“Guys, we are not just fucking around right now, we are defending the honor of our kingdom’s queen, come on!” Keith raised his eyebrows slightly and turned to face Lance where he stood on the other side of him, thinking maybe if he just thought “Dude, seriously?” hard enough the words would project directly into Lance’s head.

“If we’re defending Allura, I feel like maybe we should be, I don’t know, standing with her. Or something.” Hunk gestured with a thumb towards the back wall of the basement, where Allura and Romelle were currently staring down a Lotor who had already had time to make it almost the entire way towards them.

“ Shit! ” Lance nearly screeched and started booking it to the back of the room.

Keith ran through ideas of what he should do next, and as per usual, settled on the worst one.

The girls and Lotor were simply staring at each other in silence when he and Lance made it to them.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, man?” Keith shouted loud enough that it bounced off the basement’s cinder block walls over the droning noise of a crowd allowed to speak again.

Lotor whipped around at this, but looked clearly pleased that he had come in hot. Keith realized he had just lost.

“Keith, there’s no need, really,” Allura started, but Romelle shoved her shoulders into hers in an attempt to quiet her.

“Funny, I was going to ask that of you ,” Lotor leaned back casually and crossed his arms to look down on Keith, “You claim to have been so deeply and dearly invested in this community for so long, and yet no one even knew who you were until last year when the Blades started parading you around. We all know each other, Keith, surely there’s something here I’m missing.”

“Yeah, you are. Have you gotten your eyes checked? Have you asked anyone besides yourself? Maybe you’re not as attentive as you think you are.” Keith grit his teeth to keep from slipping into a scream as he spoke.

Lotor’s eyes darkened and he shifted his weight threateningly, he seemed to get bigger, somehow. Keith fought rising panic in his chest.

“Oh, no, I’m very attentive. Tell me, Keith, how did a nobody like you really get into the Blades? Surely they’re not keeping you as a permanent member for the reasons I speculate.”

Keith lost it.

“ Patience and fucking discipline !” Keith threw his whole body forward with his hands out and an intent to shove Lotor down. He thought of every endless night spent with bleeding fingers and bandaids that wouldn’t stop sweating off, forcing Pidge to keep time for him so he could practice faster, slower, a random pace, a changing one, laying in bed gripping his hair knowing what was at stake if he embarrassed himself like this. Hands on both of his arms dragged him backwards and more than a few legs moved to block the growing space between him and Lotor. Keith was fuming, and Lotor was laughing .

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” He gestured up and down at Keith’s stance, the strangers’ hands holding him back gripping hard enough to bruise, his balled fists tight enough he was afraid when he relaxed them they would bleed.

 “Fuck you.” Keith spat and ducked out of the crowd’s hold on him, taking a sliding step backwards before moving as fast as he could without running to the stairs.

Only when he had downed half a bottle of what Allura knew was his favorite, without moving from where he grabbed it in the kitchen, was Keith able to clear the smoke left by his brain spinning out in his head. He had met Lotor for the first time and picked a personal fight with him. In front of everyone at the Basement who was sober enough to see, no less. Lance found him and tugged at the bottle in his hand until Keith finally relented his grip.

“Hey,” Lance screwed the cap of the bottle back on and placed it out of arm’s reach on the counter. Keith just stared at the cabinet he was facing. His face was a storm.

“Kind of stole my thunder there, man.” Lance was laughing, albeit a little uncomfortably, and Keith knew he was joking but couldn’t help but turn his head to slide his glare over to Lance’s eyes.

He turned back to the cabinet and crossed his arms, “Is that seriously why you’re here?”

“I’m here because you’re about to drink yourself to death over a fight that didn’t even end up happening right before you have to play,” Lance looked at him like a disappointed mother, “At least save the rest for later. Or tomorrow morning, you’ll need it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Keith untucked one of his arms from where they were crossed over his chest to trace the outlines of the grout on the countertop. He silently prayed Thace kept the technically challenging songs to a minimum tonight.

“Also, I may not be a licensed therapist yet, but I can recognize a client in need, and I’m very good at talking about feelings-”

Keith shoved him and Lance laughed.

“Get out of here man.”

“Don’t touch that bottle. I have no idea how you’re still standing. No, you know what, I’m going to take a picture of it so I can tell if the level goes down, wait- I’ll outline it with a sharpie, you can’t fool the sharpie.”

“It’s fine, man,” Keith turned towards him but didn’t meet his eyes, “I won’t touch it, I just need to–” Keith made a flailing gesture at his head with his free hand. Lance seemed skeptical but let it slide. It only took a moment before he could hear the muffled sound of Lance loudly relaying the interaction to the rest of their friends in the living room. Keith let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. He was really going to need that patience and discipline now.

Keith’s skin was buzzing and he was convinced his bandmates could feel him vibrating through the floor. Allura had cut off most of the lights haphazardly wedged and wrapped around the pipes above the crowd, leaving just a couple glowy purple bulbs next to and behind them and tiny blue lasers that danced through the foot right below the ceiling. He briefly remembered that Coran used to love running all sorts of lights live with the shows from a massive board he stood guard over in the corner. He wondered why he hadn’t seen him in a while.

His thoughts were cut short when Thace cleared his throat into the mic. He watched Kolivan run his thumb between his strap and his shoulder in the purple glow and wondered if anyone else in the basement had the chance to, with how dark it was. Keith widened his stance and planted his feet, and rolled his neck before craning it down. It really was dark, he could see the faint metal of his strings and that was about it, and he was suddenly very thankful he had practiced with his eyes closed so many times as a challenge. Bass was like a third language to Keith, and he often got it confused with his second.

Thace took a deep and slow breath in, right against the mic, and as he finished there was a beat of a pause before Antok attacked his drums with a speed and efficiency that could put lightning to shame.

Keith played like he had something to prove that night more so than he ever had before. He’d spent countless months trying to defend himself against an onslaught of people who either disliked him personally or disapproved of him on principle. Even with every show being a fight for his reputation, every move and misstep under intense scrutiny, he had never felt so driven and capable, his veins coursing with a carnal desire to perform and succeed .

His hand slammed away at thick strings and he was at once more present than ever and absorbed fully into the ethereal plane of his mind. He thought about vibrations. He thought about the pulse of his heart in the pads of his fingers and the sound waves rolling from where the Blades stood onto the thrashing crowd in front of them. He thought about the way his hands moved across an artifact wrought of trees and earth, how everything about it felt like his nature. He thought about the wear marks on the neck of Takashi’s guitar.

Keith slammed his foot onto the floor as hard as he could and threw his body forward on a heavy downstrum. The shock reverberating through his calf knocked the thoughts of the man haunting him loose from his mind and he shook them out with a violent thrash of his torso. Ulaz turned a look towards him over his shoulder and grinned.

Everything buzzed. His lungs were shaking from proximity to the speakers like they always did. The rest of the people in the basement were inching as close as the barrier of speakers on the floor would allow as they shoved each other and jumped with the song. He felt squeezed, and pressed in on in the most comforting way. Kolivan and Ulaz stood a hair’s width away from each other and watched the guitars opposite them, and Thace screamed gory details of self harm that twisted Keith’s guts and made it sound like something beautiful.

Then a bottle flew and smashed to pieces on the concrete between Keith’s feet, and the illusion shattered.

At once the pit in front of them erupted into a writhing mass of violence. People were yelling so loudly that Keith could barely make out the sound of Thace’s voice over it all. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on slamming out the rhythm he had practiced a thousand times. A brawl in the pit was nothing new, the close call of the bottle was a consequence of the craft. 

He white knuckled his last shred of self control until he heard pretty boy faggot on the tail end of a longer insult too clearly to not have been aimed in his direction. His body moved before his mind could stop it, he carelessly dropped his bass against the wall beside him and threw himself into the fray.

Keith was grappled almost immediately and flipped with his back against someone’s chest and a forearm pinning his throat too tightly to just be a threat. His hands flew to the arm at his neck in a vain attempt to pull it off, which earned him a painful yank at the roots of his hair. He struggled to look up when he couldn't move his head or risk his throat being crushed. A thin thread of relief that it was at least someone he recognized was quickly crushed as fear made his body go numb and cold. Lotor held his grip and was staring straight ahead at Thace.

Kolivan’s hands froze on his instrument and he raised a hand to signal the rest to stop. When the band abruptly quit playing, causing a couple accidental notes and screeches, the bodies in the basement who had simply been pulled into the violence for the thrill of it slowed down until the room was dead silent and still. The room swam around him as Keith tried to focus on pulling tentative breaths through his nose. If anyone around him was a dedicated violent moshing crusader, they realized this was not the norm and kept their mouths shut.

Seconds of deafening silence ticked by for far too long before Thace threw the mic stand at the wall hard enough to break it, and stormed out of the back door, shoving people out of his way without slowing.

Keith wished he understood what the hell was going on.

Nobody moved. Kolivan didn’t tear his stare away from Lotor’s arm even as he lowered his own. Lotor craned his neck down, insinuating this insult was meant just for Keith’s ears, but said it loud enough that it was heard by everyone in the silent room.

“You think you’re one of them? Look, they aren’t even going to try to help you.”

Keith thrashed and gripped onto Lotor’s arm, kicking backwards in an attempt to knock one of his feet out from under him, but he was too tall and too strong and held firm. He laughed a horribly amused laugh. Keith knew the Blades were a unique group of individuals, he knew they had been close friends since they were young and had strengthened that bond for well over a decade. He knew they operated in a mindset he had never seen before and seen things he couldn’t comprehend. They were also just another local DIY band, and he was their bassist. No, they probably wouldn’t save him, but the insult wasn’t about their strange moral codes, it was Lotor voicing the opinion Keith had combated over and over again for the past year.

“You are a pet.”

Lotor lifted him off the ground before letting go, and the crowd around them crushed into a tight ring, waiting for a fight. Keith hit the ground gasping and spun as quickly as he could to not have his back to Lotor, crouched on the ground with one hand out to steady him. He reached back and pulled his knife from the sheath along his belt in a blur and lunged forward. Lotor was fast enough to stop him with a nonchalant boot to the face.

Keith let himself be knocked back to save his neck from snapping with the force, and caught himself before he fully hit the floor. The left side of his face stung and he felt blood drip into his eye. The soles of Lotor’s boots had crushed glass from the concrete floor lodged in them and Keith cursed himself for his stupidity. Lotor hadn’t moved an inch, and stood towering over him unbothered and unruffled. He let out an amused snort before turning on his heel and stalking out of the basement as the crowd parted around him. 

Keith scrambled to his feet and sheathed his knife, trying not to wince at the glass embedded in his face shifting as he scowled, but he didn’t go after him. He made his way to the stairs, pissed as hell and embarrassed to have had such an audience to him being bested so humiliatingly. When he got to the top, he turned around to lean over and stick one arm out in an exaggerated bow.

“Thanks, everyone,” he gritted out and backed through the door, flipping the room off with both hands.

He really thought he was going to cry, and couldn’t tell if he was or not.

Keith stormed towards the bathroom and heard his friends busting through the door hot on his heels.

“What the fuck , Keith?”

He slammed the bathroom door shut and leaned against it while they thundered at him from the other side of the wood. He had to brace his feet against the opposite wall to hold the door closed with his back when they started trying to force it open. 

Keith tried to focus on taking deep, steady breaths. He tilted his head to the side to assess the damage in the bathroom mirror and his efforts to calm down completely crumbled. Aside from the significant scrapes along his brow and jaw, the blossoming purple bruise across his neck, and the blood pooling around shards of glass, there was the crisp and obvious mark of a shoe print covering the entire side of his face that looked like it was going to bruise that way.

Why Lotor was so invested in how Keith had joined the band, and why he went to such lengths to make it obvious to everyone, was completely beyond him. People talked shit and caused problems for him, sure, but choking him in the pit and calling him a pet was insane. Maybe he was just committed to coming back with a bang, and decided to stir a different pot than the one everyone expected from him. (He quietly hoped it backfired for him– with all the side eye Keith had received over the years, he hadn’t forced the entirety of the Basement to watch him pull a man’s hair and compare him to a useless captive animal.) Whatever the case, Keith wasn’t excited to walk around for the next week as a visual reminder.

Keith fell backwards with a yelp as the door fell off of its hinges. He cringed at the thought of adding a concussion to the mix, and peeled his eyes open to see Pidge standing over him with a cordless drill in their hand.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he said weakly, sounding more exhausted than angry. His voice was shot, it felt like gravel.

Pidge stuck a hand out to pull him up and, once he was steady on his feet, promptly slammed it into his cheekbone. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?” They sounded angry, not exhausted. “You’re too good at picking fights and not reliable enough at winning them to instigate like that. You just had to play right into his hands, didn’t you?”

“I am reliable at winning them.” He trailed off. He tried to figure out where the heat in Pidge’s words was coming from when he remembered they had already known he came for trouble. What kind of trouble hadn’t been pinned down yet, and he had acted under too many assumptions, impulsive as always.

“He almost fucking killed you! In front of everyone !”

He didn’t have the energy to explain that that would probably be a bigger problem for him than for Keith, so he pressed his fingertips gently to the tender skin where Pidge’s thoughtful gift of a black eye was forming. 

“Thanks for this.”
“Don’t be a baby about it, you’re beat to shit as it is, at least that’ll balance it out. What is it you’re always telling me about value composition in art?”

That was enough to settle the rising fear in Keith’s chest that this was going to be a friendship ending argument.

“You got him out?” Lance was already flying down the hall, stomping as always. When he reached the disastrous scene at the end of it, he stopped short of stepping on the door on the ground and winced when he was close enough to see the full extent of Keith’s damaged face.

“That’s going to hurt.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”

Lance stuck an arm out towards him and offered the bottle he had banned him from earlier.

“Told you you were going to need it later.”

Hunk was behind him a second later, with his arms full of medical supplies from the many first aid kits stashed in his van. He must have booked it there immediately to make it back this fast. The thought made Keith’s stomach churn.

“ God , dude. Are you feeling alright?”

Keith crossed his arms and settled a blank stare at the wall in front of him.

“No.”

“Out of my house. Now .”

Keith winced when Allura’s voice took the edge that meant she was really, truly pissed. He patted down his pockets as was his habit before leaving.
“I lost my phone.”

“You’ll find it another time. Out . All of you.”

The four of them shuffled in one of the most difficult walks of shame they had ever experienced. Allura leaned in the door frame until they had all crossed the threshold. Keith was last, and when he passed her she snagged the sleeve of his jacket to stop him.

“Do you remember what I said this morning? About a fun and stress free evening?”
“That was before Lotor showed up. It wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Yes, Keith,” she crossed her arms and sighed hard like she always did before she gave someone a talking to. He had half a mind to tell her he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture this time, but it was clear she was going to make her opinion known either way and opposition would be futile, “Before my ex showed up, who I was planning on humiliating and possibly teaching a physical lesson, in front of the people who respect me in the venue that I run, out of my own home no less. You know what happened?”

Keith turned away and felt his face grow hot. This fuck up had broken his asshole-ism richter scale.

“Look at me, Keith. You know what happened? He humiliated you in front of everyone, in front of your band , and all to win back the respect I made sure he lost. And none of us even had a chance of getting the upper hand with him. You gave it to him, Keith. On a silver fucking platter. Why can you never just… control yourself , Keith? Everyone gets angry. You can’t react like that every single time someone does something that irks you.”

Keith’s nostrils flared, which was exactly what she was talking about.

“So I’m supposed to just take it? Not a fucking chance.”

Allura’s expression softened slightly as she looked for words. He understood her frustration. What no one else seemed to understand was that he also felt it himself.

“I’m not saying to just take it, because you know I would never stand for that,” Allura leaned out of her imposing stance and back against the doorframe, “If you’re going to get involved in all this-” she gestured in a circle above them, but he knew she meant the drama and politics of the scene and the way he had been handling them with violence so far, “-then you’re going to need to get it together.”

His friends were leaning against the side of Hunk’s van waiting for him when he finally made his way to where it was parked in the field. Most of the cars were gone by now, he figured a significant number of people had probably split either during or after things got awkward. He spotted Antok’s car where they had gotten out of it before all of this. They must still be inside, then, probably packing their gear. He wondered if they were discussing if it was too much of a risk to keep him.

He set the bottle on the ground by his feet before he pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and fished through the carton for one that hadn’t been broken. When he found one and rested it in his mouth, Lance was holding a lighter out to him in silent offering.

“You should still get cleaned up, and soon. You really need to wash those, who knows what kind of stuff is on that floor.”

Keith listened to Hunk and took a long drag from his cigarette. And another. And another. Until he realized he had been staring off in silence with them staring at him for longer than was normal. He felt stupid, he got in fights often and no one ever reacted this way. Fighting was an inherent part of the scene, it seemed, and in Keith’s opinion one of the best ways to settle certain differences. He swallowed hard against the fact that tonight’s circumstances weren’t normal at all. He hated when serious things happened, hated when people took things like this seriously, and hated more when he was an object of performative worry. He killed the end of his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and tucked the butt back into his pack.

“I’m going to walk home.”

He gripped his cigarettes and the neck of the bottle with a force he half expected to crush them both, and started off toward the road before any of them could stop him.

He didn’t walk home, though, he went the other way and headed for the empty stretch of field that he and Pidge used to frequent in high school. On nights like these, when the world was too big and the responsibility of a future too crushing to be helped by anything other than lying down and watching the stars. He realized that a drunk, bleeding twenty two year old wandering through a field at two in the morning was definitely the type of thing Lance would screenshot from a local Facebook group the next day, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He told himself he was allowed to live a little. 

Keith flopped down on the hard dirt and nestled one arm under his head. He stared up at the sky while he fumbled with his free hand to get another cigarette lit. This field was the closest place within reasonable distance where the light pollution gave way enough to see the tiny stars that were blocked out closer to town. The foothills behind him blocked the light from the closest major city, and all he could hear was the wind. He took a drag as he searched for his favorite constellations, trying to remember where in the sky they were this time of year. 

He was so close to so many things. Finishing school. Being accepted in a band that could be more than just something to fill the time. Having a friend group he could feel close and safe with like he did when it was just Pidge. But somehow, all of those things still felt impossibly distant.

And after tonight, they seemed impossible.

That was enough to drive him to push up onto his elbows and drink. He had almost finished the bottle when he realized that he did, really, need to get home. That Hunk was right, his face needed to be washed if he wanted it to heal. That having his friends drive him home probably would have helped him, even if he would have rather been alone.

He stood up to start the trek across town and back to his apartment and was faced with the hard truth that his legs were jelly and his back was impossibly sore. The adrenaline of the night was wearing off and the pain of his injuries was setting in. He was determined to make it, always picking the worst of times to treat his body like an indestructible weapon instead of a breakable vessel. To his dismay, he stumbled enough times and struggled to get up while picking his way out of the field that he accepted there was no way he could walk the entire way in this state, not before sunrise at least. He groaned and tried to decide if it was better to sleep in the field or pass out on the sidewalk somewhere slightly closer to home, having at least tried to make it there. He settled on getting a bottle of water first, and then making more important decisions, so he readjusted his trajectory for the gas station slightly down the road, which he deemed a conquerable distance.

The gas station was empty of customers, luckily enough, and he tossed his empty liquor bottle in the dumpster in the parking lot before heading inside to grab water. When he walked back outside, he leaned on the side of the building and sipped slowly, he knew he was severely dehydrated for a myriad of reasons.

He thought about Hunk trying so hard to help him. Of Allura trying to help him learn a better way to survive. He came to the conclusion that maybe the first step in all of this was accepting that he needed help. Accepting the help could come later. The thought that there was a possibility his friends cared about him genuinely, beyond what they needed to prove in order to keep up the image as friends, was terrifying and made him squirm. People weren’t supposed to care about him like that, and when they did they always made things worse because of it. It was supposed to be him, looking after himself, and occasionally for Pidge. He realized with a start that if his friends, who he had been hanging out with like this for four years now, knew he thought about it that way, it would probably break their hearts. The problem was that he didn’t care. Anyone who expected something other than Keith from Keith was just stupid or selfish. Still…

He cursed himself for not staying with them, especially after Allura had made him promise to. She probably thought he was safe at home or the Nest with the others. Like most opportunities for positive or pleasant experiences in his life, the possibility was crushed to dust by his incessant need to be a loner.

His eyes settled on the payphone on the wall next to him and he fumbled for his wallet. Finishing off the last of his water, he pressed two quarters into the machine and hovered his fingers over the keypad. 

He realized he didn’t even know any of their numbers.

Keith turned his head up towards the sky, tracking the bright smear of the milky way running through the middle of it. Maybe there was a reason he was alone, maybe it was because he was meant to be. Clearly things like this didn’t come easily to him. Sometimes, in nature, that meant they were supposed to be that way.

Fuck it, he thought, and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.

Keith was surprised that the phone only rang twice before it was picked up.

“Hello?” Takashi sounded winded, like he had scrambled for the phone, and Keith wondered what kind of life he led that he had run to answer his home phone at four in the morning. He struggled with the idea that maybe there was a reason he had been so hesitant to give out the number.

“Hey Takashi, it’s Keith.” He dug his fingers into the sides of his throat to distract himself from how obvious it was from Takashi’s voice that he had been sleeping, how nice it sounded.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Of course he didn’t know Keith’s name, and he cursed himself for his stupidity. He prayed he didn’t hang up thinking it was a prank call before he got a chance to speak.

“From Sal’s, on Friday.”

“Don’t tell me it’s done already,” Takashi laughed breathily, “You didn’t have to stay up all night just to finish it at four AM.”

“No, it’s not that, actually…” Keith’s sentence slowed to a stop. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

He heard rustling on the other end of the line and wondered what he was doing. Keith ran a stressed hand through his hair and tugged at the ends.

“I need a favor,” he started, “I know this is weird, but could you give me a ride? You’re the only number I have at the moment.”

Takashi’s tone completely changed, and all the tired grit from his voice was gone.

“Where are you? I’m on my way.”

Keith pressed his back against the wall of the gas station like it would move out of his way when a massive sportbike screeched to a halt dangerously close to the curb in front of him. He stuck his cigarette back between his lips and crossed his arms, trying to ward away someone who was here to start anything with him.

When the man stepped off of his motorcycle and pulled his helmet off, Keith realized it was Takashi.

He took two long steps to stand in front of Keith and looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the mess of his face detachedly enough that it was clearly practiced. Keith ground his cigarette to dust on the cinderblock wall beside him and returned a strong, almost threatening, stare into his eyes. The pace of his heart was wild.

“Rough night?”

“Something like that.”

Takashi extended a hand and, when Keith took it, effortlessly pulled him off of the wall with enough force that he almost fell forward. He immediately took advantage of having Keith closer, shamelessly inspecting the damage on his face. He furrowed his brow and met Keith’s eyes.

“Sorry for,” Keith motioned vaguely with his other hand and the air beside him, using it as an excuse to turn away from where he was pinned down by Takashi’s heavy stare, “All of this, I guess. And calling you so late.” He didn’t respond, and Keith was practiced at knowing disappointment when he saw it.

“Have you cleaned that yet?”

Keith, even knowing the circumstances that led up to this point, was for some reason embarrassed that he hadn’t. Takashi said it in such a way that Keith felt stupid for not having taken care of it sooner.

“No.”

His hand dropped lifelessly when Takashi let go of it, using the other to present a helmet to him. Keith took it tentatively and turned it over in his hands. He could see the moon reflected in the spotlessly clean visor. Of course Takashi rode a motorcycle. Of course he would let Keith ride with him in the middle of the night and had an extra helmet for a passenger. It was absolutely, unfairly, cliche-as-a-romance-novel attractive. The universe was playing a cruel joke on him. Keith stared at the helmet like he could explode it with his mind and kill them both. 

Takashi must have interpreted his contemplation as hesitation, because he took the helmet from Keith’s hands and pushed it over his head for him. He paused for a moment, then flipped up the plastic visor to brush Keith’s stray bangs out of his eyes. Keith felt his face go hot and was thankful that it was covered.

Takashi made his way back to his bike and rested his hands on the handlebars, not quite getting on, to stare Keith down. He felt like he was supposed to say something, but he didn’t know what to say, so he fiddled with the helmet and took a slow step in his direction.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

“It’s not that.”

I wasn’t that at all. It was a thousand things, swarming and constricting his brain, but not that. 

“Good, because I would have a hard time believing you.”

Takashi didn’t press further and instead simply swung his leg over the bike, sitting expectantly.

“Do you need me to clean that for you?”

Keith bit back the aggression that he would have responded with if in any other situation. He wished he could ask his mind why it worked the way it did. Instead of feeling offended as he expected to, and he usually did, something in his chest jumped at the idea that Takashi was offering to take care of something for him that he was capable of himself. He didn’t feel threatened at all. He felt something else. He almost grinned, and it took all of his focus to stop it when he felt his raw skin rubbing against the interior of the helmet with the movement.

“I might have things at my apartment, I’m not sure yet. I have it covered, though.” Keith tried to read Takashi’s expression through his helmet and couldn’t. All he could focus on was how good his leather jacket looked on him and how badly his face hurt, the fire behind the eyes Keith had been haunted by since he first saw them, the way Takashi’s helmet blocked everything else out. He almost regretted calling him before remembering what his other options were.

“Well I know for a fact that I do, and I know a thing or two about wound care. Would you mind a pit stop?”

Keith made a whatever gesture with his hand and moved to sit behind Takashi.

He had been trying to keep a gentlemanly and decidedly heterosexual amount of space between them, and had started off with his hands fisted into the sides of Takashi’s jacket, careful not to touch his body with his own and to just use the leather as a lifeline of stability as they turned and accelerated. But a minute in, Takashi was going heart-stoppingly fast– running red lights, blowing stop signs, and making hairpin turns, using the weight of his body to manipulate their inertia. Keith wanted to whoop and holler, but decided that if he startled him, the likelihood of them both dying horrible deaths was high in this situation. He settled for wrapping his arms tentatively across Takashi’s stomach and gripping his own wrists, and resting his chest against his back with his helmet against his shoulder so that he could lean into the turns with him, and definitely not for any other reason. 

He watched the streets shoot by and the stars stay grounded above them.

Chapter Text

Takashi only slowed down when he pulled onto a residential sidestreet and rolled up a short driveway to a squat tan house. It didn’t fit him, was Keith’s first thought. It looked like every other house in the development and probably every other house in the southwest. He had a hard time picturing Takashi somewhere that wasn’t special.

Takashi let the bike idle for a split second before cutting the engine. The silence of the predawn hour was deafening after the rush of wind and blood pounding in his ears. Keith heard crickets.

“The bugs…” Keith couldn’t finish his sentence, but the thought was clear in his mind. Takashi had taken his guitar to Sal’s on his bike, that must have been how he managed to preserve the bodies of half of the mosquito population on the front of it.

Takashi turned his head toward Keith’s, where they were still sitting leaned together with Keith’s arms around him.
“Are you on something?”

He flipped his visor up, brows knit together as he searched Keith’s face as if he could even see it through the helmet. Keith tried and failed to bite back a laugh.

“No, man,” Keith pulled his arms from around the man in front of him and placed them on the seat behind him to lean back. He shook his head, “Nevermind.”

Takashi narrowed his eyes but didn’t press. He stepped off of the bike to punch numbers into a pad on the stucco along the garage door until it opened. Keith was suddenly piercingly aware of his position, leaned back on his hands straddling the bike, and scrambled off of it before he could come across as anything. In another universe, he thought idly, he would have stayed where he was.

Takashi strode back toward the bike to walk it into the otherwise empty garage, and as Keith stepped to the side dramatically, he caught a glimpse of the veteran plate on the tail. He reveled in every piece of the puzzle that made up Takashi as they came into light. As he made his way back, Keith pulled off his helmet with a wince, and shook his head a few times to will his hair back into its normal messy state and not its helmet-hair one. He didn’t miss Takashi’s stare fixed on him through it all. Sometimes he wished he was born a man with balls, or a girl. He had never had second thoughts or lapses in confidence when coming on to guys he met at shows out of town, although it wasn’t very often. They usually made it pretty obvious if they were picking up what he was putting down, and he had the fists to make up for it if they had the nerve to throw it in his face. Takashi was different. Takashi was beautiful, and scary , and he made Keith nervous. And worst of all– Keith actually liked him.

“Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

They entered the house through a door from the garage, and Keith was startled that it was shockingly empty. The interior was dimly lit by a single light left on over the sink, and completely devoid of decorations. Plain white blinds were pulled down across all of the windows, but there were no curtains. Two stools along the counter separating the small kitchen from what Keith assumed was the living room were the only seats he could find. There was one small coffee table on the ground in the middle of the carpeted room, and nothing else.

Besides the phone mounted above the counter, there was nothing on the walls, nothing on the counters. No shoes by the door, no dishes in the sink. It gave Keith the distinct impression that Takashi probably had one of each utensil and slept on a mat on the floor of his room. How could a man who was sentimental about an old, beautiful guitar and recklessly drove a motorcycle in his spare time live in a house that looked like this ?

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Takashi all but rolled his eyes and flicked on the fluorescent lights over the kitchen. He pointed at the stools along the counter.
“Sit down.”

Keith sat obediently and watched as he pulled out a large plastic tub from under the kitchen sink. Takashi motioned for him to turn his head this way and that, and Keith followed his silent orders without a fuss, probably for the first time in his life. When he was satisfied that he had examined Keith’s injuries sufficiently, he sat down next to him and leaned into Keith’s space.

“You smell like a liquor store.”

It wasn’t a question, so Keith didn’t answer it. Takashi was thoroughly unimpressed by this. He stared hard into Keith’s eyes like he could draw the answers he wanted out of him that way.

“Did someone use you to mop up the floor of a bar? Yes or no.”

“Something like that.”

Keith was tired, and in pain, and sobering up- and he knew there was no good way to explain the events that had led up to his injuries to someone who didn’t know anything about him. He settled on avoiding it entirely. Takashi let out a hard sigh through his nose when he realized Keith didn’t plan on elaborating, and got to work digging through the plastic bin. He pulled out the excess glass first, then got up to wet a washcloth in the sink. Keith didn’t expect it to be pleasantly warm, but he didn’t expect Takashi’s fingers to be hot on his face either. He gripped the man’s chin and held it firm, presumably to keep him angled the way that he needed to be and prevent him from moving. Keith wondering what was wrong with him that his extremities were so warm was drowned out suddenly by a flash of pain, and when he subconsciously flinched, the hand on his chin held him completely still so he could continue his work. It was Keith’s turn for his skin to be uncomfortably hot. One of Takashi’s arms had been strong enough to prevent his entire body from moving. He knew his face was turning red, and hoped the smearing blood was covering it.

They sat there for a while, Takashi alternating between digging through his supplies and tending Keith’s face with gentle hands, and Keith alternating between trying to look anywhere but his face and closing his eyes. When Keith was cleaned, and covered in ointments, a couple bandages and some sort of silicone sticker, Takashi leaned his head against his hand propped up on the counter and looked him dead in the eyes.

“So?”

Keith felt uncharacteristically bad about refusing to tell Takashi anything about what had happened, now that he had spent such a long time patching him back together with such precision and care that it almost made Keith want to throw up. Light was starting to creep through the corners of the blinds, shading the house in a soft purple. Keith looked over to meet Takashi’s eyes.

“I got kicked in the face.”

“Way to state the obvious.”

“You seem smart, I didn’t think you’d have to ask.”

Takashi pressed his lips tightly together and ran a tongue over his teeth. He spared a glance toward the ceiling as if for strength before turning it pointedly down to Keith’s neck.

“That doesn’t explain this.”

He ghosted fingers over the massive purple bruise spanning across Keith’s throat, and Keith swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to explain that he got choked out in a headlock because some guy was mad that he was in a band? All the explanations Keith could conjure up died in his throat. Takashi noticed that he was wrestling with his thoughts, and slid his hand across the counter so that their pinky fingers were just barely pressed together. Not invasive, but still there. His hand was just as warm as before.

“You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”

He didn’t know him, either.

“It’s nothing weird, it’s not like-” Keith groaned and threw his head back and to the side in frustration, like the words he needed were just floating around in the air somewhere he couldn’t see, “I was at a show, those get violent pretty often, it’s kind of the thing . It was fine and then someone said something and I jumped into the middle of it all. It’s fine , though, he was just messing around. It’s what we all do.” 

Keith knew that explanation was probably the least satisfying possible, but it was at least a sliver of background without having to give too much away. Or explain that he had been called a faggot for good reason. Or make the bizarre events of the night sound as confusing as they really were to someone who would clearly worry about them, or worse, give him a lecture about it. The pressure in the air made Keith feel like he was going to snap in two.

“Keith,” Takashi said gently, and he looked back at him upon hearing his name, “In my experience, bruises like that don’t happen from someone ‘messing around’ . If someone is trying to seriously hurt you, you tell me now.”

His expression was dark. Keith swallowed and knew his eyes were giving too much away. That had been an order, so Keith followed.

“It’s not serious. He was just proving a point. Lotor is just the type of guy who–”

“Wait,” Takashi put a hand up between them to stop him, “Lotor?”

Keith blinked, his former stress replaced by a new one.

“Uh… Yeah, the guy’s name is Lotor. We have…” Keith had to think for a second, and tapped his fingers on the counter, “Mutual friends.”

“Interesting.” Takashi schooled his face back into a veneer of calm from where he had let it slip.

“What, you know him or something?”

“Something like that.” Takashi flashed him a grin that was all teeth and all mischief. Keith hated having his own words thrown back at him.

Takashi turned over his shoulder to look at where the sun was getting brighter through the front window. It was well on the way to morning now. Keith wondered exactly how long it had been since he slept, and silently thanked God that he didn’t work weekends. Without any sort of warning, Takashi brushed the backs of his knuckles against Keith’s cheek. He had just opened his mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing when Takashi beat him to the punch.

“You’re dry enough to put the helmet back on. I can take you home now, if you want.”

When Takashi rolled the bike to a stop in front of Keith’s apartment, Keith could see Pidge sitting on the ground in front of his door. Keith carefully let go of the man in front of him and stepped off of the bike. To his surprise, Takashi stood up with him.

He took off his helmet and leaned down just slightly so that Keith could hear him better.

“Do not, I repeat, do not poke or prod at those, even if you want to see how they’re healing. They will heal.” Keith nodded compliance. “Wipe them down gently with something damp and clean, emphasis on clean, if they act up.”

Keith pulled off his helmet and tried not to smile.

“Yes sir.”

“And if you see even a glimpse of Lotor’s face, call me with an address.”

Keith did smile, then, and laughed a little at the idea that it might not be a joke. He shoved Takashi on the shoulder playfully, reveling in the way it didn’t move him at all, and tugged on the front of his riding jacket.

“This looks good on you.”
He was delirious, sleep deprived even, giddy off of being taken care of in a way that didn’t hurt.

Takashi plastered a small, strained smile onto his face that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like he’d stapled his own finger on accident, or stepped on a nail. Keith wanted to bang his head on the tail of Takashi’s motorcycle until he bled. Instead, he looked away from the other man’s face and held the spare helmet out to him.

“ Keith?! ”

Keith glanced over at Pidge, who had recognized him now that his head wasn’t covered. He turned back to Takashi when he pushed the helmet gently back towards his chest.

“Keep it,” he said, “just in case.”

Keith nodded and heard Pidge kicking up gravel as they half ran towards the two of them. Before they made it, Takashi was back on his bike and taking off down the street. Keith tapped his characteristic two fingered salute at his back as he watched him disappear.

Pidge gripped him like he was going to float away. He did his best to pat their back with the limited range of movement it put on his arms.

“Nobody knew where you went , Keith. I thought you fucking died . Lance has been calling hospitals for the last hour trying to figure out if you were admitted to any of them.” Pidge smashed their forehead into Keith’s chest, and he noticed that his front door was slightly open.

“Sorry. I didn’t have my phone.”

“We knew that, Keith, that’s why I drove here after Hunk dropped us all off. I was waiting for you to show up all night. You were fucking wasted . And emotional. Which with you is usually even more dangerous let alone the combination of the two. We shouldn’t have let you take off. I don’t know why we let you take off. I thought you became roadkill somewhere on the way between the Basement and here, but I didn’t see anything on the side of the road or anything and–”

“We should probably tell Lance to stop calling hospitals.”

Keith turned and Pidge put a hand out to stop him when he started for his apartment, and grabbed the helmet out of his hand.

“Who the hell was your ride?”

“It’s a long story. Can I please, for the love of God, tell it sitting down?”

Pidge brought another cup of the coffee they had made when they let themself in to Keith where he was sitting curled up on the couch. He accepted it gratefully and held the warm mug against his chest.

“So you realize I don’t believe you and I know you’re shitting me, right? I can tell when you’re shitting me.”
“I’m not shitting you .”

Pidge squinted at him over the rim of their mug as they took a loud slurp of coffee that fogged up their glasses.

“That doesn’t happen to people, Keith.”

“Most things that happen to me don’t happen to people.”

Keith looked over to where he had set Takashi’s spare helmet down on his coffee table. He had had to clear off a spot for it to rest directly on the wood. It felt like an artifact, or a sacred object that didn’t deserve to be added to the junk pile that was Keith’s general living situation. He could see the reflection of the sky outside his window in the shiny black paint of it.

“An insanely attractive man, who–” Pidge stuck a finger in Keith’s face when he opened his mouth to stop him from interrupting, “You didn’t have to say it, Keith, I know how you talk about people– An insanely attractive man who you met at work earlier in the day did not swoop in to save you from being stranded drunk in a field to take you on a joy ride on his fucking motorcycle in the middle of the night, take you back to his place to tend to your wounds like a regular fucking doctor and then drop you off at home like some sort of gentleman.”

Keith just shrugged.

“Well, he did.”

“That doesn’t happen in real life, Keith, that happens in Hallmark movies. Is he going to bring you a puppy next? Is he going to teach you the real meaning of Christmas?”
“Shut the fuck up, Pidge.”
“Are you sure you don’t have a concussion? Did he drug you and do terrible things and you just don’t remember?”
“Shut the fuck up , Pidge.”

Pidge was clearly both confused and concerned. Keith had to admit, his house had been kind of weird, but it hadn’t seemed to be in a I’m-being-nondescript-to-cover-my-crimes way, more of a I’m-severely-depressed-and-never-learned-how-to-decorate way. He sipped his coffee as Pidge sat there sighing and shaking their head. His head had been completely wrapped up in this man since he had first seen him, and now he couldn’t will it to make sense of why or how to explain. He wasn’t like the guys Keith drunkenly thought were good looking or well known enough that it felt good to win them over. He wasn’t like the guys at school who were only interesting because they walked the line of not knowing what they wanted and he felt driven to convince them. He wasn’t playing Keith, which was more terrifying than anything else he could have thought about him. He was a good man. It scared him.

“He’s special, Pidge. He’s nice .” His voice was honest.

Pidge looked up at him at that, and tilted their head before covering their mouth to physically hold in a laugh.

“Oh, Keith, you’re cooked .”

Pidge had their phone on speaker lying on the couch between them when Lance finally picked up. Keith cringed at the realization that his line had probably been busy because he was calling around trying to find him.

“Good news! Keith’s not dead. Bad news: he came back wrong.”

“Wrong-er than usual?” Lance let out a shaky breath that Keith didn’t think he meant to be audible.

“He’s in loooove –” Keith sent Pidge a cutting look and talked himself out of strangling them.

“I’m going to skin you alive.”
Lance started cackling on the other end of the line, sounding just a tad hysterical with the amount of stress he was probably letting out with it.

“You’re fucking next, Lance.”

“You stumble into some weird ritual last night? Did they accidentally manifest a heart inside the cold shell of a man we call Keith?” He was still laughing. Keith didn’t think it was funny. 

Keith had a heart, and he had emotions. He had tons of emotions. Usually the problem was people telling him to stop feeling them, not making fun of him for supposedly not having any. And he did care about people. Sometimes. The fact that he could count them on one hand only made his loyalty to them stronger, in his mind. What’s the point of saying you care about people if there are too many for you to actually do anything about it?

“There’s this thing called friendship, where two men like each other very much and choose to be around each other, you might have heard of it–”

“That’s gay marriage, Keith, you’re describing gay marriage.”

“I’ll be expecting alimony from the three of you, then. Because I’m getting a divorce.”

In the background of Lance’s call, he heard Hunk yell Did Keith just make a joke?

Pidge didn’t get far in their indulgently more gossipy retelling of Keith’s night, interrupted far less frequently than he would have liked by Keith trying to defend himself by setting the story straight against Pidge’s implications, before Hunk couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“You went to a random man’s house with absolutely no way to contact the outside world? And then told him where you live? Keith… ”

“People do that all the time,” Keith said, exasperated, “And I can handle myself.”
“You were drunk off your ass , Keith.”
“And he helped me! He’s nice, and he knows Lotor and–”
“He fucking knows Lotor ?” It was Lance’s turn to yell into the phone, Keith leaned back a little to lessen the assault of the speakerphone, “I’m with Hunk on this one, man, what the hell?”
“It’s not like that ,” Keith gritted his teeth, and rubbed his temples with impatience, “He just knows who he is, I don’t know the details, it’s not like he was sitting there giving me his life story. I’m pretty sure he implied that if I ever saw him again he would jump him.”
“ Chivalrous , but I’m not trusting someone who thinks he needs to kill a man on your behalf. Pretty much everyone who knows you knows you’re capable of that yourself. Seems fishy. He sounds like a dick.”

Keith was quiet for a second and studied his hands like they held the secrets of the universe.

“He doesn’t,” he said softly, “Know me, I mean.”

Nobody said anything for a beat longer than usual, and Keith looked up to see Pidge staring at him. Not sadly, not frustrated, not like he had grown two more heads like they did sometimes– just looking at him, like they were piecing him together, like they were contemplating what he was.

“He’s just a guy. I met him once and we talked for maybe two minutes about the damage on his guitar. He picked me up because he knew he was the only person I could reach. He cleaned my face because he knew how to do it right. He seemed genuinely worried about what had happened. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. He seems like an exceptionally good one. I kind of hate it, now that I think about it.”

And he did, because no matter what it was in Takashi’s eyes that had been burned into his brain, the cold hard truth always remained: good people did not like people like Keith. 

“Besides, it was a one-time thing. Are we done talking about this? I need to sleep.”

Pidge took the hint that he was done carrying the conversation.

“Anyways! Just wanted you to know with solid proof that Keith did in fact make it back to his apartment alive. I’ll talk to you guys later.” They jabbed at the END CALL button on their screen and tossed their phone onto the floor away from the couch like it contained the conversation inside it.

“Listen man, I know last night, the Basement, was… rough.”

Keith looked at them and managed a short laugh.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“That shit was frankly insane, for everyone, and you were the one who bore the brunt of it. I just…” Pidge screwed their mouth together in a strange shape and moved to sit cross legged on the couch, facing sideways to look at Keith straight on. “I’m sorry. For what I said and how I was acting. It wasn’t fair to take everyone’s frustrations out on you, it wasn’t your fault. I know you were just doing what you thought was right. We all just have… different ideas of what that means, sometimes, I think. But I acted like a shitty fucking friend. I’m sorry.”

Keith was taken aback by their apology. They didn’t really do this, as friends. It was more rudeness and blunt understanding and silent forgiveness and moving on. This was kind of them, but Keith didn’t care about apologies, they meant nothing to him, and this mostly made him worry about how big of a deal the situation had been to Pidge, and if there was some sort of implication or importance to it all that he hadn’t picked up on.

“You’re fine, don’t sweat it.”

Pidge looked up at him from wringing their hands, they had been crying.

“I thought you were dead , man.”

Keith leaned forward to pull Pidge into a hug before they started crying again. He had never been good at comforting people, but he knew Pidge, they just needed to be heard.

“I have a bad fucking feeling, Keith,” Pidge started as they pulled away and straightened their glasses after wiping them off. They looked up at him, “The shit with Lotor… I worry that things aren’t ever going to be the same.”

“We’ll figure it out. If Allura was legally allowed to own a gun he’d probably be dead by now.” He tried to joke. He knew what they meant. He felt the same way.

“You didn’t see how everyone was watching you two, Keith, it was like they were animals.”

“Maybe we should convert the Basement into a gladiator ring on off days.” Deflection again. He was terrified of what they meant by that. He had spent the last year and, honestly, most of the time before that, being torn to shreds by these people. The only thing keeping them in line had been Keith’s unwavering ability to kick their asses if provoked. He had never lost a fight, not really, and he had never lost a fight when it had barely even begun. Even if everyone had known how impossibly fast and strong his opponent had been, it didn’t matter. It all meant nothing now.

Pidge refused to leave him alone, even though he was going to bed, on the grounds that he had “made them feel the need to play babysitter slash security guard”, so he piled spare blankets on the couch for them. They were passed out by the time Keith finally made it to the sweet, sweet sanctuary that was his bed. He figured if he could start his own religion, he would focus on the holiness and sanctity of the large, comfortable nest where you were left alone and free from the horrors of the world for a couple hours. Red peeked out from one of the spots she frequented, the tiny space between the bottom of his bedside table and the floor, and eyed him suspiciously before tucking back in where she was hidden.

“You probably didn’t even notice I was gone, did you.” He knew this was stupid, it wasn’t like he didn’t leave for long periods of time semi-regularly, but that wasn’t the point. She was a dumpster cat. She was more adaptable and stronger than him.

Keith woke up with a start when he habitually rolled onto his side in his sleep, pressing a significant amount of weight onto the bandaged side of his face. He sucked in hard through his teeth and let the breath out in a quiet and drawn out Shit . It was dark. The neighborhood was eerily quiet for a Saturday night, and the apartment was quiet too. He stepped quietly into the main room of his apartment and saw Pidge on the floor, with a hand in their hair, drowning in their phone. They looked up at him when he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“You are so lucky you never use social media.”

Keith groaned, not even wanting to know what was going on this time. (There was always something. The three of his friends seemed to go through a soap opera’s worth of drama in a day just through what they could discern from what people were posting.) He padded into the kitchenette and started making coffee, then pulled a beer out of the fridge that he worked on while it was brewing.

“You’ve become quite the celebrity,” Pidge called from where they were on the floor a few feet away, “ Please check your instagram. Just this once. For me.”

“Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

Pidge rolled onto one arm to stroke their chin like it was one of the most nuanced and complex things they had ever considered.

“Probably good thing, but knowing you, bad thing.”

“That doesn’t really help, Pidge.”
“You don’t usually like good things!”

Keith waved his hand dismissively and turned back toward the coffee maker, pouring himself a mug the second there was enough. The fizzle of the still brewing coffee hitting the bottom of the machine made Pidge look up.

“ Please check it.”

“I will if you get me my phone back.”

“Done deal.”

Keith shoved his half empty bottle back into the fridge, took a couple gulps of coffee, then yanked the door open a little harder than was necessary and finished off the rest of it. He felt like his brain was a knot of frayed wires. 

He topped off his mug and brought it with him to the bathroom. Flicking the lights on nearly made him keel over. He steadied himself on the counter and tried to steer his mind away from self deprication. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, and became useful instead of just the vessels for two pounding aches in his skull, he tentatively tried the edge of one of the bandages on his face. Takashi hadn’t been entirely clear with his instructions, but he struck Keith as someone who told you what he thought you needed to know, nothing more and nothing less. He knew enough about wound care himself that these needed to air out at some point.

He peeled off the bandages covering what he deemed the most healed. In the light, not too much of it looked very serious, it was mostly the sheer number of tiny cuts and the giant bruise that made it seem gnarly. His scrapes had already mostly healed, but he had always healed fast, and the bruise was changing color in a way that made it less obvious it was a shoe print and more like a blob. He made a careful point not to touch any of his skin, and pulled his hair out of his face with a headband so nothing would get caught in the remnants of ointment.

When he came out of the bathroom, Pidge already had their shoes on, and were swinging around the massive amalgamation they called their keys even though it was mostly keychains.

“You are not going to Allura’s looking like that ,” Pidge started, sending a weighty look at his oversized and bleach-stained godzilla shirt and sparkly purple headband.

“I’m not going to Allura’s,” then, “God forbid a man wear pajamas.”

“She’s going to want to see you, she’ll probably freak if you send me to go get your phone for you. She’ll think you’re completely maimed or something.”

“It’s Saturday night, I am not going to the Basement. And in case you forgot, I have a giant fucking shoe print bruise on my face reminding myself and everyone else of why I don’t really ever want to show my face there again.”

They stared at each other in silence, both trying to bend the other to their will. Keith tried to run through the worst that could actually happen if someone saw him. No one would start something with yesterday so fresh in everyone’s mind. Everyone knew he got his ass handed to him and his face fucked up. Many people saw it up close and personal last night. He decided that, logically, who cares if people see it again. 

“Fine,” Keith finally relented, “But you owe me a favor.”
“This is a favor.”
“Then you owe me another one.”

When Pidge parked their green Kia Soul, lovingly (or not) referred to as “The Cube”, on the grass directly in front of Allura’s house, instead of in the field with the rest of the cars, Keith’s stomach dropped, but they assured him it was in case of a “getaway car type situation” arising. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he had squeezed on under his jacket over his head and tried to run up the stairs to the front door as quickly as possible, but not before he spotted Antok and Kolivan’s cars. The trailer was nowhere to be seen, so they weren’t playing without him, but the idea of them coming just to socialize seemed foreign to him. No one was playing tonight, just a soundsystem and a congregation of bodies, and they were older than most of the people who came to these things and weren’t keen on getting drunk with them. They were heavily music oriented, at least in the scene.

Pidge walked in first, and Keith peeked over them to see that the room was fairly empty. As they walked through, Keith spotted one or two familiar faces and waved a hello, before following Pidge as they beelined for the kitchen. The noise coming from the door down into the basement was muted but still deafening. Allura turned around when they walked in, having been assessing the contents of her fridge, and went straight for Keith.

“Oh, Keith… I–” She went in to grab him and Keith stepped back before putting his hand palm-up between them.

“No lecture. Phone.”

Allura scowled disapprovingly but relented, producing his phone, with a couple new cracks and scuffs, from one of her many pockets and dropping it into his hand.

“Thank you.”

“How is the healing going?”
Keith knew she meant the physical and emotional. A twisted part of him hoped she felt a little guilty for ripping into him the night before.

“Fine.”

“Oh man , Allura, there is so much you missed in the last twenty four hours.”

“ Pidge ,” Keith warned.

“Keith’s been having his special little princess adventure.” 

The statement sounded so unbearably stupid that it made him even more mad. Keith thought about ripping his own head off his shoulders and throwing it at Pidge. Then about ripping Pidge’s head off their shoulders. Then Allura’s just for good measure.

“I’m not a fucking princess.”

“Tell that to your knight in motorcycle armor.”

Keith was not about to hit Pidge over this, so he spun aggressively on his heel and stalked toward the main room. He did, unfortunately, have a tendency to seal his own fate with defensiveness.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, with a couple people littered on the floor or on the couch, all absorbed in their own conversations, until he realized he was acting weird again. He shoved the front door open and dug his pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. His hand brushed a piece of paper when fishing for his lighter, and he got his cigarette lit before going back for it. The only piece of paper he had was Takashi’s information from work, and that was in his jeans. He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a sticky note that had been neatly folded in half, crumpled from trying to survive in Keith’s pocket, written across it in rushed handwriting was an address.

“What the hell…”

He figured he must have picked it up while he was drunk, or been handed it by someone who was more drunk, and simply forgotten. But still, out of curiosity, he pulled out his phone and typed it into the map.

When the satellite image wasn’t helpful enough, he tried to pull up a street view. His first instinct was that it looked like Takashi’s house, before he remembered that all of the houses in that neighborhood looked the same, and the houses in that neighborhood looked almost identical to the other neighborhoods.

He was pulled out of unraveling the internal conflict of whether or not he only thought that because he wanted it to be Takashi’s address, because he heard his bandmates fighting.

They did not fight, almost as a rule except it didn’t need to be enforced. The extension of their oneness ran through almost everything that came up when they were together. Even when they disagreed, Keith had never seen them fighting, they had a tendency to talk it out and genuinely decide who was right.

“I said I’m out , I’m quitting , you don’t know what’s on the line!”

Keith turned his head, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. It seemed like they must be standing behind Kolivan’s truck where it was parked in the field. It was Thace’s voice.

He still didn’t understand what had caused him to act out and leave when Lotor had been causing a scene. He figured it was just frustration with the interruption and the pettiness of it all, but it was still out of character for him. What he was hearing now made him wonder if that nagging fear in the back of his head was true, that there was something else going on, and he was just being used as bait.

“We all know what’s on the line!”

Keith had never heard Kolivan yell. It almost scared him.

“You know what they did to him, he just got out! What do you think they’ll do when it’s us!”

Keith hoped to God whatever they were talking about was completely unrelated to the cocaine he had been acquiring for all of them. 

“Thace, you have to tell us what’s going on. Think about what you’re doing.”

Keith stood up and walked as confidently as he could towards the truck, even though navigating a field in almost complete darkness never did anyone’s image any favors. When he made the turn around the truck bed, the Blades were standing farther apart than he had ever seen.

“This doesn’t involve you, Keith.”

That stung.

“I think it does.”

Thace looked wildly between all of them. He looked angry, but Keith could smell fear on him.

“I said I’m out .”

He turned and headed presumably towards his car. There was definitely something wrong. Keith hated being right.

The Blades went their separate ways after that, upon some wordless agreement, and Keith made his way back to the house. He leaned against the side of Pidge’s car in the front until they came outside, with Allura in tow.

“I’ll come by to pick up my gear soon, it doesn’t fit in Pidge’s car.”

Allura stepped closer to him, and put a hand on his arm.

“Keith–” he looked up at her in what was a decidedly unkind way, “Just… be safe.”

He slid his hand along the hood of the car as he swung around towards the passenger door.

“Try my best.”

“I’m redeeming that favor now.”
Pidge quirked an eyebrow at him from where they had been juggling watching the road and fiddling with the radio. They had only been on the road for a minute or two, most of which was filled with Pidge trying to convince him to finally check his phone and Keith standing firm that he didn’t feel like it yet. They sighed, small and more for show than out of genuine annoyance.

“Lay it on me, Keith, what is it.”
Keith realized he had been vague enough that they probably thought it was something that would constitute a big deal. He waved a hand at them as if to quell their fears.

“Just take me by Sal’s on the way, will you?”

Pidge seemed surprised but nodded agreement. They made the turn downtown when the road split and forked in the other direction toward their house. 

“It’s after hours, are we returning or borrowing? You didn’t bring anything with you.”
Pidge and Keith (and sometimes Hunk) had been “borrowing” various things from Keith’s workplace to remedy lost, broken, or forgotten equipment at either the Basement or the larger venue in town. More than once Keith had justified taking something he had simply wanted to try out, but his moral code didn’t allow for it often. It was a good thing Sal never checked his security footage, because one look at it and Keith would be, at best, thrown back into the job market, and at worst, drowned in fines.

“Neither,” Keith said plainly, “I just feel like some overtime, I guess.”

Pidge pulled through the back parking lot and stopped their car against the back delivery doors of the store, pulling the parking brake but leaving the engine running.

“I’m not sitting here while you work on your day off.”

Keith already had his seatbelt off and his door open. He waved his hand to say don’t worry and rummaged through his pockets for the spare key to the door.

“It’ll just be a second.”

Takashi’s guitar was resting in its case on the countertop of Keith’s workbench right where he had left it. He put his hands out towards it to pick it up, but stopped and smoothed a hand delicately over the length of the case. He let his palm rest on top of it at the end. His heart was pounding in his ears. It was Takashi’s . He felt like Gollum with the Ring. Keith wondered idly if he was going insane.

Keith laid the case down gently in Pidge’s backseat like it was a newborn, or made entirely from thin glass. He didn’t miss the questioning look they shot him as he slid back into his seat and slammed the door, propping his feet up on the edge of his carseat to tuck his knees against his chest.

“I thought you said you weren’t borrowing?”

“It’s not a sale guitar, it’s one of my projects.”

Keith knew fixing Takashi’s guitar was going to be a matter of gentle cleaning, realignment, and wood glue. He had cloths and glue and two vises at his apartment, he could probably throw together shims from some of the scrap wood in his closet, and could refinish it back at the shop when it was cured. He hoped the project would keep him distracted in his upcoming self-imposed isolation, but truthfully, somewhere deep in his chest he felt feverish at the idea of not having it with him.

“Let’s go,” he said before they could question him, “Can we watch Saw or something?”

“Which one?”
“Your pick.” Pidge grinned at that, and peeled out of the parking lot faster than a conspicuously colored Kia Soul probably should.

Keith and Pidge sat on the floor of the Nest, both cocooned in blankets. Pidge had decided to watch as many of the movies as they could get through, starting with the first, and they were making their way through the third. They sat in comfortable silence as they often did. Pidge didn’t expect Keith to bend over backwards trying to come up with an appropriate thing to comment on and the words he should use for that comment and trying to say it at the right time. Keith didn’t expect Pidge to try and make conversation when their brain was going a mile a minute thinking about the movie to themself. It was a calm silence with nothing to prove. 

Keith’s mind kept wandering, losing focus on the movie and drifting somewhere else. He exhausted himself with the thoughts running rampant in his head, none of them clear enough to articulate, even to himself. He felt like his brain was the sea ebbing around him and he was trying to catch specific handfuls of water. The events of the last day or so left him worn out and confused. He was tired beyond being angry, he felt like he just couldn’t think, and he was sick of trying to wrap his head around what had happened and what it all meant. He gave in without meaning to and fell asleep propped against a bean bag on Pidge’s floor.

He woke up having fallen to the side in his sleep, with a pillow vaguely underneath him and another blanket thrown over him and most of his head. The sun was high enough that he knew it was late morning, and he could hear Pidge, Hunk, and Lance laughing over a comment one of them made about whatever they were watching. He tipped himself back up and pulled the blanket off of his head.

“Morning, Aurora, get your beauty sleep?” Lance getting smacked on the back of the head was a sound as familiar to Keith as the door of Sal’s.

“I thought for sure you were gonna wake up when Lance ripped horrendous ass a couple minutes ago.” Pidge and Hunk devolved into a fit of giggles and Lance was lost for words trying to defend himself.

Keith scooted across the floor to sit with them and Pidge wordlessly handed him a water bottle. He took it, and leaned forward to get a look at the computer screen in front of them.

“What I miss?”

“Oh, you know,” Hunk started and barely stopped himself from laughing at the thought of whatever had been said before, “Just talking about the crazy torture they probably put this guy through, he’s hilarious.”

“ Seriously? ” Keith asked but his friends just started giggling again, “That’s not even funny.”

“Human 101 lesson two thousand seventy-six, Kogane,” Lance sat up straight and gestured in what had to be an impression of one of the psychology professors he hated, “The fact that he was totally probably tortured is not the joke.” Keith rolled his eyes. He hated that he could never tell when they were serious. He comforted himself by assuming they were probably all high.

“Here, you just have to watch it man,” Hunk said as Pidge was already scrubbing back through the video, “I think Pidge said ‘forced to watch videos of kittens badly edited to be burning to death until he forgot what a dog was’ .”

Keith didn’t have time to unpack to them how that wasn’t even funny, either, because when Pidge hit play on the video, his heart stopped.

The man was Takashi. It had to be. There was no way it was anyone else. His mind reeled.

His friends started laughing again, and he threw his hand up to shush them and leaned closer, trying to listen to what the man was saying. It was a professional video. Grey backdrop. Man in uniform with flags behind him. No microphone, no podium. It was shot head on at a distance that felt strange, not a closeup but not very far away, either. Statement video. He was answering questions but there was no interviewer.

He was talking like he was terrified.

Maybe Takashi had an identical twin, with the same haircut and the same build and–

“Some branch of the like… airforce or something released it this morning. From what I could figure out on Reddit, this guy was trying to expose the government for covering up contact with aliens, but most of the info from before this was released has mostly been wiped, and copies are getting taken down fast. Kind of suspicious.” Pidge adjusted their glasses like they did when they were thinking out loud but knew they were right. “Hard to find any of it in the first place, everything he said was apparently years ago and no one really gave a shit because he was just another guy on the internet talking about aliens, so it’s kind of random that they’d release this now. Probably a distraction for the masses. Plus , he’s a total dunce. Hard to take him seriously.”

“In my day, I’ve come across many truthers I believe,” Lance was still doing whatever impression he was trying to do, “Not this guy, though. Can’t even keep his story straight.”

“Honest opinion, torture jokes aside, I think the government is just covering their bases again. As much as I’d like his original story to be true. But that’s not the point.”

Maybe there was a man who looked exactly like Takashi and had the same even tone of voice–

–Not in a clear mental state after the crash.

“So do you agree with the burning kittens? Watching failed satisfying videos was also on the table.”

–oxygen-deprivation induced hallucinations.

Were they stupid?

Keith shot a hand out to pause the video. He had a thousand things to say, and he couldn’t say any of them. His brain was spinning out in his skull. He had a thousand things he wanted to do, and he couldn’t do any of them. He thought of the guitar in Pidge’s backseat.

“Were you guys replaced with idiots while I was asleep?” When his friends just blinked back at him, he continued, “I believe him.”

He could tell Lance was trying to say something about it not being that serious, but Pidge cut him off.

“What’s your read on it?” They were always willing to play in his space with him until they understood whatever it was he was on about. The problem was, “because I know him” wasn’t an appropriate response in this situation.

“First off, body language. He’s clearly nervous. I think you guys were probably right, he’s definitely been threatened. Tortured, though, not sure. He’s jumpy and trying to hide it, but it’s hard to tell what could be causing that. Especially if he’s military.”
Lance groaned, “ I’m supposed to be the psychology student. I thought we were joking.”

“Also, doesn’t the government always make people seem like they were just crazy or dangerous when they start saying things they don’t want? It’s a classic move. Listen to what he’s saying, guys, they’re making him admit to hallucinating it all. They could have easily refuted it without making him film a statement.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, chewing on his lip and thinking.

“Keith, all due respect and all, but didn’t your mom think she was an alien for like… most of your life? Don’t know if I wanna take your word on this one. Hereditary predispositions and all.” 

“I’m not fucking delusional, Lance, that was completely different.”

“It wasn’t that different the last hundred times you and Pidge were obsessively trying to figure out if aliens were real or not. Just saying. You get that weird look in your eye, man.”

Keith knew how he got sometimes, but the “weird look in his eye” wasn’t because he believed and was desperate for proof, it was because he was desperate for a single truth from his mother. Most of what he had been told was true was tainted by her own inability to tell what was or wasn’t. A thousand doctors had consoled him over it a thousand times after the first time she had been taken from him.

Keith glared at Lance, and they sat in silence for a moment before Hunk spoke up.

“Keith might be right, that makes a whole lot of sense,” he let out a tiny, apologetic laugh, “Sorry for joking about your torture, Captain Shirogane.”

Hearing Takashi’s name out loud, the only time since he’d introduced himself, pulled Keith out of the mental rabbit hole he was falling into. He remembered the folded sticky note in his pocket and fished it out.

“Hey Pidge, could you figure something out for me?”

“When have I ever turned that down?” Pidge scrunched their nose, “Wait, nevermind, I am never ever helping you figure out patch placement on your jacket. Never again.”

Keith rolled his eyes and handed them the note.

“Could you find out who lives here?”

“Keith, you have the internet, that’s like one of the easiest things you can do on it.” Pidge gave the note a cursory glance before navigating to some website that looked an awful lot like the kind that had forced Keith to spend an embarrassing amount of time scrubbing viruses out of his computer in high school. After poking around for a minute, Pidge frowned and turned back to Keith.

“Owned by the government, probably repossession or something, thoroughly uninteresting,” then, after a brief pause that signaled thought, “Where’d you get this?”

Keith shrugged. “I dunno. Found it in my pocket yesterday.” Pidge squinted and handed the note back, they were onto him.

“And you didn’t bring it up until just now? That’s a weird thing to find in your pocket.”

“Kind of slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Sure.”
Keith knew he had fucked up, Pidge was not going to just forget this. He cursed himself for not thinking to search the address on something other than his map when he first found it. He stood up and his blanket fell to the floor around his feet.

“I totally have to go feed Red, she gets super pissy if I mess with her schedule.”

“Pissier than usual?” Lance laughed, but Pidge just narrowed their stare.

“Drive safe, man,” Hunk waved and Keith scooped his keys off of Pidge’s counter where he had left them Friday before the show.

“Thanks, Hunk.”

He pulled the guitar case out of Pidge’s unlocked car and set it upright on the floor of his passenger seat. His thoughts went in circles on the drive home. He couldn’t call Takashi, it would be too weird to contact him again before his project was finished, and he wasn’t in the habit of becoming a charity case. Now, knowing that the military had released a video of him this morning, he doubted Takashi was going to be picking up any calls, anyway. He had already wanted to see him again, he’d nearly gone crazy with the need to be around him, but now he wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Rather, he wanted Takashi to offer up the answers, without interrogation. He wanted to know him. He wanted to help him. He wanted to help him back .

He had to fix that guitar.

Chapter Text

Keith watched the glue dry like he could will it to go faster with his mind. He wished, in these types of situations, that he could use heat or air or the sun or anything to speed up the process, but that would only cause more problems. He sometimes wondered how he so immensely enjoyed a job that was so foundationally contradictory to his character, but it was just like playing. Patience and discipline made it work, and it was fun to challenge himself. 

Speaking of patience, he felt stupid now for taking the guitar home when he was supposed to work the next day, and didn’t want to risk transporting it back to Sal’s when it was still curing. He knew he would have other things to work on at the shop, but this seemed too important. The curing process meant it would have to stay at his apartment Monday. A photo of his facial injuries, sent to Sal, and earning a simple response (Jesus Christ, Kogane) meant he was staying at his apartment, too.

Having finished the meticulous part of the work, Keith stood up and turned off most of the lights in his small apartment– a watched pot, or whatever. He stood in the kitchen with his arms crossed, trying to will himself to make something to eat and to stop looking over his shoulder at the guitar, which was not drying any faster than it had been a second ago and was not going to be done any time soon. Keith groaned and kicked lightly at the cabinet in front of him. He wished he could rinse his brain with cold water.

He settled for warming up a can of tomato soup, knowing it was infinitely reheatable and would stay stable in texture for as long as he needed it to, and redownloaded instagram onto his phone. He was well aware at this point in his life that sometimes the best distractions were the worst ones.

Immediately upon logging into his account, he was greeted with the notification that there were a little over 800 people who had followed him. He thought about blocking them all, but decided it would take too much time. Instead, he looked through what the app was dead set on bringing to his attention: a vast collection of pictures and videos of him, most of them with Lotor, at the most recent show, with his account tagged (sometimes on his face, sometimes on his crotch, which he thought was incredibly distasteful all things considered). There had only been so many people at the show, and only so many who would have been standing where they could capture it like this. 

Traitors, all of them.

Most of the attention seemed to be from one specific post, from an account that seemed to mainly post pictures of people getting the shit beat out of them in various colorfully lit basements. Keith cringed. He scrolled through the photos he was tagged in, trying to remove them all from his profile, which was completely blank except for one picture (Red when he first took her home, which Pidge had posted, so he didn’t even take responsibility for that), and the now ever-increasing mass of photos of him looking like a rabid animal in the pit with Lotor. Right as he had finally cleared them all away, there was another. A meme, with a flash photo of him right after he had fallen back on his hands, face bleeding and shoe print the bright red color of a fresh impact, glaring up at Lotor out of frame like he could chew through him if he tried. #REALHARDCORE was plastered across the top of it. He thought it was funny, and he thought he looked hard as hell, so he let it stay.

He screenshotted it and sent it to the group chat with Pidge, Lance, and Hunk, and finished off the rest of his soup.

The next morning was not any easier to trudge through, even though he usually loved his personal leisure time and fucking around. Waiting for the guitar to be done felt like waiting for a bomb to go off. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do when it did.

The idea of showing up to his workplace as a customer on a day he was supposed to work was exactly the kind of masochistically thrilling thing he was prone to doing when he was in his head like this, so he got into his car without giving it a second thought and cranked his radio as loud as it would go.

Sal’s reaction when he came through the door was immediate, but Keith was prepared.

“I told you to stay home. You look like shit and you’re late as hell anyways.”

“I just need my finish,” Keith started as he made his way to his workstation behind the counter, “ Then I’ll stay home.” He grabbed a box of supplies and turned back to walk out, but Sal was staring at him in a way that meant this was going to be one of those times when he tried to be a mentor, instead of just an inebriated boss.

“For the fancy old thing?”
“Yeah?” Keith tilted his head, and Sal furrowed his brow.

“Don’t risk it. Not old finish like that. Fix the crack, leave the finish.” 

“But–”
“Trust me, Keith, it’ll turn out like shit,” he crossed his arms when Keith started to look offended, “It’s not about your ability. Trust me, it’ll be fine. Just leave it alone. Don’t make a bigger mess than you started with trying to fix it.”

Keith left without the finish and thinking about all the messes he had made infinitely bigger in his life.

When it hit 1:30, the glue had had it’s 24 hours to cure. Keith was on his floor, crouched with his face right up to where the crack had run, trying to determine what Takashi’s opinion on what would probably appear as a clearly unfinished repair job would be. He figured if he doubted Keith’s choices, he could always fall back on saying it was Sal’s advice, but he hated doing that. Claiming you were just listening to someone else was a flimsy excuse for avoiding responsibility for your mistakes.

Keith said fuck it quietly to himself before checking the tuning and carefully putting the guitar back into it’s case. Once it was secured and settled on the couch, he started relocating the former contents of his coffee table from where they had been moved to the floor surrounding it. He left Takashi’s helmet where he had set it on a shelf by the door. He’d become accustomed to looking at it every time he came and went from his apartment. He thought it was supposed to take twenty one days to form a habit, not two.

He grabbed the scrap of paper with Takashi’s number from where he had pinned it to the fridge with a paw print magnet and punched it into his phone.

“We are sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”

Keith pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it quizzically, before hanging up and dialing it again, double checking the digits this time.

“We are sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been di–”

He hadn’t panicked the first time, and desperately tried to stop himself from panicking now, even as his thoughts immediately raced through all of the horrible things that could have led to this.

“We are sorry, the number you are–”

Keith missed having a phone he could slam. Hitting a button on a smooth screen was far less satisfying.

Keith fought the nervousness that was threatening to choke him. In any other situation, he would have been more annoyed than worried. Having a customer who was nearly impossible to get in touch with happened often. He was paranoid by nature, though, and intuitive to a fault. It was too big of a coincidence that Takashi’s phone, that he rushed to answer in the dead hours of the early morning, had been disconnected the day after the government had released a video of him. Keith had barely thought out a plan before he was in his car with Takashi’s guitar case nestled against the seat next to him.

Keith pulled his car along the curb two houses down from the address he was staring at on the sticky note, making sure he had the right house in the sea of nearly identical houses. His giant, bright red car didn’t exactly scream inconspicuous . But then again, neither did he.

Keith wasn’t thinking, but his feet were moving. He was so lost in his head by the time he made it to the garage door of the house that he realized, even if this was Takashi’s house, he didn’t know the code he had used to open the door. His gaze raked the rest of the building for any other possibilities.

Years of being himself had made Keith more than a little practiced at climbing in and out of windows. He skirted along the side of the house, spotting what was most likely to be the bathroom window by the frosted glass, and started wiggling the sliding pane up and down as he pushed it to the side. Years of being himself had also made Keith realize that bathroom windows were, on average, the least secure. He hoisted himself up and through the small opening easily and carefully maneuvered himself to stand on the floor. He figured his best bet was to unlock the front door, so he could simply carry the guitar in, and he could guess how to get there from the bathroom he entered through based on the layout of the house from the outside. He paused just inside the bathroom door for a second and listened. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Keith couldn’t decide if that was good or bad, only that he had to investigate it himself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was unmistakably Takashi’s house. The phone had been removed from the wall and laid dismantled on the counter in a methodical array of pieces.

Keith was reaching for the deadbolt on the front door when someone grabbed his arm and twisted it backwards behind him, pulling him away from the door and holding him still.

“Keith?” Then, “Did you just break into my fucking house?”

Keith couldn’t help himself, and hearing Takashi say his name made his veins buzz in a way that had him feeling unstoppable.

“Something like that.”

Takashi released his death grip on Keith’s arm, but held firm to his wrist to pull him further away from the door. Keith rubbed his shoulder and tried to figure out how to explain that he had, in fact, broken into his house to return his guitar in response to his phone having been disconnected. In hindsight, it probably seemed not only a deeply illogical train of thought, but a concerning one. Takashi started talking before Keith had to.

“I don’t use the front door,” he gestured vaguely towards the top door frame, “sensors.”

Keith started down his usual what is his deal train of thought before remembering that the man in front of him was likely in deep shit with at least one part of the government. 

“Your phone was disconnected.”

Takashi looked at where it was disassembled on the counter and drew Keith’s attention back to it with a jerk of his head.

“Yeah.”

Keith’s gaze flitted around uncomfortably, the situation was incredibly awkward and not at all what Keith had expected.

“I uh…” Keith’s voice trailed off, I was worried about you wasn’t something he could say in this situation, and he was trying to put off sharing that he had seen the statement video for as long as he could without it weighing too heavily on his conscience, “I finished fixing it. Your guitar.”

Takashi’s face twitched like it was trying to smile, and he could have sworn he heard the ghost of a laugh.

“You broke into my house to tell me that?”
“Seemed reasonable.”

He hadn’t brought up how Keith had found his house, which he assumed meant he had been the one to stick his address in Keith’s pocket. But there were too many parts of it that didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t he brought it up? Why had he done it in the first place? How had he managed to sneak something into his pocket when Keith had been uncomfortably over-aware almost the entire time they had been near each other?

“Don’t make it a habit,” Takashi said, his voice slowly losing some of the tightness that had been there, “You’re going to give the neighborhood burglars ideas.”

The unspoken words between them: How did you get in without me noticing? And How did you sneak up on me without me noticing?

“They’d be wasting their time,” Keith waved a hand in the air dismissively, “Nothing to steal.”

“I’ll have you know I have two mugs, there’s plenty to steal.” Suddenly, the way his friends reacted when he made a joke made complete sense to him. Furthermore, he had been right, he was a one-of-each-utensil person. Takashi moved the conversation forward before Keith was done thinking about him.

“Are you just playing messenger or did you bring it with you?”

Keith let out a playful sharp breath through his nose, “You know me too well.”

Keith pulled his Jeep along the sidewalk and stopped it in front of where Takashi was standing. He put it in park and got out while Takashi collected his guitar case from the passenger seat. When they stood inside the garage door, waiting for it to close, Takashi tilted his head quizzically while checking the progress of Keith’s facial injuries from a safe distance.

“You’re healing up well.”

“Yeah,” Keith knew the conversation was awkward, but couldn’t bring himself to feel it, “Thanks for that.”

“Do you normally heal fast?”

“Yeah, crazy fast.”

“Interesting.”

It was only the second time, but Keith hated when Takashi said that in response, making it painfully obvious that he was thinking something and keeping it a secret. It made him want to shove him and make him admit what was going on in his head. His plans of interrogatory violence were interrupted by Takashi’s firm hand on his chin again. He tilted the other man’s head to the side and inspected it more closely. The soft power of his grip made Keith’s head swim just like it had the first time.

“Most of your scabs are gone already.”
“I guess, I haven’t really checked it recently,” Keith wanted the conversation to be over and to go back inside so he could get the reveal of his repair over with, but he didn’t want Takashi’s hand to let go of him prematurely, “Think it needs any touchups?”

It took Takashi a couple beats to silently shake his head. He kept his fingers curled around Keith’s chin and stared. From the look on his face, Keith couldn’t tell if his head was working overtime or not at all. Keith thought he was going to pass out and focused on the feeling of his boots pressing into the floor.

Takashi blinked and snapped out of whatever had come over him. When he lifted the guitar case and turned away to head for the door, Keith stayed stuck where he was and stared after him. He wished, for the thousandth time in the last few days, that he knew what the fuck was going on. Keith watched Takashi’s shoulders work as he opened the door before heading after him.

By the time Keith was pushing the door to the garage closed, Takashi was already sat on the floor of the living room with his guitar case lying in front of him. He looked up at Keith as he moved to stand next to him.

“Care to do the honors?”

Keith panicked trying to figure out if he should sit down across from Takashi or next to him, and settled on kneeling facing the man from beside him. He leaned forward to undo the latches and pushed the top of the case open.

“Oh, wow ,” Takashi’s tone was decidedly impressed, not disappointed like Keith had imagined a thousand times during the repair process. Keith gently took the guitar from its case and presented it to Takashi like a sword. The man laughed just barely, more of a surprised breathy sound than something that would traditionally pass for laughing.

“You can hardly tell it was ever even there!”

Keith knew that was a lie, but decided to believe maybe it wasn’t glaringly obvious to the untrained eye, and not that he was just trying to be nice. He pushed it towards Takashi encouragingly and grinned. It was all teeth and challenge.
“So, you gonna take her for a spin?” When Takashi looked shyly to the side (before that moment, Keith hadn’t thought he was capable of looking shy), Keith only pressed further until he gently lifted the guitar from his hands, “I’m expecting to be serenaded, by the way.”

Takashi did laugh at that, short and to the point like most things about him, and Keith leaned out of the way of the neck as Takashi settled into position.

“Well keep your expectations low.” 

He strummed a loud and crisp G chord before quickly muting the strings with his palm, and flashed Keith a playful smile.

“Sounds great, thank you Keith.”

Keith groaned and moved his legs to sit cross-legged and hold his ankles. He all but rolled his eyes and sent Takashi a humorously scathing look, smiling through his glare as he looked up at him. 

“No,” Keith’s voice was firm, “ Seriously play it. Don’t mess around with me.” 

Takashi turned his head down and hovered his hands over the strings, focusing. Keith was obsessed with the look in his eyes, sharp and strong and fiery. He nearly forgot to breathe. Then Takashi started carefully plucking out what Keith immediately recognized as An Angry Blade , and he did forget.

After getting through the intro, Takashi’s eyes flitted up to Keith, looking for approval or encouragement that Keith didn’t feel worthy to have sought from him. Whatever he saw must have been what he wanted, because the corners of his lips quirked up in a private smile and he started humming the vocals along as he played.

Keith was completely, utterly entranced by the man on the floor in front of him. The way his hands moved carefully and purposefully along the strings, all the gentle force he knew they were capable of reined in to create something. He traced the curve of the back of his neck with his soft stare, the continuation of it down to the shape of his shoulders, back up again to the way the long part of his hair moved gently with the movement of his arms. The way his eyes narrowed slightly as he relaxed, the way his mouth pressed together as he hummed, slowly giving way to singing softly as he shed his shyness. Nothing else in the room was visible to Keith and what he was seeing had a grip on him that had him glued to the floor, catching himself from subconsciously leaning closer. Pidge had been right, he was also completely, utterly cooked.

Keith remembered the disassembled phone on the counter behind them and the statement video he had seen the day before. As he watched the man in front of him play, the two Takashis, partially conflicting, that existed in his mind slowly started to stitch together. He made sense, all of him, somehow. He was a man wholly dedicated to everything he did. Keith needed to know everything about him, see every private expression he made for himself. He felt like he was drowning in his desperation for it.

He hadn’t realized that Takashi had stopped playing, only that he was now staring at him as they sat in silence and Takashi had looked up to stare back. The look in his eyes wasn’t the same one that had been there earlier, when he was looking at him in the garage. This look was one that knew what it meant.

Takashi didn’t question him, just smiled and asked, “Meet your expectations?”

Keith didn’t know how to communicate what he was thinking. He didn’t know if he wanted to communicate what he was thinking. Not used to feeling this emotion and not knowing how to handle it, he picked a middle ground between kissing him and hitting him square in the face.

“Yeah.”

Takashi smiled and Keith nearly had to hold himself up. He imagined what it would be like to jump off the ledge of the Grand Canyon. 

“I didn’t realize you could, like, play .” He had obviously known that he was capable of playing the instrument, and he realized that he hadn’t at all said what he had meant. Between the sentimental old guitar, the questions of it having been in storage for years, and the general impression he had gotten of Takashi when they first met, he had expected about the same level of commitment and ability as Keith had been subjected to by what had to be hundreds of guys, in hundreds of houses, (and more often than not: in the main room of his workplace)  who “played guitar” and made it everyone else’s problem. Keith gestured vaguely with his hands like that would clarify what he meant, but Takashi caught his drift.

“Ha, me neither.” Takashi’s tone was bashful, almost, like he was nervously humble. Keith felt wired with power. He was aware Takashi hadn’t done anything crazy, but his display of clear talent held in check was only adding to the ocean of a thousand things about Takashi that made Keith’s heart clench and stutter in his chest. He was like the ever-expanding void that surrounded them on their little planet, and the only part that was visible was contained in the sky above the horizon where you happened to stand. Being an astronaut never seemed so thrilling. 

Takashi let him wrestle with the thoughts drowning him, content to sit in silence and stare softly for a bit longer while Keith tried to make sense of a thousand things. 

“Do you play? I feel like with your career path it would be unlikely that you didn’t play anything.”

Keith held up a hand as if to stop him, “It’s not a career path. But to answer your question: yeah. Guitar and bass.”

Takashi just barely raised an eyebrow at that, and shifted like he was preparing to hand Keith the guitar.

“Care to serenade me back?”

Keith let out a short, hard laugh and stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets and tilting his head to the side. He knew he had a tendency to subconsciously distance himself from the things that made him nervous, but for once, he was a man with a plan. Takashi’s responses to his past vague attempts at intimacy were frustratingly hot and cold, and Keith was determined to take advantage of the way things were going.

“I’ll serenade you Friday if you show at my friend’s basement.”

“You realize how close that sounds to a murder threat, right?” Takashi set the guitar down and stood up, tilting his head to mirror Keith’s and look down at him. 

“It’s a show, man. My band is playing.” The interested look in Takashi’s eyes as he returned his stare had Keith burning up with confidence. “Besides, it would be a hell of a lot nicer to get to look at you than those ugly motherfuckers I’ve got to stare at every week.” The compliment wasn’t lost on Takashi, the ghost of a smirk crossed his face and he crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted his feet to stance himself.

“You’re in a band?” Keith rolled his eyes. Takashi smiled easily. “You don’t think I’m ugly?”

“Did I misjudge you as someone with self-awareness?”

“No.”

Takashi moved toward the kitchen and slid open one of the drawers by the sink to fish out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. He leaned with his back against the edge of the counter to scribble on the top note before pulling it off and sticking it out towards Keith as he made his way over to him. He scanned it briefly before pocketing it, it was another phone number.

“What time should I be there?”
“Music starts at eight, ‘no punk time ’,” he made air quotes around that with his fingers and thought for a second, then “If you come up to the front door I’ll let you in, you can hang out upstairs with my friends and I, if you want.”

Takashi grinned. “Just text me the address.”

Text. So the number was to his cellphone, not some other landline he had hidden in a cabinet somewhere.

“Wear your jacket, it’s nice.”

“ Too nice,” Takashi crossed his arms and legs at the same time, and tipped his head slightly enough that it felt condescending, “I have a feeling I’ll need to play bodyguard, considering what I know about last time.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.” Keith stuck a finger out and gently jabbed Takashi’s chest. “Wear your jacket.”

The sun was creeping back toward the horizon, and the tires of Keith’s car screeched as he whipped his Cherokee into a hasty U-turn to head away from Takashi’s house. He had left without asking why he had dismantled his phone, or why he had secretly slipped him his address, or why he had apprehended him in a sneak attack in his own living room. The turn in Takashi’s mood after their exchange over the guitar had steered him completely clear of asking the hard questions in fear of souring it. He had a thousand things he needed to get out of him, and they had only seen each other twice since their first meeting. Why were there sensors on his door? Where did he learn to play like that? Were the aliens real? Was he into guys? When had he left the military? Why was he willing to pick up and patch up a stranger but barely allowed Keith to compliment him? What kind of music did he listen to? Was he really going to come on Friday, or had the accepting of Keith’s invitation been for show? Keith gripped the wheel to keep himself from slapping his own forehead. He prayed the Blades hadn’t broken up by the time he was ready to use his membership to impress someone. 

Every time his fingertips weren’t actively pressed against something he felt the solid heat of Takashi’s chest like a phantom pain. He cursed his body for still being alive, cursed God for making him gay, and cursed the state of California for not budgeting in filling the potholes on the street to his apartment.

When Keith turned back around from closing the front door of his apartment, his eyes rested on the acoustic guitar leaned in the corner of the room, wedged between stacks of notebooks and papers and what he deemed as “flat things'' that he could pile together, and partially blocked by a crate of CDs that he had “lost” between a flea market and Sal’s. It was embarrassingly covered in dust, but most things he didn’t use regularly were– he drew the cleaning line at dusting and figured it didn’t hurt anyone. Keith weighed his options of doing his prereading for tomorrow’s class and testing just how rusty he was on the instrument, and settled for the latter. He kicked his boots off and slid the crate as far as there was room to, and carried the guitar back with him to settle on the couch.

The tuning pegs creaked a little louder than he would have liked as he tried to tune it, and the body left an intense brownish grey streak across the thighs of his black jeans where the dust came into contact with him. He spent the better part of the fading afternoon and early evening fiddling around on the guitar. A significant portion of it was him borderline growling and kicking his foot in annoyance when his hands didn’t listen to him, but the rest of the time was spent experimenting with different strumming and picking patterns with the same couple chords. He had learned to play on this instrument, but playing bass and his electric were a different beast. There was something satisfying about the rhythm of plucking out something folky that made his chest warm.

As he played, his mind drifted, as it often did, and he started thinking absentmindedly about how he would explain what he was doing to Takashi, like he was teaching it to him. Something in his brain shifted, and he started trying to form more of a semblance of a song than something to fill the time. He tried as hard as he could to commit it to memory, but knew that if he let it sit the next time he picked up the instrument his hands would be left stuck and confused. Let alone whatever panic might short circuit his brain sharing something he created with Takashi. He tried and failed several times to prop up his phone on the coffee table so that both of his hands were in the frame, and managed to play it correctly at least once on video before his phone slid to the floor.

Keith had a grudge against Tuesdays this semester only because an unfortunate combination of events left him with barely any time to sit and groan to himself about his woes. He didn’t work, but both of his classes fell on Tuesday, with enough time between that he couldn’t head straight from one to the other but not enough that he could do anything else, and then he– traditionally at least– met up with the Blades at either the rented studio space in the back of Sal’s or one of their garages. 

He groaned as he dramatically threw his blanket off of him and onto the small space of floor next to his bed. He heard Red scurry away somewhere, but couldn’t place it. Keith blindly reached for his phone on the floor as he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and tried to smooth his horrendous bedhead down with his free hand.

No ridiculous amount of missed late-night texts in the group chat with his friends. Strange, but he moved on quickly.

He only had a few message conversations, and most of them were becoming stale in the bottom of his inbox from disuse. He opened the conversation with his bandmates directly underneath and typed out a tentative message.

Are we still on for tonight?

He dropped his phone onto the small sidetable next to his bed to rummage through the clothes on his floor for whatever he’d so choose to don himself with today, and was surprised when his phone buzzed with an immediate response.

Yes. The studio. There’s an envelope for you.

Keith groaned at the idea of yet another task for him to complete. An envelope for him meant dropping by Sal’s before practice, and meeting Rolo to pick up for them. His dealer was not the most punctual or responsive of people and trying to manage meeting him on short notice was always a pain in the ass. However, he was a valued member of the Blades for being reliable and capable of doing whatever was needed, and knew he had little choice in the matter. He would find a way to work it out. He always did. ( It was his superpower , Pidge had said once.) He wanted to ask if Thace was coming, but didn’t want to rehash whatever conversation they had all had without him. He opted for the most subtle way of finding out.

How many?

Kolivan’s response only took a second. Keith wondered how he even had time to type.

Just the four of us.

With that, Keith tugged the first shirt that had passed his sniff test over his head and made a plan of attack for the day.

Keith tried not to think about how the hell they were supposed to practice– and moreso, what they were even practicing for– without the group’s frontman and singer present, and forced himself to read every word on the slides projected in front of him instead of skimming them. He usually opted for looking at the pictures and listening to what his professor was saying, and it was hard to read and listen at the same time, let alone write down anything meaningful. He had memorized the geological makeup and distance from origin of every god damn stone in Stonehenge by the time his professor closed out of her presentation window and apologized for not making it through the full lesson considering their time constraint. This class had a tendency to always be cramming make-up slides before getting on to the intended lesson of the day, since the professor was prone to getting sidetracked and rambling or worse, showing various pictures of her cat while waiting for students to file in and getting carried away by the time the class was supposed to start. Keith wished he minded, but he enjoyed her sharing her knowledge with them, even if it was more than was supposed to be taught. He also did not mind the cat pictures.

Keith sat in his car with the windows down in an attempt at taking advantage of the breeze for the forty minutes until his next class. He debated napping, then remembered to text Rolo. He responded surprisingly quickly, and wasn’t worried about meeting on such short notice, even if Keith wasn’t entirely convinced that it meant he would be prepared or on time. He had maintained for years that he was simply a distributor, not a partaker, but more than once he had rolled down the window of his car and unleashed a gust of what was unmistakably weed smoke. Keith didn’t smoke, but he didn’t judge. He simply picked other poisons. Keith crossed his legs on his seat and rested his wrists on his steering wheel, staring at the mottled fabric of the roof of his car. He should have brought a sandwich. Or parked somewhere where he could get away with smoking. He took a tentative sip from the old energy drink can in his center console before grimacing at the sheer temperature of it and quickly putting it back in the cupholder.

His hair had grown out to the point that it was just long enough to make his neck uncomfortably sweaty in the heat like this, but too short to be pulled back in any meaningful way. Keith groaned and stuck a hand under the bulk of it to hold it up and off of his skin and rested his elbow on the windowsill. A minute or two of drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and staring at the birds dive-bombing each other in the sky in front of him was enough to drive him into a fit of restlessness. It wasn’t like before a show, but he was still wound up and nervous before congregating with the rest of his band. He had no idea what they were going to do with Thace gone. There are only so many ways you can remedy a situation, and taking Keith on after Thace already hadn’t been able to fill his former role seemed like something the Blades wouldn’t be eager to do again. He pulled a steady breath through his nose and resigned himself to trust whatever Kolivan had planned for them. 

His second class was easy. He was retaking a math class from the semester before that he had simply neglected to do the homework in, and was being responsible enough on the second round to take care of it even if it felt like pointless grind work. He swiped his notebook and pen off of his desk and pushed himself out of his chair and through the door directly next to him before he got caught in the swarm of bodies desperate to get out of the room. His car stuttered a bit while starting, and he prayed it would hold off on having any new issues until the week was over and he had time to fix it. Keith had a cigarette lit the second he pulled off of campus and started the drive back towards his town.

The following ritual was the same as always. The lack of police presence in his small town was a blessing and a curse, but he was thankful most of the time that their efforts were concentrated on the larger town housing the college campus twenty minutes away. The occasional sheriff meant nothing and did nothing to him, and the town could take care of itself. He pulled through the parking lot behind his workplace and left his car running as he hopped out to pull a folded up envelope from where Ulaz always tucked it behind the wheel of the dumpster next to the building. Once back in his car, he counted the contents, closed the difference in what was owed with bills from his own wallet, and peeled out of the parking lot to head towards the abandoned quarry.

The old quarry was a place he used to frequent when he had been younger, sitting on the rocks along the top to stare out at the open desert surrounding him and the completely bared night sky. The light pollution was minimal this far from town, and his childhood dirtbike had been enough to pull him through the rocky dirt roads to get to and from his hiding place. Once he had gotten a little older, the rest of the teenage population of his town discovered it, and defiled the spot with crushed cans, used condoms, and a near-constant drunken teen presence. Now, as an adult, Keith only came here to buy drugs– or, once or twice, when he could tell it wasn’t already occupied, to suck dick without having to let anyone he didn’t trust into his apartment. This visit, thank God, was the former.

Keith stopped his Jeep behind an ever-shrinking pile of gravel next to the dropoff of the pit of the quarry. It didn’t take long for Rolo to arrive, and a couple minutes late was still earlier than he usually was. He stopped next to Keith’s car and rolled down the passenger window, where his girlfriend Nyma stared out at Keith like she had something against him. Keith tossed the envelope out of his window into hers, where she caught it and thumbed through its contents before handing it to Rolo without looking at him. In turn, Rolo handed her a paper bag which she tossed unceremoniously through Keith’s window and it slid off of his lap to the mat by his feet.

“Be safe. Glad to see you’re rockin’ and rollin’, man.”

Keith had no idea what the fuck to say in response to that, and found it incredibly ironic that someone would tell him to be safe directly after selling him drugs, so he nodded and flicked a hand in a mock wave. Rolo’s engine sputtered and roared as he pulled away from where he had been idling next to Keith, and through the back window he could see the silhouettes of the two of them leaning together over the center console to talk conspiratorially. He checked the bag to make sure he hadn’t been shorted, eyeing the chunks suspiciously and weighing the plastic baggie (it was tied up in a dog poop bag this time, a fucking dog poop bag ) in both hands to test for the usual weight, before making his way back up the dirt road.

Keith had timed his plan perfectly, and had just enough time to swing by his apartment to grab his gear before heading to the studio space. He dug through a drawer in the kitchen where he kept baggies for splitting up the coke between his bandmates, and pocketed the remaining few before dragging his gear, minus the amp, out to his car. His jacket was acting as a curse once again, and a curse he didn’t have time to deal with, so swiped a flannel off of the floor on the way out to protect him from the cold that would set in after nightfall.

The studio space in the back of Sal’s was larger than one would expect. Technically it was split into two spaces, but rarely were both of them being used at the same time. The room the Blades usually took up was simple, white and lined with black foam pads haphazardly stuck to the walls and ceiling, with an amp setup and drum kit already in the room and a small shelf by the door with various extra cords. Keith set down his gear immediately as he busted through the door after realizing that everyone else was already there and got to work pulling everything out.

“Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late, we were early.”

Kolivan’s tone was always walking the line between approval and disappointment. Keith couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t care that Keith was the last one here, or had expected him to have come early, too. His heart pounded and his mind reeled. His need for their approval was something Keith had never experienced anywhere else. He didn’t care about people’s opinions of him, a rule he had come up with early in life to save him a world of trouble, except when people’s opinions were undoubtedly going to stop him from getting what he wanted or needed. He wasn’t an idiot, not all things could be taken by force no matter how strong you were on your own, and he knew well enough at this point in his life that some doors closed before you even knew about them. Meaningless dislike of him didn’t bother or sway him, and most people fell under that category. He was still trying to decide where his bandmates stood. His desire to fit in with and gain the approval of the lot of them ran deeper than just not wanting to be closed out from something important.

He finally had his gear set up and bass plugged in when he realized that no one else was ready to play. The rest of his band was standing in varying spots in the room with their instruments discarded near them, save Antok who always took advantage of the stool at the center of the drumset, but his sticks were resting on top of the snare.

“So, uh,” Keith felt uncomfortable in the way that he did when he knew everyone was thinking something that he wasn’t, “What are we doing, guys?”

Ulaz shifted and looked to Kolivan, who crossed his arms and set a heavy stare on Keith that he could nearly feel the weight of.

“What are you doing, is the question.”

Keith’s eyes widened and he consciously slowed his breathing from where it was rapidly picking up pace. They couldn’t leave him. Or, they couldn’t make him leave them . Not now, not like this, not when they were already down a man and he was so desperate and determined to play a meaningful part in the group. He realized, in a horrible and split second thought, that he would do anything for them, and he had already been making his way deeper into his willingness to give anything for them. The backlash from his friends and people he didn’t even know, the drastic shift in his standing socially that was supposed to be good but, truthfully, wasn’t, the rift his place in the band had caused between him and his friends, the constant threat of going to jail because he had promised he could supply them, he was in so deep already, he wouldn’t let them rip him out, even though he knew they could effortlessly and with little change to their own closer-knit dynamic.

“We have a task for you,” Kolivan picked up the mic stand from beside him and extended it towards Keith, “If you are up to it.”

Oh.
Keith’s immediate reaction was elation, that they had clearly debated this and chosen him for the role. His second reaction was fear. He had always given what they asked of him his all, but he wasn’t sure he could do this. He teetered on the edge of giving in to his fear of incapability before remembering Pidge’s words that had come to him earlier.

“Not forever, just for now.”

Ulaz spoke up, he must have been able to sense his apprehension, and he smiled encouragingly as Kolivan extended the stand towards him further, urging him to take it. Keith grasped the cool metal and set the legs down next to him, holding it like a spear.

“Maybe forever, we’ll see how you perform.” There was no threat in Antok’s words, just a pure statement of fact, which gave Keith a sliver of solace. He spun one of his drumsticks around his fingers and watched the rest of them, having decidedly made enough of a comment to back out of the rest of the conversation. Keith had no idea what to say to them.

“I can’t sing.”

He knew it was a poor attempt at an excuse, since he had already taken the mic from Kolivan and, in turn, accepted what they were asking of him. Ulaz halfheartedly shrugged and Kolivan shifted his weight, setting his face in something that was both encouraging and terrifying to Keith.

“Then don’t. Scream it. You aren’t Thace, do it your way.”

Keith grinned. He loved doing things his way.

The anxiety burned out of Keith as the fire in his chest built and built. He had far less of an issue playing while doing vocals than he had expected, though he clearly needed to practice a bit on his own before their next show. The natural rasp in his voice made it infinitely easier to sound good at doing badly. The emotion he had pent up inside him made it infinitely easier to bare everything raw. The approving looks he caught the rest of them shooting at each other made him wired with confidence. 

And, they didn’t sound like before. They sounded different, stronger, new . Keith loved it.

Keith was included in the huddle slash hug they all exchanged before heading out of the studio space. His bandmates grabbed him hard and slapped him on the back and messed up his hair in a fit of all of them being giddy on the success of the night. They were proud of him. They were happy with him. They were becoming a new beast. Keith was the cause of it. He couldn’t stop grinning even as he threw himself into bed.

Keith was still buzzing as he hopped up onto the counter of The Lion. Allura swatted at him, and told him to “Not place his ass on the fucking counter in a food handling business,” but she seemed more interested in his good mood than frustrated with him.

“What, you finally get some and now have to act like you own the cafe?” Keith shot a scowl at Romelle where she was wiping down the espresso machine.

“I did not get some. ” He swung on the counter so that one of his legs was lying flat on the top it and the other was dangling off, and Romelle threw up her hands in mock offended apology. “Did it become illegal for me to not be pissed off overnight?”

“Not illegal, just statistically improbable.” Allura stuck her hands on her hips and stood in front of him, raising an eyebrow and shooting a look at the other customers in the cafe.

“I’m covering for Thace. We practiced last night and, honestly, we sounded really good.”

Allura’s other eyebrow raised to meet with the other and she grinned, throwing her arms around Keith despite his protest and squeezing him.

“Oh Keith, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”

She was pulling him side to side a tad more aggressively than he thought she meant to and he cleared his throat before tentatively pushing her away by the shoulders. She didn’t let him go far, but opted for grabbing his elbows while he held her at arm’s length.

“It’s a work in progress, and it’s not necessarily a good thing, it just is.” It sounded like a lie even as Keith said it. He couldn’t help the excitement he felt over the expansion of his role, but that was based in knowing that his band had believed in him enough to be able to do it, and liked the direction he had taken them in. In the scene, things like this meant something else to people.

“Nonsense! You’re the frontman, Keith, that’s a big deal!”

Keith smiled a little and looked away from her to down at the cup of pens on the counter.

“Thanks.”

Allura let him go and started working on his drink. Romelle had jokingly called it the heart attack special – a quad shot latte, half filled with steamed milk and the rest topped off with cold brewed coffee, which usually cooled it down to drinkable temperature by the time it was put in his hands. It was an order forged in desperation and continued because why not. He wasn’t sure if it was something anyone else had ever ordered, but the girls didn’t judge him and knew that he stuck to tradition.

Keith was spinning around in the chair at his workstation, with nothing to do until someone came in or Sal realized he was sitting doing nothing, sipping his coffee and idly watching Godzilla vs. Mothra (1992) from the corner of his eye when he passed by it. 

“Heard you screaming your head off in there, kid,” Sal rounded the corner of one of the displays and sized up Keith like he was seeing him for the first time, “You sounded good. The lot of you, I mean.”
Keith knew Sal was incapable of giving a direct complement. He stopped spinning in circles when Sal walked behind the counter and jabbed a finger at the top of Keith’s head.

“You just angry as hell in there or what?”

“No.” That was a lie. “Just like screaming.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Whatever the case, don’t give up on that. You’re starting something, kid.” Sal was done with whatever comments he wanted to make and turned to pull some boxes off of the shelf behind the counter before heading back to the floor to set them out. Keith had finished his coffee, and Godzilla vs Mothra, and was praying for something to do on the slowest Wednesday morning of his life when Pidge pushed open the door.

They stuck an arm out and pointed at him as they stomped up to the counter and raised their eyebrows. Keith cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow.

“Allura says you have something to tell me, so spill.”

“Allura says I–?” Keith’s mind scrambled into working order, “Oh, yeah, I’m doing vocals for the Blades. We tried it for the first time last night, I guess they had decided on it beforehand.”
Pidge threw their hands in the air and shook their head impossibly fast like that would help them understand.
“ What?! First off, why did Allura know this before me, and secondly,” Pidge crossed one of their arms over their chest and gestured the other hand towards Keith, “You can’t sing.” 

“That’s what I told them.” To be fair, he could sing, technically, just in a very limited range that didn’t match well with most songs. Through many sessions of car karaoke, they both knew this.
“But they still had you do it?”

Keith crossed his arms and swiveled his chair side to side.

“I’m not really singing, I’m just screaming the lyrics. It’s just for now until they can figure something out.” He was desperate to downplay what all of them had felt after the practice. Him playing bass and changing the group for the better had been one thing, but changing the vocal style was drastic and he was scared of twisting the band into something it hadn’t been before. He respected Kolivan’s vision, and that’s what the band came down to. It was Kolivan’s words, Kolivan’s melodies and riffs, Kolivan’s talent, that made the band what it was. He was as scared of leading it in a new direction as he was desperate to do so.

“Tell that fucker to shut the hell up before I fire him just to not have to hear this shit anymore.”

They both turned to look at where Sal was standing with his back to them, screwing a mount into the wall in the row of hanging sale guitars. He didn’t elaborate, or turn towards them, and just kept yanking on the mount and going at it with a screwdriver. Pidge turned back towards Keith and looked at him for a moment before speaking again.

“Kind of a power move– to get tossed around and humiliated for being part of the Blades and then showing up as the new frontman,” Keith twitched a little at their words, he hadn’t even thought about that aspect of the situation, “You’re really making moves for yourself, aren’t you.”

Keith was trying to come up with a response when he heard the front door screech as it opened. His eyes barely had time to flick upwards before Pidge was grabbing both sides of his head and leaning over the counter.

“ Holy shit, Keith, that’s–”

“Hey, Takashi.”

Keith stuck a hand over Pidge’s mouth to signal them into silence and their eyes widened at his familiar greeting. He let his mouth twitch up into a smile as Takashi approached the counter. He looked between the both of them and raised an eyebrow at Keith.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Keith let out an awkward “Ha” sound and stood up as Pidge pushed themself off of the counter. They stepped back slightly but stood next to Takashi, watching the two of them with a look on their face that Keith didn’t have the time or energy to figure out. He settled for shock.

“We were just talking,” he gestured towards where Pidge was standing, “This is my friend Pidge.”

“You were the one at his apartment,” Takashi stuck a hand out for a handshake and Pidge’s eyes widened even more, to the point Keith was worried they were going to explode in the middle of the store, “You’re a good friend, looking out for him like that. I’m Takashi. Everyone calls me Shiro.”

Pidge didn’t shake his hand, just looked at him and then turned to Keith with a quirked eyebrow and a vaguely angry expression. Keith tried to telepathically will them into not making any knight in motorcycle armor jokes for a single hour since they had started making them. They stared at him for a beat, with Takashi’s hand still extended towards them and him looking around awkwardly, before taking his hand and giving it the quickest shake known to man.

“So you were the one at his apartment,” Pidge started, “What was all that about?”
Takashi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and settled his weight from where he had been leaning to one side.
“Oh, he had a… sort of incident. I was just giving him a ride home.”

“Don’t worry, I know all about it.”
It was Takashi’s turn to shoot a look at Keith. He cleared his throat and tried to force the blood out of his face with his mind. He waved a hand limply as if that would calm either of the people in front of him and looked to Takashi’s face.

“What’re you here for?”

Takashi leaned an arm on the counter and tilted his head to one side. If Keith hadn’t been staring intently at his eyes, he would have missed the way his gaze ran over Keith’s face and the mess of his hair.

“You never texted me,” he pulled a carefully folded stack of bills out of his back pocket and set it on the counter in front of Keith, “And I never paid you.”

“I never quoted you,” Keith eyed the money on the counter and tallied it in his head, and groaned internally at the fact that, without context, this conversation was probably giving Pidge the exact idea he was hoping not to give them. He figured maybe an engine would miraculously unattach from the wing of some cargo plane above them and smash through the roof of the building to end their conversation. “This is way too much.”

Takashi just slid the bills closer to Keith on the counter.

“Just keep it. Pocket the difference.”

Keith stiffened a bit. He didn’t want charity money from a man who was acting like he had some to spare. Keith had done his time with people who felt like giving him money somehow put them further up in his book. Takashi was already far enough, he didn’t like the idea that he was souring it with this. He stared at Takashi’s hand on the counter.

“No. Two hundred, and that’s already more than I should be asking.” 

He covered Takashi’s hand with his own and pushed it back toward him. The other man looked up at him and Keith saw a flicker of the spark that had started all of this. Obediently, Takashi thumbed out a couple bills to pocket them, before taking the remaining cash and pressing it against Keith’s chest under a flat palm. Keith could feel his heart racing against the span of Takashi’s hand.

“Thank you.”

Keith held his gaze and tentatively brushed his fingers along the side of Takashi’s hand, before he lifted it slightly so Keith could pull the bills out from under it. He let his hand rest against Keith’s chest for a second longer than necessary before letting his fingers drag down just barely and retracting it. Keith wondered if he would ever be able to straighten the bills out again with the way he was gripping them in his hand.

“A pleasure,” Takashi pulled back away from him and stood up straight, no longer leaned over the counter, “ Text me, Keith.”

“I will.” Takashi stared at him for a moment like he was judging if he was telling the truth or not. He turned as if starting to leave, before pivoting back around and digging in his pocket to pull something out.

“Almost forgot, I wanted to give you this.”

He handed another of his purple sticky notes to Keith. When he unfolded it, he saw a series of numbers and immediately knew what it was. His garage code. 

“Don’t break in next time.”

Keith nodded and tried to say thanks but nothing but empty air came out of his throat. Takashi flashed him a sweet smile, no teeth and all eyes, before giving him a tiny wave and heading for the door. Keith thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest and kill him, for a thousand reasons. Takashi gave him the code to his garage, which was basically a key to his house. Takashi wanted him to come again, there was a ‘next time’. Pidge had been watching the entire thing .

“So have you guys, like, kissed or what?”

Keith grimaced at them as he carefully tucked the note with the code into his jeans pocket.
“No.”
“Didn’t want to smooch the alien guy? Surprising for you.”

“I didn’t know he was the alien guy. Not until…” Keith ran a hand hard over his face and then back through his hair, “The shit when he picked me up happened before that. You know that.”

Pidge grinned and fished through the sticker slash candy bowl as was customary when they visited him at work.

“I knew you were done for after that. Right as always.”

“I didn’t mean–”
“Don’t lie to me man,” Pidge looked up at him from where they were searching, “Besides, he seems like he likes you too.”

Keith knew that was a biased reading of the situation if not a lie, so he simply sat back down in his chair and counted out the bills Takashi had left over and over before sliding down the counter to stow them away in the register.

“You broke into his house?"

Pidge didn’t leave, and they stood together in silence for a while, both occupied with their own miniscule activities, before Pidge spoke up again.

“I can’t believe you know Captain Shirogane,” they looked at Keith when he tilted his head up towards them, “You know this means we have to ask him about what happened.”
Keith grimaced. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to interrogate Takashi about what the government was tormenting him over, let alone his general mental health.

“I–” Keith didn’t know what to say in his own defense, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think… I don’t think we should be asking him about that.”
Pidge slammed their hands on the counter to get his attention and shoved their head to the side aggressively.

“Are you serious ? We finally have access to a primary source and you don’t want to ask him anything because what , it’ll upset him? It’ll let him know that you care about aliens? Be so fucking real with me right now, Keith.”

Keith just stared at them and pressed his mouth into a hard line. Their expression slowly lost some of its fire, but he could tell they were still frustrated and confused about his intentions. They sighed and leaned away from him.

“Whatever, man. If it’s that big of a deal to you, fine, but I’m going to find out one way or another. You can’t take this from me just because you think he belongs to you.”

Keith didn’t think he belonged to him, but his chest swelled a little at the thought of it.

Chapter Text

Keith didn’t hear from Pidge a single time after they left Sal’s in a bit of a fit. He didn’t blame them, he understood why they were frustrated with him and knew he was prone to frustration himself, but it was strange to have no communication with them for more than a day or two. He was usually the one who didn’t talk to people, not the other way around.

Keith finished trading off a guitar he had replaced the bridge on with a guy he was sure he had seen before on campus, before nearly running out of the store to leave Sal to manage the closing duties. His mood had grown worse and worse, and he cared less and less about people noticing, after the disagreement on Wednesday when he had had to sit and reckon with the fact that he had invited someone, who he cared about and, as embarrassing as it was, was trying to impress, to a show with everyone he knew and several people who knew who he was from a video of him all but pinky promising that he had lied about having contact with aliens. Keith groaned and hit his steering wheel a couple times before pulling out of the parking lot and heading to his apartment.

His normal mood before a show was only heightened by the added worry about Takashi being there. He had texted him the day before with Allura’s address and reiterating the time he needed to be there by, and Takashi had just responded with a “Gotcha” that didn’t make Keith feel better or worse about the situation. He tried to smother his anxieties with knowing that he was performing in a much greater way than usual tonight, and maybe that would impress him in even the slightest. He had a thousand things to stress about in addition to his usual worries. Somehow, focusing on Takashi made it easier to not give a fuck about everyone’s opinions of him and the way he would come across at the show. It made him feel more like a person, like he was before, and less like a figure who was desperately tied to posturing. He didn’t even worry about Lotor, knowing that Takashi had said he would take care of him if he threatened Keith again and that Takashi would definitely win if the two of them fought, just considering his build and his background. Keith tried to force the image of Takashi getting aggressively physical with someone out of his mind before he self-destructed and focused on the task at hand.

He was trying to zip up the case for his bass without looking while he directed his attention to asking the group chat if he should bring food again. There was no response, and he pulled into the parking lot of their usual joint anyway. He managed to settle the bags with their food into a secure position in his passenger seat and checked his phone again. Still nothing. 

Then a text from Takashi. See you later.

When he parked in front of the Holts’ house, Lance and Hunk’s cars were already in the driveway. He attempted to maneuver his Jeep so that it wouldn’t block Hunk in and heard howling laughter echoing from inside. He tried not to think about the fact that he had stashed Takashi’s spare helmet in his gear bag.

He drew in a slow, steady breath that he could nearly feel in his stomach before pushing open the door to head in. Whatever was awaiting him, he was prepared for it. Thinking otherwise would only hold him back.

Surprisingly, everyone jumped up and rushed him excitedly when he opened the door into Pidge’s apartment and announced his presence. Keith tried to hold the food bags steady as Hunk shook his shoulders, giving him praise he couldn’t place the reasoning for.

“So Mister Blades of Mercy did grace us with his presence!” Lance was bending over in an exaggerated bow before winking at Keith and doing a terrible impression of his mock salute, Keith was kind enough not to point out that he used the wrong hand, “Glad to see you actually made it and didn’t shit your pants on the way.”

Keith could barely start to mouth a ‘what’ before Pidge tackled him.

“Big night, buddy.”

For more reasons than anyone else knew, Keith thought. He knew they wouldn’t make fun of him if his performance wasn’t up to the standard he’d like it to be, but he still wanted them to think he did a good job, and Pidge was a wildcard when it came to calling him out or not. He knew he would have to prepare them before they met Takashi– let alone before they had to hang out with him, and were left unattended with him when Keith played– and Lance and Hunk had a tendency to be less tactful than Pidge would be, since they didn’t take the thousands of things he could be thinking into account when they did something that would affect him. Keith set the bags down on the floor and crossed his arms, still standing as everyone else sat down in their customary circle and started digging to pull out each other’s dinner. Keith cleared his throat.

“I invited someone. I like him. You have to be nice , and normal .” Keith tried to put the emphasis on normal, but wasn’t sure if it would matter. Lance immediately started flailing his arms around like he was drowning. He pretended to choke before shooting up and putting his hands on Keith’s shoulders.

“You know someone other than us? WHAT ? Did you invite him in a friend way or a something-else way?” Keith thought Lance was going to pass out and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s Takashi.” Lance started to open his mouth again but Keith pointed a finger at his face to stop him. “Be fucking normal , is what I said.”

Keith didn’t miss the look that crossed Lance’s face, but he couldn’t place it either. He let go of Keith and raised his hands in the air in surrender before sitting back on the floor between Pidge and Hunk. Keith stared him down as he sent him a vaguely challenging look. He was not in the mood to put up with all of their antics tonight. He looked to Pidge, who was staring at him like their eyes were lasers.

“Also,” he didn’t even know what to say, and settled on the easiest thing possible, “Apparently Takashi is Captain Shirogane. Do not fucking say anything. Do not fucking mention anything and do not, for the love of all things holy, make it weird.” His gaze flicked desperately between the three of them to gauge their reactions. Pidge just looked at him, they had known this already and were prepared to handle the situation however he told all of them to. Lance opened his mouth to yell again and Hunk’s eyes widened immeasurably.

“Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say.” Lance was the first of the three to pull it together, surprisingly. Keith assumed he was just the most practiced.

“Captain Shirogane is motorcycle guy? ” Keith just stared at Hunk in response to his question, but Pidge’s hand on Hunk’s arm was an answer enough, “And you’re just telling us now?”

When Keith hopped out of Hunk’s van that night to drag his gear to the Blades’ trailer, he almost had a heart attack, tripped, and died in his tracks. He watched Takashi’s motorcycle pull up gracefully between two cars close to the front of the house and him pull off his helmet and shake his hair, clearly thinking no one was watching him. Keith definitely was. He wasn’t wearing his riding jacket. He was wearing an old leather jacket with an asymmetrical zipper and a wide collar, and an array of buttons, pins, and patches splattered across it. There was a field of spikes on his elbows that matched the field of spikes across the top of his back and shoulders. Keith thought he would collapse if not for his inhuman strength of will. That jacket was old . That jacket had wear and markings that could only mean it had been through the wringer before. Another puzzle piece that made up Takashi sent a shiver up Keith’s spine. He was a punk before a soldier.

Romelle offered, this time since there was a lull in the incoming crowd, to take Keith’s gear to Allura for him. He was grateful, but too drunk to be suspicious. He forced his thoughts away from introducing Takashi to everyone and tried to focus on the bottle of whiskey under his seat in Hunk’s van that he was making his way towards.

He didn’t find his friends there. He found them congregated around Lance’s blue Challenger, which Keith had always thought was almost stereotypically fitting for him. Something about a two door with a modded powerful engine meshed perfectly with Lance’s cool guy womanizer persona he put on for the world.

He dragged his hand along the ridge between the door and the window as he approached. Lance had gotten it wrapped since the last time he had seen it, it was a deeper blue with all sorts of colors of holographic sparkles mixed into the color that it seemed more metallic than sparkly. He just barely thought to himself that he could have done a better job, since whoever wrapped it cut the material at the edges instead of tucking it in, but he didn’t dwell on it. Keith was briefly jealous before remembering it was Lance. Lance focused his expendable income on mods and cosmetic upgrades, Keith focused his on keeping his ancient car running and immortal.

His friends were howling and laughing hysterically and Keith all but laid across the hood of Lance’s Challenger before anyone acknowledged him. When they did, they all jumped up and rushed him. He was fighting off their arms from squeezing him to death when he spotted Takashi scanning the field of cars, no doubt looking for his car or him and Pidge. He tried to catch a glimpse of his back patch but couldn’t in the low light. Most people here didn’t even have one, and he had to know what band had meant enough to Takashi that he had put them there when he had been younger. Lance was tugging his hair to pull him closer before Keith snapped out of his trance.

“You’re gonna go crazy tonight, man, I know it, I mean it!” Lance always meant it, so Keith didn't take it to heart. He let his friends’ shoves slow down before he put his hands up to excuse himself.

“Gotta grab someone. Be right back.”

Keith dodged and weaved between people and cars. Many more had shown up to this than he had expected and he wondered if his and Lotor’s stunt at the last show had drawn attention to the event. He made his way towards where Takashi was slowly heading to the front door of the house, instead of the side door the crowd was trying to shove their way through. He had remembered.
Keith caught his arm before he knocked on the front door. When he whipped his eyes to the side, Keith was paralyzed by the look in them. Takashi was so held together, Keith loved when it showed that there was something stronger underneath it all, even if it was bad. He squeezed slightly, digging his fingers into the mass of Takashi’s bicep not quite strong enough to bruise.

“We were a bit late, we just got here. Do you want to come to my friend’s car and just walk in with us?”

Takashi was rapidly glancing around at every movement around them. Keith slid his hand from his arm gently to the back of his neck and held the other hovering along his face to block out his view of the crowd.

“You’re fine. We’ve got you.”

Takashi stared into his eyes with a look that made Keith want to cry. He had never seen him like this, but the situations he had seen him in were limited. Immediately after, he was filled with a fire. Takashi could take anyone here, but Keith wouldn’t let it get that far. He didn’t want him to have to fight. He didn’t want him to feel like there were people here watching him.

He slid his hands slowly over Takashi’s shoulders to rest on his shoulder blades, and tucked his head toward his chest. It was forward, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“I know almost everyone here. They aren’t here for you.”

Keith thought that would be reassuring, but Takashi jerked away and grabbed Keith’s shoulders in turn to speak close to his face, Keith could feel his breath against his skin.

“Are they here for you? ”

Keith didn’t know what to say. Yes. No. Maybe. He thought about slamming his mouth into Takashi’s to make his point clear before talking himself out of it.

“No,” Keith slid a hand carefully up the side of Takashi’s neck, high enough that it was intimate and caring but not high enough that it was gay, “Run inside with us. No one will see you until you want them to.”

Takashi simply nodded and took Keith’s hand when he was grabbing for it. He slowly dragged him back towards Lance’s car to gather his friends. He had given them all the talking-to he was capable of, whatever happened next was out of his hands and he would respond however he could. Keith let go of his hand halfway through the field, and only because he needed both hands to shield his cigarette from where he was trying to light it with a dying lighter. Takashi stuck out a hand to block it from the wind, and Keith tried impossibly hard to focus on what he was doing.

“Smoking will kill you.”
Keith just sent him a bored look.
“Being alive will kill you.”

“Man of the hour!” Lance always knew how to make things awkward.

Keith opened his mouth to introduce Takashi but, once again, Takashi beat him to it.
“I’m Takashi, everyone calls me Shiro,” he spared a glance at Keith that he assumed the others weren’t supposed to see, but knew his friends were too eagle-eyed to ignore it, “It’s great to meet his friends, though I’ve already met Pidge.”

Hunk and Lance whipped around to Pidge to demand an explanation. Keith thought his veins were going to burst open with enough force to tear his body apart. Takashi had effortlessly put the focus of the conversation on Pidge and gave Keith’s arm a gentle squeeze to acknowledge that he had given him time to rally himself before the conversation. Keith squeezed back before letting go and tried to figure out the backstory of what he was planning to say.

He didn’t have to, because Hunk jabbed an aggressive finger up to Takashi’s face.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Shiro, to take some vulnerable guy to places where he would have no escape?!” Keith knew the telltale signs of Hunk being drunk, including him becoming a crusader on behalf of his friends. He threw his own hands up in front of his face, and made a gesture like he was trying to calm him down.

“He was being good, ” Keith shot a pointed look at Pidge, begging them internally to keep the other two of his friends in line for the rest of the night, “And I thought we were over this, man.”
He tried unsuccessfully to shift the topic from that night to encourage his friends to start ranting about the scene, but for the first time in his life it didn’t work. Keith buried the thought that it was because they cared about him, and wanted to make sure the guy he liked wasn’t going to hurt him. He couldn’t tell if he loved or hated the thought, just that it made him feel like he was going to throw up.

“If I look you up on the sex offender map, am I going to find anything?”

Keith almost threw a fist at Lance’s face, but Takashi’s hand was hot on his upper arm.

“No.”

“What’s all this about?” Pidge gestured to his jacket, which now, closer and in the glow of the headlights, Keith could get a better look at. There were worn creases along the arms and the leather was soft and damaged in places, telltale signs of it having been used often. He figured Pidge was suspicious because it was clearly worn but they had never seen or heard of him before.

“Oh, this is just old, from high school,” Takashi stuck his arms out and inspected his own sleeves, “I’m surprised it still fits me.”
Keith should have known that he didn’t simply have a ridiculously tight jacket, he had probably filled out in the military. He turned his head in an aside to Takashi.

“I should have warned you, they're the interrogation type.”

“I think interrogation means different things to the two of us.”

Lance seemed the most stressed of the five of them, and was shifting his weight between his feet with his arms crossed, squinting at Takashi’s face like he could glean anything from it. Keith supposed he was probably trying to psychoanalyze him and silently wished him bad luck.

“Listen, man, you’re our friend and we’re bound by honor to defend you,” Hunk was ever the mediator, “Forgive us for being excited that we finally have a chance to stand up for you, that never fucking happens.”

Keith huffed and waved his hand dismissively. He hadn’t thought about it before, since it fell in line with his usual nature, but Hunk was right. He was always the one going all out on behalf of them, should the situation arise. Even last week, when he kept picking fights with Lotor, no one stepped in. His chest felt tight and warm when he realized what a united front his friends had become, and for him no less. It made him want to curl up in a ball or flee the country.
Keith grabbed his bottle from where he had set it on the ground by Lance’s tire and closed the driver door that Lance had left open when he stepped out upon their arrival. After taking a couple healthy swigs, he stuck it out towards Takashi, who looked between the bottle and his face a couple times before taking it from him.

“I’m Keith, I’m so emo, I have to drink to cope with the idea that my friends like me.”
Keith shot a cutting glare towards Pidge who then started laughing. He wished his internal conflicts weren’t so obvious to the people around him, but he also had a tendency to constantly be brooding about something.

“I’m not fucking emo, Pidge.”

They just raised an eyebrow at him and tried to hold in their laughter, because through years of close friendship they knew what was a secret to everyone else, he totally was. He knew he constantly incriminated himself by being defensive, so he changed the topic.

“I told you to wear your jacket.”

Takashi looked surprised by this for a second, then grinned.

“You didn’t specify which one.”

Keith tugged on the front of it where it was hanging unzipped. The black shirt he was wearing under it was thin and well-fitted and doing him favors that pissed Keith off.

“I only knew about one. There’s this thing called context clues that I just found out about–”

“I don’t see you complaining.”

It was a loaded statement that Keith decided to ignore.

“Do you know how to listen?”

Takashi’s expression changed and he leaned back confidently like he had in his kitchen. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side.

“Do you? ”

Keith felt his face getting hot so he turned away from him.

“Just be prepared to back it up, is all. I still get called a poser and I’m in a fucking band.”

Pidge and Hunk were pretending not to be whispering to each other and Lance was staring at the two of them like they’d stabbed him and were twisting the knife. Keith spared a look at the spattering of stars above them and moved to stand between Takashi and his friends.
“Ready to go upstairs?”

A couple people stared Takashi down when he walked through the door, since most of the people up there had tried long and hard for their place to be allowed to hang out upstairs. He was also hard to miss, because he was almost ridiculously tall and built like a damn statue and the jacket he was wearing only added to the sheer size of his presence. Takashi trailing Keith like a lost puppy probably didn’t help his social situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was bringing Takashi to a show. He was bringing Takashi to a big show, where he was singing for the first time and no one besides his friends even knew. His friends surrounded him in a protective bubble as they made their way towards the kitchen, where Allura was standing.

“You’re always so early, I thought you were–” Allura froze and stuttered when she looked up at Takashi’s face, “ Shiro? ”

“Hey,” he threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders, which he was both grateful for and resentful of, “I’m here to see Keith, I’ve heard he’s quite the star.”

Allura looked unsubtly at the placement of Takashi’s hand, and shifted and shot a glance at the three of their friends. Satisfied from what she had gleaned from their responses, she stuck out her hand for a handshake, but kept her expression guarded.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other. Good to see you back again.”

Keith bit his tongue, and could tell his friends were doing the same. Back again? Keith hadn’t thought he recognized Takashi from when they had been younger, but wrestled with the fact that he could be wrong because sometimes his memory was shit. Takashi gave Allura’s hand a curt shake before pulling back and resting it across Keith’s front, and his other arm dropped to his hip like he was his only support. Any thoughts he had had of Takashi being subtle died in that moment. He was being possessive, being protective. He was holding Keith like he was his girlfriend and the firefighter dragging him out of a burning building at the same time. For the first time in his life, Keith took strength from the fact that he was being obvious about the two of them being a unit instead of feeling taken advantage of. He tried to quench the fire in his chest burning with the question of whether or not Takashi felt the same way about him as he did.

“I’m keeping him with me up here, if you want him downstairs I’m downstairs.”
Allura seemed like she was almost offended by the forwardness of his comment.

“You do recognize this is my house,” she dragged a pointed look across the people in her living room who had all but fought to be allowed there, “But if you trust him, he’s welcome here.”

Takashi shot a look at Keith, but he couldn’t discern what it meant. Keith grabbed Takashi’s waist back, aggressively enough that it could still pass as straight, and dug his nails in where he thought his fingers weren’t pressing hard enough. Maybe Pidge was right. And maybe Keith did want to own him.

They congregated on the couch as they always did. The Blades weren’t on until a couple bands in, as it was a stacked show and they were a band people would wait to see. The lead guitarist of the first band had led Keith on before calling him a faggot to everyone in their shared class in high school, so he pointedly stayed upstairs for the duration of their set. He didn’t give a fuck if you were part of the community now, a grudge was a grudge.

Takashi must have noticed his discomfort when they started playing their second song, because he carefully brushed Keith’s bangs back and rested his free hand in a prone position to intertwine them. Keith just looked at him. The music didn’t bother him. The band didn’t bother him. He was man enough to feel and admit that. The grudge was his and his alone and he didn’t want to hold hands like old people about it.

Takashi leaned close to him, mouth brushing his ear as he spoke so softly Keith could barely understand it.

“You don’t like him. The guitarist. You flinch every time he does something impressive,” Keith tried not to squirm, he hated being read, and now wasn’t the time to let Takashi in on all that- they were already walking the line of drunk straight friends and he didn’t want to divulge his sexuality for fear of it all crumbling, “I’ll beat him. If you want."
Keith shuddered and nearly choked.

Takashi laughed and reached for the bottle on the coffee table in front of them. Keith wanted to ask about his jacket, his obvious involvement in the scene, his willingness to fight so many people for him. He didn’t. He leaned more into Takashi to press his side into his own. Takashi swallowed his portion of whiskey like it had been water, and just barely nuzzled his nose into the top of Keith’s hair where he held him against his side as he turned to offer it to Pidge next to them. Keith froze. He thought about being sucked into the earth through the couch beneath them to escape the oncoming conversation.

There was no oncoming conversation. His friends left Takashi alone besides the occasional fitting jab, but no one brought anything else up, or brought up how they were very obviously acting like they were into each other when Keith had spent the last week defending that they weren’t like that. Keith wondered how much of it was alcohol-induced, since he had never acted like this before and Keith had also never seen him inebriated. The idea both made Keith feel better and worse. Takashi kept his arms wrapped protectively around Keith’s side until the last moment he had to leave him. Keith thought he was going to throw up.

He adjusted his bass strap and tried to position himself a good distance from the microphone before clearing his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention to him. He wasn’t used to this. It was too many eyes on him.

He saw his friends crowded right in front of him, and met Takashi’s gaze in the mass of bodies, and drew in a steadying breath.

“You know who we are,” A series of yells echoed back at him, “I’m just filling in, so be nice. Or don’t, I don’t care.”

Their first song started like an earthquake or a hurricane. The four remaining Blades of Mercy came together in a way no one had seen before. Then Keith started screaming.

The room erupted before him. He tried to focus on the purple lights highlighting Takashi’s shoulders. Performing with them had never felt like this. Keith shoved down the selfish thought that it had been Thace holding them back.

Keith didn’t notice Kolivan staring at Takashi until far too late. He tried to shoot the man a questioning glance, but Kolivan wasn’t paying attention to anything else. The jealous streak in Keith was replaced by one of fear when he remembered the situation Takashi was in politically and how nervous he had been when he first arrived. Keith gripped his bass like he was ready to throw it aside. However Kolivan and Takashi knew each other was going to have to wait until later, and he was sure they’d be able to hash it out then. He banged out the bassline and found himself grateful that Allura always kept it so dark when they played, he didn’t want anyone to be able to look at him and he didn’t want anyone to be able to look at Takashi. These people were animals. Fresh blood in the scene always started a riot and Keith gritted his teeth at the fact that in addition, Takashi was simply too all-around attractive to be allowed to walk around before Keith had been able to publicly stake his claim on him. 

He tried to force the thought, that maybe it made him a bad person if he actively wanted to prevent Takashi from meeting anyone else because scarcity of contact was the only reason he wouldn’t give up on him, out of his mind and slammed the strings of his bass like they had wronged him.

The last song they were supposed to play was one of the songs that they had complicated from its original state after Keith had joined the band. He waved Pidge and Lance over from where they were leaning against the wall and Hunk caught on from where he was standing his ground in the middle of the pit. They congregated in front of him and he wiggled the mic free from its stand before handing it to Pidge. The look they exchanged communicated everything they needed it to, as always. They turned to face the crowd, ecstatic.

“I think he needs help with this one.”

Several other familiar faces pushed their way over to his group of friends at that, and he watched Takashi slowly back up against the wall to watch what was unfolding. He leaned over to say the song’s name in Pidge’s ear, and they nodded before passing the message to the people around them. After Ulaz started the droning intro, the rest of the crowd caught on.

The people in the front gathered around the mic to all sing into it and passed it between them, and Keith still screamed the lines that he could while focusing all of his attention on his instrument. He barely had time to look up, and was grateful. He knew he would want to look to Takashi and judge his reaction, and knew it would be too distracting. He, Ulaz, and Kolivan all jumped together for the ending hard notes and threw themselves forward. Keith felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He had never worked in effortless unison with them like this. He usually stood slightly behind them and just played as best as he could while they carried the entertainment aspect because they could flip a switch and behave like a hivemind. They were a unit. He was their leader. He was going to explode.

Keith unplugged his bass and set it carefully against the wall behind the speakers where he could retrieve it later and dispersed into the crowd. His friends had disappeared, probably for water, but he didn’t take it to heart. He was swarmed by people he knew and some he didn’t recognize, but who apparently knew him. He tried not to come across as an asshole by not giving a shit about them praising him while his eyes searched the basement for Takashi. When he spotted him, he smacked the shoulders of the guys next to him and gave them a quick goodbye before heading for him as quickly as he could.

“Do you feel serenaded?”

When he reached Takashi, he stopped in front of him and stanced himself like he was ready to fight. They just stared at each other for far longer than a normal interaction would call for, both looking into each other’s eyes like they were a new beast, like they could learn everything if they just looked a little longer. After the crowd around them thinned and moved on to other activities between sets, Takashi stepped forward and his arms shot out.

He grabbed Keith on both sides of his face and pulled him up, and clashed their mouths together like it was a fight. Keith froze, shocked, and then relaxed easily into the kiss. It was all teeth and hard muscle and tongue caressing afterwards. He thought he was going to die. Keith slid his hands to rest on Takashi’s shoulders, and Takashi pulled them apart to rest his forehead against Keith’s. He barely had the capacity to think about the fact that he had just passionately kissed another man in front of God knows how many people. All he could focus on was Takashi’s eyes and Takashi’s mouth and Takashi’s hands holding him steady.

“You’re good at that.”

Keith definitely did not blush at the praise and squinted playfully.

“Good at what?”

“Playing, singing, performing,” Takashi stopped for a second, and tilted to peck Keith quickly on the lips before resuming, “Also kissing. You’re good at that.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Keith thought he was going to have a heart attack. Takashi had kissed him. Takashi had kissed him in a way that made it obvious it hadn’t been a spur of the moment change of heart. “You could do with less biting, though.”
Takashi laughed and dropped his hands to Keith’s sides.
“You physically shivered when I bit you, so I’m ignoring that advice.”

Keith felt his face go hot for the thousandth time that night and pressed closer to Takashi with their foreheads still pushed together. He was so solid underneath him that he felt like Takashi was more reliable than the Earth. They both stood in silence with the realization that both of them had wanted this, and that now it had happened, before someone cleared their throat over Keith’s shoulder.

“Captain.”

Takashi straightened and, instead of letting go of Keith like he had expected, pulled him closer so that he was tucked against his side.

“I’m not a captain anymore.”

It was Kolivan, and Keith didn’t miss the look he shot him before turning his face back to Takashi.

“I see you’re defiling our bassist.”

He had never said anything like that, and Keith stood in shock trying to figure out where it had come from. Kolivan shifted uncomfortably and Keith realized it was possessiveness. The idea that he was trying to protect him made Keith shiver. Takashi shrugged and dragged his thumb slowly across where it rested on Keith’s side.

“He usually has an out-of-town-only rule, so this is surprising.”

Keith was offended that Kolivan would try to make him sound like a whore in an attempt to defend him, and was almost successful in letting it go until he felt Takashi stiffen against him.

“A lot of things are surprising. Seeing you again, for example.”

Kolivan stared him down before nodding slowly. He turned to look at Keith meaningfully before tilting his head back to address Takashi again. Keith got the sense that the adults were talking and he was not supposed to be included.

“I hope they didn’t break you too badly before letting you go. We still stand with you.”
“ Captain– ” Ulaz moved to stand beside Kolivan. “I never thought I would see you again, alive at least.”

“Well here I am,” Takashi chewed the inside of his lip for a split second before reiterating, “And I’m not a captain anymore.”

“You are to us,” Ulaz shifted his weight and placed a hand on Takashi’s shoulder, and Keith felt the man’s whole body tense, “Fuck what the government has to say about it.”

Keith’s mind was working overtime.

Takashi cleared his throat and Ulaz and Kolivan turned their attention to Keith. He was in an awkward position for socializing, since he was tucked against Takashi’s side with his arm protectively around him and not at all in a stance that was portraying masculine frontman catching up after an experimental show. He tried hard not to care about how he looked. The both of them somehow managed to put hands supportively on his shoulder.

“Amazing work, as always.”

Keith had heard that line from Ulaz more times than he could count, but it always struck him deeply as genuine approval. Then it was Kolivan’s turn.

“They loved you. You balanced that very well. Good job.”

Keith grinned and they clapped his back before nodding at him and turning away to whatever business they had elsewhere. Keith took a tentative step back away from being pressed against Takashi and just looked at him. He had a thousand questions. Both of them were too drunk to have a meaningful conversation about it now, let alone one they would remember in the morning. He tried to focus on brainstorming the missing pieces of the story his bandmates had partially put together while talking to Takashi, but he couldn’t. Soft light glinted around the edges of Takashi’s figure. The bleached part of his hair glowed. The shadows of the room made his cheeks and jawline look cut enough to make Keith wonder if he really was real. His mouth was darkened and plush from their aggressive kiss. Their aggressive kiss.

Takashi brushed Keith’s hair out of his eyes like he had several times before, but this time the slight touch of his fingertips against Keith’s face was like crackling electricity. They stood in silence and stared at each other. Keith finally decoded the look they had been exchanging before. Resigned longing. He was drowning in it.

“Holy shit! ” Hunk was on them before Keith could brace himself, with arms around the both of them rocking them side to side, “You were amazing, man! Also… congrats?”

They were swarmed by Pidge, Lance, and Allura before he had time to respond.

“You lied to me!” Keith tried to say I lie to you often but couldn’t get it out in time, “You can sing! And you did kiss!” Keith shoved Pidge’s shoulder playfully and they swatted at him, laughing. Allura was giving him a thumbs up when Romelle joined them and she turned to chat excitedly with her. Lance was gripping Keith’s bottle from earlier, but didn’t offer it to him.

“That was the first time, so shut up.”

“That did not look like a first time,” Lance took a long swig from his bottle before continuing and Keith couldn’t tell if he meant the singing or the kissing, “Plus, we’ve all heard Keith scream. Who cares.”

“Everyone besides you, Lance. Who pissed on your parade?”

“It’s not my parade we need to worry about.” Allura shot him a rude look and he threw his hands up. “Just saying!”

“Whatever, man,” Keith didn’t know how to manage Lance’s mood, since he couldn’t figure out what had soured it, “Thanks for helping out, and being here.”

“We’re always here. Name one weekend we haven’t been here.”

Lance’s expression brightened and it seemed like thinking about their place in the scene had gotten him over whatever pissed him off. Keith figured someone probably spilled something on him and he had walked into the conversation already annoyed. He had a tendency to be sassy when provoked.

The conversation somehow drifted to all of the times they had wished they hadn’t come to something, and Keith watched Takashi following the conversation with interest, invested in their horror stories and laughing when they laughed. They stood, giggling and yelling, in a comfortable circle until someone behind him firmly grabbed Keith’s ass as they passed by, and he whipped around with a hand at his back prepared to grab his knife.

“Can I fucking help you?”

One of the guys walking away from their direction turned around at that and laughed a little too cockily for Keith’s liking. He vaguely remembered seeing him before, but couldn’t remember his name. He pivoted on his heel and started taking slow steps back toward Keith that felt predatory. The man’s friends stopped walking and turned to watch, but didn’t follow him.

“Yeah.”

Keith did not like the implication of that.

“Then get your help outside.”

Keith grabbed the back of his jacket collar like he was scruffing a kitten and hauled him to the door leading to the field. He was stocky and clearly built strong, but he was shorter than Keith, trashed, and had a horrible sense of balance, therefore making him easy to maneuver. Not fighting him right then and there was more self control than he was usually able to muster, but he was not doing this shit inside, and not in front of Takashi. 

Once they breached the door Keith shoved him and let go of his jacket, trying his best to throw him outside. The man stumbled a bit, but didn’t fall. Keith wished he had. There would be other chances. He noticed some of the people standing around them turn to watch what was happening, but kept his attention on the man stumbling back toward him.

“Didn’t realize your meat was on the menu.”

Keith grimaced, because that was a fucking gross way to put it. 

“It’s not.”

“You sure?”

The man grabbed at him, and Keith pivoted out of the way and shoved his shoulder hard. 

“Why are you playing hard to get?” The man spat in the dirt before continuing and Keith tried to hold down bile while they circled each other, “Everyone always talks about what you get up to on tour, but I didn’t think it was true– should have known better, you asian boys are always sissy fags. No wonder you never brought a girl around, too busy getting bent by some real –”

Keith’s fist was crushing his eye socket before he even thought about doing it. Resident Asshole fell backwards slightly and Keith had a split second to look around while he steadied himself. The man’s friends were coming fast through the door, and his were nowhere to be seen. Keith figured that must have been why he had stalled by monologuing.

“Why are you fucking with me if you know who the fuck I am?” Keith hated men, because they’d berate you for being gay while actively trying to get you to do them sexual favors, and the convolutedness of it always made Keith feel like he was from a different planet. Keith was poised to strike again, and the man touched his face where a dark bruise was quickly forming before looking up at Keith with an even more terrifying spark behind his eyes than had been there before. He seemed surprised that he had hit him, which was even more confusing, considering Keith’s reputation. He wondered if the man really had thought Keith would be easy. His friends were almost to them and seemed to be catching on to the situation, and Keith knew he only had seconds to turn the tides in his favor.

“I like them feisty.”

Keith pulled him forward and kicked a leg into his, before ducking out of the way to let him fall gracelessly face-down in the dirt. He was on him in seconds, and flipped him onto his back with his arms trapped beneath him and pinned him down with his legs. His vision flashed black and he started wailing on him, landing blows wherever he could. He was beyond angry. He was trying to get as many hits in as he could before he started getting hit back. His knuckles felt wet and he recognized it as blood, but only smeared it across the man as he hit him. He had tunnel vision. He was vaguely aware that they were surrounded.

“He’s gonna fucking kill him!”

There were arms on Keith’s shoulders but they couldn’t hold him back enough to stop him from continuing to beat the man beneath him to a pulp. He was wired. He had never won so easily before. He saw someone approaching him from the side out of the corner of his vision and punched him hard in the dick without turning or slowing. He felt feral. He was on fire.

Whoever it was came back, and hit him in the face with enough force to knock Keith back, despite how hard he was trying to ignore it and focus. There was a split second where he was starting to fall, and then he was being hauled up and against Takashi.

“Enough.”

Keith was being half carried half dragged for a second, then put down and shoved through the front door of the house. Takashi slammed the door and spun around to face Keith, stalking toward where he had all but thrown him through the entryway. The room was empty and Keith thanked God for that fact.

“I thought you said you didn’t need a bodyguard.”

Keith tongued the inside of his mouth where he had bit down hard when he had been hit. He stared at the floor. Anger gave way to embarrassment. He didn’t know why, and he hated it.
“I don’t.”

“Are you serious?”

Keith said nothing. Takashi said nothing back. He stared at Takashi’s boots and knew he was staring at him. When they took a step forward and settled right in front of him, Keith looked up.

“Don’t treat me like I’m a fucking kid,” His voice was low and even, and raspy from his performance, “I can handle myself. You don’t know jack shit about all of this, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fucking meddle.”

“If you didn’t want me to meddle, you shouldn’t have brought me here.”
Keith wondered where the fear in his eyes when he first approached the house had gone. He pressed his mouth into a hard line. Takashi’s jaw worked but he didn’t say anything else. They stared at each other in silence until Takashi took an audibly deep breath through his nose.

“I’ll admit. You’re good at that, too.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow at him.
“What?”

“Add it to the list, you’re a fighter.”
Keith didn’t know how to say no fucking shit, everyone knows that without sounding like a dick, and didn’t want to begin to unpack that Takashi was keeping a mental list of compliments for him. He cringed at the possibility that Takashi had assumed he was always on the receiving end of violence based on what he knew of the last fight he had been in. He didn’t have to say anything, because Takashi tilted his head up with a gentle hand on his chin and kissed him again, firm and soft this time. He ran his tongue over Keith’s lip and pulled back just barely. His lips brushed against Keith’s as he spoke.

“You taste like blood.”
“Sorry.” Takashi shook his head.

“It’s hot.”

Keith tried not to grin and their mouths met again. He was buzzing with adrenaline. This time it was frantic, and Keith let himself run his hands over the shapes of the man he had already committed visually to memory. Takashi tugged on Keith’s jacket, urging him enough to throw it onto the floor, and grabbed at him firmly without the thick layer in the way. His hands were hot on his skin when he shoved them under the back of Keith’s shirt and he became incredibly aware that they were in the middle of a living room with many, many other people at risk of entering.

Mmph.

Takashi realized Keith was trying to talk and pulled away from attacking his mouth. He kept his hands planted firmly on the small of Keith’s back, holding him in place. Keith noticed for the first time in the light that he had incredibly long eyelashes. His pupils were blown wide and Keith had to focus all of his strength on getting his words out instead of kissing him again. He was beautiful.

“Bathroom.”
Takashi nodded and let Keith drag him down the hall by his belt loops. Keith rushed to close and lock the door behind them before shoving Takashi against the wall and pressing against him with two hands flat on his chest. He all but ripped off the other man’s jacket before crashing their mouths together. Takashi’s hands went straight to his hair and tugged it lightly as Keith took control of the kiss. He smelled like sweat and car exhaust and woodsmoke and cheap body wash. His hair was soft when Keith ran his fingers through it and his torso was a combination of pliable and incredibly hard that made Keith’s knees a little weak. His mouth tasted like Keith’s whiskey and Keith’s blood. He pulled away to pant, and Takashi’s mouth went straight to his neck like a man starving. Keith tried not to moan when he dragged his teeth lightly over the skin there, and based on the way he could feel Takashi smile against his neck, he hadn’t tried hard enough.

He finished mapping the span of Takashi’s arms and shoulders and wrapped his arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer. Takashi’s hands stayed gripping his waist, and Keith flushed with the realization that he could nearly encircle it with them. He pressed against him so that they were chest to chest and could feel on his stomach where Takashi was incredibly hard and straining against his jeans. Keith’s brain short circuited and the tunnel vision came back.

“Please let me blow you,” Keith thought Takashi was going to laugh, but he didn’t care, “Please.”

Takashi nuzzled his neck before nipping at the skin of his jaw. Maybe Keith was aware they had kissed for the first time maybe ten minutes earlier. Maybe he liked Takashi in a way that made him feel like he deserved not rushing into this. He also didn’t care. Takashi leaned back and let his head rest against the wall to consider Keith.
“Eager.” Keith just stared at him, and he flashed him a smile in return before shoving Keith’s head down lightly.

Keith dropped to his knees as quickly and quietly as he could, and the combination of his desperation and inebriation made Takashi’s belt impossible to handle. Takashi snorted and undid it for him, and when he pulled his jeans and boxers down enough that he was exposed, Keith swallowed hard. He was fucking hung, because of course he was. Keith cursed God. Takashi noticed his hesitation and ran a gentle hand through Keith’s hair.

“You don’t have to–”
“Shut up.”

Keith licked a slow, wide stripe along the underside of Takashi’s cock and the man above him pressed a fist to his mouth. There was no way he was going to fit all of it in his mouth, even if by some miracle he managed to keep enough control to utilize an impossible amount of his throat. He fisted the base and pressed sloppy kisses around the head. Takashi shifted his feet and spread his legs wider apart. He covered Takashi’s cock in enough spit, and by consequence, a little blood, that he felt comfortable pumping it slowly with his hand, and stared at Takashi’s face as his eyes darkened and his cheeks flushed before sinking his mouth onto him. Takashi let out a breathy ‘ha’ that made Keith feel like he was burning up and tipped the scales of his confidence. He pressed as far as he could and felt the tip of Takashi’s cock hit the back of his throat hard. Takashi felt it too, because his hips stuttered and jerked.

“Fuck, Keith–”

Keith pressed a hand to Takashi’s hip to keep him still against the wall, but it was more for show than actually holding him there. Takashi got the hint and tried hard to stop himself from moving. He reached down and rubbed soft circles against Keith’s wrist. If Keith was crying, it was because of the massive dick in his throat and not that. Definitely not that.

He moved his hand to palm at his own ever-increasing problem through his jeans and Takashi tugged at his hair to urge him off and up. Keith pulled off of Takashi’s cock with a loud, wet pop and snorted at the obscenity of the noise.

“Turn around.”

Takashi’s voice was husky and hardly recognizable. His eyes were dark and he looked at once far away and incredibly aware when Keith met his gaze. Keith had barely gotten back to his feet when he grabbed him by the waist and physically turned him around. He pinned him between his hips and the counter and shoved his back to push him down with enough force that Keith had to catch himself on his elbows. Takashi grabbed the waistband of his jeans and underwear and yanked them down together nearly to his knees, and pulled Keith back by the hips to position him slightly away from the edge of the counter. He pushed Keith’s shirt up to his chest and pressed the small of his back gently to ease him into an arch. Takashi’s cock rested heavy on Keith’s ass. He could feel where the tip was dripping on his back. There was no way he was going to be able to take that right now, and he wasn’t traditionally a quitter. Takashi must have guessed his train of thought because he leaned over Keith’s back to speak softly near his ear.

“I won’t fuck you, just let me–” 

He groaned and rutted against Keith’s ass. He pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin on his shoulder and then bit down hard. Keith jolted. Takashi groaned at the movement and picked up his pace. Keith thought the feeling of Takashi fucking against him was almost filthier than if he had been fucking him. He lowered himself off of one of his elbows so he was lying on his chest on the counter, and reached down to grasp his own cock. Takashi grabbed his wrist before he could make it, and guided his hand back up above the counter and folded his arm gently so that it was against his back. When he was satisfied that Keith wasn’t going to try to move it again, he spat on his hand and reached down to slowly jerk him off in time with his own thrusts.

Keith screwed his eyes shut and panted loudly. Takashi brushed his thumb over the leaking head of his cock and he moaned. He was not a moaner. Takashi let out a breathy noise that could have been pleased or could have been making fun of him. He wound his other hand through Keith’s hair and tugged until he was almost fully upright, with his back pressed against Takashi’s chest, and guided him to look straight ahead into the mirror when he turned his head. He tried to stare at Takashi in the mirror instead, and drank up the way he could see him moving behind him and his hand fisted in front of him, earning him another gentle tug until he gave in.

“Look at you,” Takashi moved his hand to Keith’s jaw and rubbed it gently with his thumb, “So pretty.”

Keith thought he looked like a fucked out mess with a bruise forming on his face, not pretty, and then figured that’s probably what Takashi had meant. He blushed either way and Takashi smiled. He tilted his head towards the kiss Takashi pressed to his neck just below his ear and moved as his hands guided him back to resting on the counter.

Keith let himself be rocked gently across the smooth tile as Takashi chased friction and pressure. Takashi’s grip on him tightened and he shuddered. He could hear the span of Takashi’s hips hitting his ass and the back of his thighs, unaccompanied by the usual wet noises that sex entailed but enough to ground Keith in the moment. Takashi was fucking getting off rutting against his ass. It was real, and he was awake, which was a first.

“Fuck, Takashi, fuck, I’m–”

Takashi’s grip tightened around his base so hard that it hurt and he stilled.

“No, baby, not yet.”

Keith shot up on his hands and craned his neck to send a wild look back at Takashi.

“The fuck do you mean not yet?” Keith had never considered he had a choice in the timing of the matter. He stared at Takashi like he was insane. His grip hurt. His voice calling him baby replayed over and over in his head.

“You’re gonna come when I tell you to. Understood?”

Keith furrowed his brow and stared at him. The authority in Takashi’s voice made him feel like he had a genuine belief in Keith’s ability to do what he was asking. Keith wondered if maybe he could.

“Understood?”

Keith nodded.

“I want to hear a yes, sir. ”

Keith fought the urge to bite back with ‘And I want to fucking finish.’

“Yes, sir.”

Keith felt Takashi twitch hard against his back, and he released his death grip on Keith’s cock, which was left throbbing from the series of events. He gripped Keith’s waist and ran his other hand up his throat, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck as he held him gently.

“Good boy,” Takashi mumbled against his neck. Keith’s dick jolted violently.

Keith shivered and Takashi grinned against him. What the fuck?

Takashi fucked against Keith’s ass slowly a couple more times before guiding Keith gently by the waist to face him. He craned his neck down to capture Keith’s mouth in a kiss. Keith, with his hands now free and unaccountable, shoved Takashi’s shirt up and over his head before dropping it on the floor. Takashi dragged a thumb across Keith’s nipple through the fabric of his shirt and he shuddered and pressed his face to his chest, earning another huff and smile from the man in front of him. Keith reached to do the same, but Takashi reached for his cock to pull it flush against his own, and wrapped a hand around the both of them. Keith’s hands grabbed desperately at Takashi’s chest. He bowed against him and put his hands on his shoulders, the pressure was overwhelming and Takashi’s hand was rough. Feeling Takashi’s dick move against his own nearly made Keith pass out.

Takashi reached up and tugged at Keith’s hair to tilt his head back and into a kiss. Keith opened his mouth in a moan and he took the opportunity to lick into his mouth. Takashi pulled back, and carefully bunched Keith’s shirt up and pressed the excess fabric against his mouth, signaling Keith to hold it. Keith opened his mouth obediently and bit down on the fabric to hold it up. Takashi’s rhythm was growing erratic, and Keith ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, desperate to coax him towards finishing. Takashi pumped the both of them a few more times before looking up and leaning forward, setting an intent stare to Keith’s eyes.

“Come for me, Keith.”

Keith honestly hadn’t thought that that would have such a strong effect on him, but he was shaking and his whole body tensed as he came harder than he had in years, all over the both of them. His eyes shot wide open in surprise and he opened his mouth in a half moan half yell. The fabric of his shirt fell back down right as Takashi squeezed his eyes shut and came all over Keith’s torso with a groan. Takashi didn’t open his eyes, but grabbed for Keith’s head and peppered wet, open mouthed kisses across his face.

“You’re so good, you were so good for me.”

Keith’s dick twitched even though it was softening trapped between the two of them. Takashi slid his hands across his neck, across his shoulders, across his back, and held him tightly against him. Keith thought for a split second that he was quite the sap. He’d place money on him being a cuddler.
If the sex was going to be like that, Keith was never letting him get away.

“You probably shouldn’t wear that out.” Takashi was tugging at Keith’s shirt, which was ridiculously splattered with cum. Takashi eased it over Keith’s arms and wrapped it up, before swiping his discarded shirt from the floor and handing it to him. Keith took it, and was overwhelmed with how strongly it smelled like Takashi as he put it on. It had been tight on him, but it hung loosely from Keith’s shoulders. Takashi wiped himself clean before pulling his jacket back on over his bare chest. He placed his hands gently on Keith’s waist.

“You like being told what to do?”
“Not usually.” Keith figured Takashi could take it either as a fact or as a compliment. And he was telling the truth. Most of the time, Keith took charge of the situation he was in and liked being in control more than he didn’t. He didn’t know what was wrong with him that it had felt so natural to let Takashi guide him through their escapade. Takashi nodded and pressed a kiss to Keith’s forehead.

“I find that very hard to believe,” Takashi leaned his head back a little to consider Keith and tilted his head, “Does that make me special?”

“Something like that.” Takashi grinned.

“Probably shouldn’t have disappeared like that after you were caught beating the shit out of a man.” Keith scoffed and hit him softly on the shoulder.

“I wasn’t beating the shit out of him.”
“I thought you were going to kill him. Yes you were.” 

Takashi brushed his hand lightly over where the bruise was blossoming on his face. Keith just looked at him. He knew he had probably gone overboard, but the fight had felt as much like defending himself as it had felt like defending Takashi. He pulled Takashi closer by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him, smiling against his mouth. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was wholly obsessed with the man in front of him with no way to communicate it. Takashi pushed Keith’s hair back and thumbed circles over his hipbone before cocking his head and asking ‘Ready?’ Keith nodded and reached for the handle of the bathroom door.

When he opened it, he was met with Lance standing a hair’s width away from him, dramatically checking his watch. He straightened and tensed.

“What the hell, man! Were you fucking listening to us fuck?” Lance raised his eyebrows and sighed heavily.

“No, but I was timing you,” Keith wished he wasn’t so good at telling when his friend was lying,  and Lance raised his watch up to Keith’s face as his gaze flickered briefly behind him to Takashi before settling on the ceiling in mock dramatism, “Twenty three minutes and seven seconds. You know its rude to occupy the only bathroom. I had to piss.”

“Piss outside.”

“Where are your manners!” Keith clapped Lance on the shoulder in response and pushed past him, dragging Takashi who was clinging to his waist.

“Never had any.”

He dragged Takashi outside so that he could light a cigarette, and he watched him intently throughout the process. Allura found them first, and started laughing very loudly at their wardrobe change. Keith waved his cigarette at her in a vague dismissal and turned to stare out at the field before them and the night sky stretching out above it. If not for her inside information, it wasn’t that strange. He could have had something spilled on him. Allura turned her attention to Takashi.

“You’re welcome here any time if you’ll drag Keith out of fights like that,” Allura put her hands on her hips like she was serious, “No one else can handle him. Also, apologies for how I acted earlier, I didn’t realize you two were…”

She trailed off but her implication was obvious, even if Keith himself didn’t know what they ‘were.’

“Oh, we weren’t until earlier.”

Keith’s heart picked up it’s pace and he tried to will it back to normalcy. The words were weighted, Takashi thought they were something other than a drunk hookup at a show that would be ignored for the rest of their lives. He was excited as much as he was scared.

Allura looked confused in a way that meant she was about to start asking a truckload of questions, so Keith changed the subject.

“Glad to see Lotor didn’t show.”
He had killed the mood but it was better than wherever the conversation was going. Allura pressed her mouth firmly closed and gave a quick and firm nod. She crossed her arms across her chest and turned to face more towards Keith where he was still looking off into the distance.

“Hopefully he’s learned his lesson and knows better than to show his face here again.”
Keith thought that train of thought was fucking hilarious, since it had been Lotor who had humiliated him at the last show, but figured Allura knew what she was talking about. She got up to all sorts of shit when he wasn’t watching, he had learned over the last few years. The likelihood that she had given him a stern talking to and possible threat that shook him exactly as deeply as she had meant it to was very high.

“What about the asshole I gave a makeover?”

Takashi snorted at that and Keith tried not to smile. Allura waved her hand towards the cars around them.

“Romelle saw him leave, his friends too. I overheard him whining to them about how he knew you. Care to explain that?”
Keith just shrugged. His face had been familiar but he had no idea who he was. However they knew each other was clearly inconsequential and not serious enough for him to be paying attention to Keith’s personal life that intensely.

“A lot of people know me, apparently.”

Keith heard the next band in the lineup start soundchecking and took a desperate drag from his cigarette before grounding it out on the bottom of his boot.

“In case you forgot, we have places to be,” Keith grabbed for Takashi’s arm before continuing, “Do you know what Lance did with my bottle?”

“No, but you know where the rest are.” Keith nodded and gave her one of his half-hearted mock salutes, because he was more familiar with that cabinet than he was with most of the people in that house.

Lance blocked his path to his beloved liquor cabinet when he tried to make his way to the kitchen.

“Have a good piss?”

Lance shot him a scathing look, but it wasn’t as humorous as they usually were. He stuck a hand out and held Keith’s shirt out toward him. It was meticulously folded. The thought of Lance seeing his shirt covered in cum and discarded on the floor, let alone folding it, made Keith want to throw up. He remembered his rule had been for a reason. He did not like being perceived, and hated even more when it had consequences.

“I think you forgot something.”

Keith taking the time to stare at him unamusedly before reaching out to take it from him meant Takashi beat him to it. He didn’t miss the way Lance’s eyes widened slightly when Takashi grabbed the shirt and held it casually against his hip.

“Thanks.” Keith’s voice was devoid of gratitude.

Lance turned pointedly away from Takashi and towards Keith.

“Can I fucking talk to you,” he shot Takashi a pinning glare, “Alone.”

Keith shrugged and shouldered by him to swipe a bottle from the cabinet behind his head. He didn’t miss the one he had brought, now drained, set on the counter in the corner.

“Whatever, man.”

This seemed to piss off Lance even more, but Keith couldn’t be bothered. Everything pissed him off, and all of it was incomprehensible to Keith. Lance turned towards Keith where he had moved behind him, and stuck an arm out to point at the door. He turned his face to Takashi and stared him down.

“Get out. ”

Chapter Text

Keith started to yell ‘what the fuck is the issue’ at the exact same time Lance yelled ‘what the fuck is your problem’ when the front door closed behind Takashi. Keith was keenly aware of the conversations in the living room quieting. They stared at each other for a split second before Lance cut to the chase.

“Are you being fucking serious?” Lance had only been this pissed at Keith a couple times before, and it had been because he had severely fucked up– he was mature enough to realize things like that now. Keith knew he was upset, but he also knew he was drunk, “You meet some random fucking, and no offense, also suspicious fucking guy once and start acting like he’s more important than all of your friends? You didn’t even talk to us after you finished your set. That was a big deal, Keith. That was a big fucking deal and you somehow cared more about his reaction than the people you’ve been best friends with for the last four years. You just stood there next to him and followed whatever he did. Since when do you follow fucking anybody?”

Keith didn’t know what to say, because he thought their reaction to the change in the band’s setup would be mild and relatively unimportant considering they had talked about it extensively and known each other for so long. Takashi’s reaction mattered because it was the first time he had seen Keith perform. Plus, he hadn’t been able to find them after he had finished. He guessed Lance thought this was on him for not trying hard enough to look for them. His brain was spinning out. He was pissed, because he realized Lance had a point. The dynamic he had with Takashi, every time they had seen each other, really was Keith going to him and following him. Keith bit down hard and tried not to think about it.

“I didn’t think it mattered that much to you,” Lance grimaced, and Keith realized too late that was the wrong thing to say, “I don’t get why it’s–”

“And then you disappear after starting a fight again, when all of us are worried about you because of what happened with Lotor, and it’s to what- suck him off in the bathroom? He’s taking advantage of you, Keith.”

Keith’s fists were clenched so hard he thought he was going to break through the skin of his palm.

“He’s not taking advantage of me.”

“You hung out with him for the first time literally tonight!”

“He’s not taking advantage of me.”

It sounded so much like a lie coming out of his mouth that the pinprick of worry that it was tore a hole and started flooding his chest. Lance calmed down only slightly, and Keith could tell it was because he was desperately forcing it.

“Listen, he’s a cool guy or whatever, but-”

“Hey guys, the fuck is going on?”

“Hunk, I am literally begging you to stay out of this.” Lance didn’t turn away from where he was staring down Keith with his back to the room to address their friend. Hunk moved to stand between the two of them.

“Sorry man, but you passed the decibel threshold of where I try to keep myself on the sidelines,” Hunk spared a look at Keith’s change of shirt, “Damn, did that guy bleed on you that badly?”

Lance cut in so quickly that Keith thought he made it glaringly obvious he was trying to get a word in before Keith could.

“No, he didn’t bleed on him at all, he was too busy fucking Shiro in the bathroom for twenty fucking minutes while I had to piss.”

Keith threw a hand up and titled his head as he looked away from the two of them, all but rolling his eyes. Lance not being able to use the bathroom for twenty minutes was so far from the point of it all and yet kept being what he brought up. Hunk pressed his mouth into a firm line and his expression changed as he set his look back on Lance.

“So that’s what this is about.”

“No,” Lance pointed aggressively in the direction of the front door, “It about the fact that Shiro’s got Keith wrapped around his fucking finger so badly that he isn’t even thinking about us!”

“Lance–” Hunk started but didn’t finish.

Keith saw Pidge appear behind his two friends and lean in the doorway without making their presence known. The look they gave Keith told him they wanted to keep it that way.

“Jesus Christ, Lance, I’m not wrapped around his anything and I didn’t fucking forget about you. Why is this such a problem?”

“Because it’s– it’s fucking–”

“You were excited to hang out with him an hour ago, what the fuck changed?”

“He’s taking advantage of you! Why won’t you let me look out for you?”

“I already told you, he’s not–”

“Lance, dude,” Hunk’s voice was calm and he put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, “You’re fucking trashed. Let it go.” Lance shoved Hunk’s hand off of him and jabbed a finger at Keith without pulling his gaze away from him. The look he set on Hunk was fiery.

“No one gives a shit when Keith gets trashed!”

Keith rolled his eyes, because Lance was acting like a child, but his chest twinged because he knew that’s how he got when he was genuinely upset. He tried to piece together how Lance had come to the conclusion that he had to protect Keith from Takashi in the thirty minutes between them all socializing like normal downstairs and now. He was scrambling for reasoning, and settled for blaming it on the fact that Lance had gotten increasingly drunk in that time. Keith heard the band downstairs start playing loud and fast through the floor.

“I’m not wasting my time with this right now.”

Hunk shot him a look that meant that had definitely been the wrong thing to say and was going to make things worse, and he saw Pidge visibly flinch where they were still hiding. He didn’t give a fuck, to be honest. He threw a hand up and gestured vaguely as he made his way to the hallway, drawing his friends’ attention to Pidge. He stopped in the doorway to call back over his shoulder at them.

“I came to the show to see the fucking show. We can hash this out some other time if you guys ever decide to use the group chat again.” Keith wished he had come up with a pettier way to bring up how they had been ignoring his messages and the oddity of their radio silence, just for good measure. He hoped it didn’t have to do with Lance’s increasing dislike of Takashi since he’d first told them about him.

Hunk turned to Lance, who didn’t shove him off this time when he put his hand back on his shoulder. Lance started to open his mouth in something that was clearly going to be directed at Pidge before Hunk cut him off before he could say anything.

“He’s right, Lance, I don’t think now’s a good time for this.”  Lance rapidly looked between his two friends as Keith left the kitchen.

“Right. Because Keith’s always right, isn’t he. Because he’s allowed to pick fights when he wants to no matter how inappropriate it is but when I have a genuine problem–” Lance clenched his teeth and grimaced, “When has he ever prioritized actually watching the show from downstairs?”

“He storms out of half the conversations he’s in,” Pidge finally spoke up, “I don’t think that was actually the point.”

Lance clenched and opened his fists over and over again and stared at the wall.

“I think we need to have a talk about Shiro,” Pidge looked pointedly at Lance, “Just the three of us.”

Only Hunk responded.

“No shit, Pidge.”

Keith shoved open the door to the basement and headed downstairs. He gripped the bottle in his hand and tried to lose himself in the sheer volume of the pounding music. A couple heads turned at the light from the house being let into the dark basement when he opened the door, but he tried pointedly to ignore them. He scanned the crowd for Takashi, then for people he wanted to avoid, and didn’t spot any of either. He settled himself against the side wall close enough to the band that he could watch their hands as they played, and thought about trying to drink himself to death on purpose. At this rate, it was going to happen anyway. Someone from the pit got thrown into him, spilling a good portion of his drink on himself, and he shot an arm out to pull him back up and push him back into the fray. He shook his head and took another swig. He wanted his brain to turn off. He envied all the living things without consciousness and slammed his head back on the cinderblock wall hard enough that it hurt. A drum solo that wasn’t being balanced very well through the sound system assaulted his ears and he tried to focus on the moment. For the last several years of his life, good things had lasted approximately five seconds before they got worse. He was sick of it.

He chewed on a growing frustration with the way his friend group’s dynamic had shifted after his fight with Lotor. He didn’t like the way they were in his business, and he didn’t like the way they were slowly acting like they had authority over him under the guise of protection. Remembering how he had been ready to take their relationship more seriously when he had time to think that night a week ago nearly made him cry out of anger. He hadn’t expected things to go this way. He wanted them to have his back, he had been ready to trust them with it. He didn’t want them breathing down his neck.

“You can’t just keep leaving your equipment on the stage for someone else to pack up or put in my room.” There was no heat in Allura’s voice, but Keith still flinched when he was startled out of his thoughts.

“It was twice,” he immediately realized that hadn’t been the right thing to say, “I’ll get it after their set.”

Allura nodded and leaned against the wall next to him. They both watched the people moving in front of them like a blur. She gestured asking him to hand her his bottle and he did. Keith furrowed his brow and tried to force the gaze he set on her to be less intense.

“How do you know Takashi?”

Allura just barely quirked an eyebrow at him before handing his bottle back and wiping her mouth, very clearly trying not to choke or gag.

“I didn’t know Shiro well, he was younger than me and we only went to a couple of the same… events, before he enlisted.”

“You didn’t know him, but you knew he enlisted.”
“Everyone did,” Allura folded one arm across herself and gestured vaguely with the other one, “After the members of the Loyalists went, everyone had their eyes open and word spread, but you have to understand this was a different time. Kolivan did right after. Everyone knew.”

“It couldn’t have been that long ago, the fuck do you mean a different time?” Allura just shrugged at that, “What would make a portion of the punk scene join the fucking military all at once? I know the base is nearby, but half of the bands’ lyrics are about how fucked it is.”

“Half of people think they can change things themselves, from the inside, the other half are desperate for a purpose. To my understanding, that went horribly for all of them.” Allura set an intense look on Keith that almost made him uncomfortable, “I worry about you for the same reason. People here, people in our scene, it’s easy to form this personal sense of honor, to think you’re morally superior to other people when you live in this vacuum of a completely different type of community and following different social rules. Especially the people who join so young. And you know better than anyone what a pack mentality will do to people with a burning sense of righteousness.”

“Are you joking? I’m not going to fucking enlist.”

“That isn’t my point. Just… I’ve looked out for you for so long, Keith. You could do a lot of good in the right situation. I just want you to choose to put yourself in that right situation.”
“I have,” Keith gestured to the rest of the basement, “This is what I chose. And God knows I’m fighting for justice down here.”
Allura sighed just barely and her concerned expression didn’t change, but she nodded and turned to look back at the band. Keith knew he would need to ask Kolivan about what had happened, but had never had a serious conversation like that with him. In addition, Allura had confirmed it was this town’s scene Takashi had been a part of, or at least one nearby, and how he had missed him was beyond him. He wondered if he was older than he thought he was. He forced the entire thing out of his mind.

“Where has Coran been?”

It wasn’t strange that Coran was gone, he had a tendency to always be somewhere doing something that they’d all hear a thousand barely believable stories about when he got back, but it had been too long.

“I don’t know.”
Keith whirled on her in a flurry.

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” Allura moved her head to gesture at the people surrounding them, “And I’m not talking about it here.”

Keith turned and leaned back against the wall where he had been with a huff. Now he was worried. Something was off, and with everything going on with the people he knew, he couldn’t help but fear something just as intense was happening to him. He thought about the Loyalists, who he hadn’t thought or heard about in years, who he knew Coran had known and had disappeared just the same.

When the band finished playing and got part way done packing up their gear, enough that they weren’t being frantic about it, Keith made his way carefully around them to grab his equipment and stash it all back in its respective bags. The crowd thinned as people dispersed to drink or smoke or chat, and he trudged up the stairs to the field to stick it in Hunk’s van. He would have to remember to ask him to lock it.

As he walked back toward the house, he spotted Pidge smoking a joint along the wall and Takashi standing with them.

“You found us.”

Keith looked at Pidge and jokingly rolled his eyes.

“I smelled you before I spotted you.”
“I could say the same,” Pidge dropped their head to the side and waved the hand holding their joint around in his vague direction, “You know liquor is a beverage, not an article of clothing.”

“Sorry.” Keith said it to Takashi, not Pidge.

“I have a washing machine, you’re fine.”

Keith turned to Pidge, who was eyeing him amusedly. He was pleasantly surprised by the way they were treating him after watching him almost fight with Lance earlier, and warily surprised that they had been talking to Takashi alone.

“Did you see my jacket in the living room?”

Pidge furrowed their eyebrows and took a drag before responding to him.

“Don’t think so, where was it?”

“On the floor…”

Pidge started cackling while Keith and Takashi just stared at them. He bristled. Something about Takashi was off, and he desperately hoped it wasn’t him facing down regret as he sobered up.

“Nope, but Allura will probably find it if someone moved it.” They breathed out forcefully and dropped their hands to rest on their thighs. Keith didn’t know if he wanted to know what they were planning on saying next.

“Right.”
“Also, Lance told me to tell you that he won’t make all of us leave right now if you promise to not just hang out with Shiro alone, to which I said ‘I’m not fucking twelve, I’m not doing this’ ,” Pidge put their hands up in their defense as Keith gave them an unamused stare, “But then he offered to give me his copy of Twilight Princess, which I could not pass up. So yeah, Lance said that.”

“He can’t fucking make me do anything, so if you’re playing messenger, tell him that.”

Pidge just looked at him, clearly surprised with his aggression and that it hadn’t been something he’d easily agree to. He didn’t blame them, it had been easy to hang out with all of them together earlier, but things felt different now. He didn’t like Lance putting restrictions on him, whether or not he planned on violating those restrictions. It was about principle.

“Damn, okay.”

Keith grabbed Takashi by the wrist and tried to drag him towards Hunk’s van, so he could grab his helmet from where it was stashed in his gear bag. When he resisted, Keith was, for the first time, incredibly frustrated with the fact that he had never been able to move or force him, and that he was so much stronger than him. Keith shot Takashi a look that would kill the average attendee, and he relented and followed him slowly.

Keith slammed the van’s trunk closed and gripped the helmet. Takashi was not amused.

“Take me home.”

Keith vaguely hoped this would open the opportunity for Takashi to ask whose home he should bring him to, but he just pursed his lips and crossed his arms. His weight shifted and he stared Keith down.

“You’re drunk. Stay with your friends.”
Keith tried not to feel the pang of hurt ricocheting through his chest. Last time he was like this, Takashi had come to help him. If his friends had somehow scared him away, Keith was going to fight all of them. He’d even fight them all at once. He didn’t like the way that sounded like an order, when it was his own choices they were talking about.

“Take me home.”

Takashi stood for a second, clearly weighing his options, before grabbing the helmet from Keith and walking around the car to lock it from the buttons on the driver’s door. Keith followed him, unsure what it meant. Takashi spun around to face him after slamming the door harder than was necessary, and he worried what he was thinking.

“You need a change of clothes. Then I’m taking you to your apartment.”

Keith almost felt offended at the fact that he made it so obvious he wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, but it was completely drowned out by the thought that he was going to give him his clothes from his house beforehand for some unknown reason. Keith wanted to know what Pidge had said to him, because his entire demeanor had changed since he’d been banned from the kitchen for him to fight it out with Lance.

When they made it to his bike, Takashi pushed Keith’s helmet over his head for him like he had the first time. He looked pointedly at his bare arms and chewed his lip, before shaking his head as he thought to himself and putting his own helmet on. Keith raised a hand to his visor to get his bangs out of his eyes, but Takashi knocked his hand away and did it for him. That seemed good, at least. He prayed it wasn’t because Takashi was worried about his level of sobriety and ability to do things himself, and wondered idly how much of the way he had treated him the night he had picked him up stemmed from a similar place. He felt stupid for thinking it was something else.

Keith sat down behind him, loosely encircled the man in front of him and held onto his own wrists with a death grip like he had the last time. He realized with a bit of frustration that he was scared of making Takashi upset with him. Takashi huffed and grabbed his arms, pulling them apart and tugging so that they were wrapped tightly around his torso.

“You really have to hold on tighter than that.”

Keith tilted his head and leaned slightly toward him.

“You don’t exactly drive like you think you’re going to crash.”

“It’s not about me.”

Keith wasn’t sure if he meant he had wavering faith in Keith’s ability to not fall off, or in other drivers’ ability to not hit him. Takashi didn’t elaborate and Keith didn’t press. The engine kicked to life and instead of walking it back, he flung dirt and rocks behind him as he spun his bike around the car next to them to pull onto the road fast enough that Keith was glad he was holding on so tightly.

Takashi rode just as fast as before but not as recklessly, and Keith wondered if he had been showing off the first time. With his arms pressed against him he could feel when Takashi sucked in a hard breath in preparation or response to an obstacle and it tugged at that same feeling that kept popping up in the back of his mind– that Takashi was vulnerably human underneath it all. The night air was cold on his arms as it rushed past and he was grateful for Takashi’s body heat.

When they pulled into his driveway, through a wordless communication Keith got up first and started entering the code into the lock pad while Takashi rolled his bike up to the door. Keith tucked the sticky note back into the lining of his helmet and walked up to where he stood inside, staring down at his bike in a trance. Keith could tell he was a million miles away.

“Hey.”

Takashi didn’t look up at him. He stared at the seat of his bike and gripped it with a force Keith worried would damage it somehow.

“I got this because I was having a crisis,” Takashi’s voice was soft but his tone was even, “When I got out I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had nothing left. I felt like I was going crazy deprived of the adrenaline. They took everything , Keith. And then they–”

Keith put his hand gently on Takashi’s arm but the man flinched so violently that he pulled it back. Broken out of his haze, he stared up at Keith, and the flickering behind his eyes was resignation to sadness. Honorable.

“You have a team, Keith. I know better than anyone how important it is to put them first.”

“It’s not a team, we’re friends from college.” Nothing about this was life or death. He tried as hard as he could to sound serious, because as ridiculous as that had sounded to him he knew what Takashi was getting at.

“Friends can be a team.”
“Okay,” Keith thought about Pidge, them becoming inseparable after begrudgingly hiding together in high school when they had both been outed the same year, slowly tolerating each other until they realized they cared about one another like they were blood, “They can be a family, too.”

Takashi looked back down to his bike.

“I think you’d know more about that than I would.”

“Not really, not the traditional kind at least.”

Takashi didn’t look up at him but his expression showed that that hadn’t been what he expected. Keith wondered how. To him it seemed obvious. Takashi sucked in a slow breath and raised his head to level his gaze on the wall in front of him.

“I think tonight I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone.”

Keith thought he was going to visibly catch fire. He wasn’t allowed to regret this. Not now, not because of his friends. He gripped the fabric of his jeans so hard at the sides that he thought it was going to tear. He knew Takashi’s allowance for familiarity that bordered on intimacy had been touch and go in the past, but he assumed after the night’s events that would have changed. He had kissed him first. He hadn’t shied away from it to his friends. He understood brushing off casual sex, but that wasn’t what that had been. Keith was going to strangle someone and he wasn’t sure who.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Takashi finally looked up at him and Keith wanted to break his own bones.

“I dragged all of you into something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even see it coming. And that now I’m coming between you and your friends… I don’t want to break the things you’ve built. You’re too– you’re too–”

“What?” He tried not to sound frustrated. He felt like the more Takashi shared the more confused he became. Keith wanted to touch his arm again but didn’t dare try. He felt stupid and selfish for thinking Takashi’s reservations had been about regretting getting involved with him, now knowing it was about the guilt of putting him in a position to have to choose between him and his friends and whatever seemed to be going on between him and Keith’s bandmates. His veins were on fire with the desperation for knowledge. He needed to know what Takashi thought he was dragging them into.

“Keith, you don’t know what it’s like–” Takashi was rapidly losing the control he had over his emotions. Keith didn’t know how to stop it and definitely didn’t know how to help.

“Know what what’s like?” When Takashi just stared at him in return, he changed gears, “It’s going to be fine.”

“We’re all going to fucking die. Or worse.”

He pushed away from the bike and headed into the house so fast Keith was jogging to catch up with him.
“Or worse?”

Keith tried very hard to ignore that he thought they were in danger of dying in the first place. Takashi didn’t slow on his way towards his bedroom, presumably to grab Keith the clothes he needed, and he was frustrated once again with how big he was. He stood in the doorway while Takashi rummaged through a large duffel bag and pulled out sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, he had already managed to change out of his jacket and into a sweatshirt before Keith had gotten there. Keith was surprised that he did, in fact, have a mattress, albeit it was on the floor and didn’t look like anyone had ever slept in it. It was perfectly made and Keith caught a glimpse of a blanket on the floor between the mattress and the wall on the other side of it. He was incredibly familiar with the practice of having to sleep on the floor to be able to sleep at all. His stomach churned again on Takashi’s behalf. He pictured Takashi moving a bed into his new place with the intention of changing things. He pictured him looking at it and wishing it would be the thing to tip him over the edge back to normal. Keith had been there. It took years to correct his course. He squeezed his eyes shut like it would squeeze his thoughts out with it.

“Or worse,” Takashi stuck the clothes out toward him aggressively, “Change.”

Keith figured he had already seen most of his body naked but still felt like he shouldn’t change right in front of him. He ducked into the bathroom and hid behind the door where it stood ajar to swap his clothes. The ones Takashi had given him were still slightly big, but fit him better than the tshirt had. He wondered if they were old.

When he came back into the bedroom, he handed Takashi his old clothes and he tucked them under his arm where his first ruined shirt was already held against his side. Takashi didn’t move, he just stared at him.

“Pidge told me you knew,” when Keith just furrowed his brow at him, because he definitely hadn’t known that he was his bandmates’ old captain or that Lance would decide he wasn’t safe to be around, he continued, “They told me you had seen the statement. All of you.”

Keith wanted to set their house on fire, because of course they did. They had explicitly warned him of this. He had no idea how to handle Takashi confronting him about it, he had only prepared for it to be the other way around.

“It was just a couple days ago.”

“Five. It was Sunday.”

Keith was going to rip their skin off the next time he saw them. The look Takashi settled on him wasn’t angry, which was almost worse.

“When were you going to tell me?”

Keith pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. For one of only a handful of times in his life, he understood exactly how big of the bad guy he was in this situation.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t exactly been the top thing on my mind.”

“It hasn’t been–”

“We all have weird shit, crazy shit, about us, Takashi. They knew about you before that. They didn’t all even know you two were the same person until tonight. I don’t care. It wasn’t a big deal to me. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by bringing it up. It didn’t change anything about how I–” Keith cut himself off before he could say what he was thinking and turned to stare at the wall. He knew he hadn’t saved himself, what he was going to say was still too obvious. At least he technically hadn’t said it. He clenched his fists at his sides before crossing his arms.

“That’s what Pidge said they thought. But you still…”

Takashi trailed off and after a second of silence Keith looked up at him. He looked both confused and frustrated that he was. Keith’s brain connected the dots Takashi had scattered, he meant kissing him back.

“I told Pidge to leave you alone. I told all of them to leave you alone, but they’re not exactly the best listeners. It doesn’t matter .” Keith groaned and shook his head like it would force him into a reality where things went his way. “I don’t care about it. I care about–”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence and cut himself off with a frustrated noise. He fisted his hands in the front of Takashi’s sweatshirt and crushed his mouth into his. It was decidedly aggressive, but Takashi didn’t take his bait. He dropped the clothes he was holding, and pushed both hands into Keith’s hair to cradle his head. He kissed Keith back slowly. He hated the level of confidence Takashi seemed to operate on. Keith pulled away sooner than he wanted to and rested his forehead against Takashi’s to look up at him. He hoped his look would communicate what he couldn’t, but his use of that tactic only had a fifty percent success rate.

“You don’t know what they’ll do, Keith. You weren’t– you didn’t– It’s not worth it.”

“It’s going to be fine. Whatever’s going to happen. If we’re a team, then you’re a part of it, too.”

“I don’t think your team wants me on it, to be honest,” Takashi grimaced like his face was trying to smile and his mind was trying to stop it, “You four can’t fix this. You can’t protect me from them. You’ll just endanger yourselves if you do.”

Keith had a developing vague idea of who ‘them’ was and really, really hated the thought.

“I’m calling the shots. I don’t care. I’m still going to try. Even if I do it alone.”

Takashi stared at him. Keith had a thousand questions. He hoped he could win the chance to at least ask them in the future. His heart was racing. Takashi pulled him tight against him and crushed him with his arms so hard Keith was worried it would bruise. He pressed a hard kiss to the top of Keith’s forehead and his chest hurt. He tried to remember if anyone had ever done that before. His mind came up blank aside from when Takashi had done it earlier in the bathroom.

“Pidge also said not to let you get hurt,” Takashi’s tone changed as he was mumbling against Keith’s hair, and he was worried he was going to start crying without realizing, “I won’t.”

Keith’s heart seized in his chest and he thought his blood was going to stop circulating. He knew it was ridiculous to think the two of them could protect each other against the world. He was wholeheartedly willing to do it anyway. He dug his fingers into Takashi’s back where he was still held tight hugging him. He was strong, he was solid. He was generally unwavering. He knew now that the only fear he felt was tied to whatever he had been put through, and his level head took precedence otherwise. Keith would burn down every government building in the country for him. He shivered at the idea that Takashi would want to do the same.

Takashi tangled his fingers with Keith’s to make him follow as he headed to the washer and dryer stacked in the hallway across from his room. He didn’t let go of Keith’s hand as he went through the process of starting it up. When he was finished, he turned back and lightly brushed away the hair that had fallen in Keith’s face. Keith looked up at him and didn’t want to look away.

“Those are one of two pairs of pants that I own, so you’d better return them.”

Takashi just laughed.

“Let’s get you home.”

Keith made sure to relocate his knife, phone, and wallet to his borrowed sweatpants before following Takashi back out to the garage. They didn’t say another word to each other until Takashi pulled his bike up right in front of Keith’s apartment door. Takashi pulled off his helmet and pressed the one Keith was holding back against his chest when he took it off.

“Stop trying to give that back. I want you to keep it.”

Keith set the helmet carefully on the seat of Takashi’s bike where he had been sitting and pulled off Takashi’s jacket he’d let him borrow. The other man tugged it on over his sweatshirt when Keith handed it to him.

“Do you want coffee or anything? You can come inside.”

Takashi had to think for longer than he expected him to. He had figured it would be a quick decision between yes or no, whatever his reasoning. Takashi tilted his head a little when he responded.

“Water would be nice.”

Keith knew he had water at home, which was a maximum of maybe five minutes away on a bad day with the way that he drove, and grinned as he turned to head inside with Takashi trailing after him. He struggled a little more than he would have liked to in front of him with pulling his boots off and tried to cover it by moving as quickly as he could to the kitchen. He was vaguely aware of Takashi taking his time behind him, eyes scanning his small apartment and taking it all in. He knew there was a lot to analyze, especially if he felt like trying to glean something about his character. Takashi’s barren house was the opposite of that. Here, Keith had his whole heart out on display. It was his safe haven. It was his.

Keith rummaged for a clean cup in his completely disorganized cabinet and filled it with water, while Takashi scrutinized the decorations on his fridge. He slid the paw magnet off of the sticky note with his phone number and replaced it with a sparkly heart, before rearranging a couple of the alphabet magnets to read BUTTSEX because he was a child.

“Trying to send me subliminal messages?” Keith handed Takashi the water and he took a tentative sip before holding it.

“No,” then, after a beat, he smiled, “Is it working?”

Keith just laughed, it came easily and he could feel the way it built in his stomach instead of in his throat like it did when it was being forced into existence. Takashi took a small step back to move out of the way of the fridge door when Keith pulled it open and dug a beer can out of a drawer at the bottom, definitely meant for vegetables or cheese or something but repurposed to match his dietary habits. He cocked a judgemental eyebrow at him as he cracked it open but sipped his water instead of saying anything. Keith didn’t want him to win with haughty silence.

“My mom always told me rounding off with something softer will water down your hangover.”

“I think following with water would be a better choice than following with beer,” Takashi didn’t press it and let Keith drink, “You haven’t told me much about your mother.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Does she live far from here? You said you grew up here, right?”

Keith snorted, “Only a couple miles. She’s in the cemetery by the interstate.”

Takashi’s face twisted and Keith remembered how much he hated having this conversation.

“Don’t,” Keith started when Takashi opened his mouth but nothing came out, not sure of how to amend the situation, “She’s been dead for almost as many years as I knew her, and for a lot of that time I couldn’t… see her, really. She was a strong woman. I’m proud she was my mom. She wasn’t for long and she’s not anymore. It is what it is.”

Takashi looked down at the floor and nodded slowly. He set his glass on the counter and leaned against it, but his posture made him look small.

“My mom died the week after I left for the base,” he crossed his arms and bored a hole through the floorboards with his stare, “Heart attack. I didn’t even know until I got out. My dad packed everything up and moved back to his hometown in Japan to stay with his parents. We haven’t spoken since I left. I sent him a letter when I found out and he never sent one back.”

Keith couldn’t stop himself, even though he hated when it was the only thing people could think of to say to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Takashi shrugged just barely and looked up at him. His face was tight.

“The unexpected things are hard, I understand. Especially when you’re young.”

“Oh, it wasn’t unexpected.” Takashi furrowed his brow at this and looked like he was trying very hard not to seem surprised.

“Was she sick?”

People here knew not to ask. The town was big but not that big. People who didn’t know still knew not to ask, because why the hell would you press something like that. Keith told himself Takashi was only talking like this because he thought they were sharing experiences.

“Something like that,” Keith figured he would find all of this out sooner or later, with how his friends seemed comfortable referencing it casually, and would rather be able to explain it first than let one of them, at worst Lance, explain it wrong, “She stopped taking her meds. She killed herself. Said the Galra were coming to take her back. Said she wouldn’t lead them to me.”

Takashi tensed so hard Keith thought his tendons were going to snap.

“The Galra.”

It wasn’t a question. Takashi was testing the word in his mouth. Keith explained anyway.
“The Galra,” Keith made air quotes with his fingers, “The alien society she was convinced she was from. Heard a thousand shrinks explain that we had nothing to worry about. She was good at pretending to believe them. The medication calmed her down but it didn’t make it go away. Most of the time it was fine, some of the time it was not.”

Takashi stood up and away from the counter. His stare was blank and he looked a thousand miles away.

“Keith–”
“I’m not crazy,” Keith started to raise his hands and didn’t know what for, so he put them back down, “Lance loves to say it’s hereditary. I’m fine. I’m not crazy. And I’m not going to kill myself. What happened was horrible but I’m over it. End of story. I’m the most normal human man alive.”

“I– I need to go. Thank you for the water.”
Takashi didn’t look at him or slow for a second on his way out. The door closed right in his face when he tried to chase him down the couple steps from the kitchen to the door. Keith heard his engine start up and peel away just seconds after it had shut. Maybe he was going to kill himself.

Keith started off pissed– how could he run out of that conversation? How insensitive was he? Then it morphed into sadness– how could he treat Keith that way? What had he done to deserve it? They had been exchanging sob stories, why was Keith’s the one that went too far? He hated always being the one who ruined the things that mattered by being too much. He thought out of anyone that Takashi would have taken it in stride, been a little frustratingly consoling about it, maybe, but not bolted for the door. He slammed his head into the wall and forced himself not to wince at the shock of pain, and turned to slide along it to the floor while he dug his fingers hard into his arms to ground himself. He knew it would bruise. The aftermath of this was always inconsequential.

Keith was assaulted by the sheer brightness of the light in his eyes as Pidge threw the door to his apartment open. He was on the floor in front of his couch wrapped tightly in a blanket, still in Takashi’s borrowed clothes and surrounded by every pillow in his apartment, with the TV on the floor in front of him repeating a menu screen. He blinked himself awake and realized he hadn’t even known he was sleeping.

“Sal said you no-call-no-showed,” Pidge sounded frantic, they paused and slowed when they saw the state he was in, “Do you even know what day it is?”
“Yes,” Keith lied.

They did a preliminary scan of his apartment, eyes lingering on the open DVD case resting next to his TV.

“Second disc of the extended Return of the King… Keith… How long have you been at this?” 

Keith groaned. There was weight to their statement beyond it being an observation. He decided they had known him too long at this point and debated if they were a loose end or a liability. He pulled a pillow to cover his head.
“You only watch Lord of the Rings when you’re severely depressed, what’s this, like the twelfth hour?”
“I’m not severely depressed.” Keith threw the pillow and tried to stand up, but his legs were weak from being in his contorted position for too long and nearly gave out. He settled for pulling himself up to sit on the couch instead of in front of it as Pidge stood with their hands on their hips assessing his kitchen.

“You need to consume things other than scrambled eggs and Fireball.”

“No I don’t,” he was thoroughly annoyed at this point, “Big words from you.”

“I’m calling Hunk.”
“Pidge–”

“Zip it, Keith, you need nutrients. Did you pass middle school science?”

He pulled his blanket tighter around himself and listened to their quick conversation. Pidge told him it was a ‘sustenance emergency’ and he seemed as worried as he was excited. When their call ended, he heard their phone dialing out again. He could barely make out the words coming from the other end of the line through the silence of the apartment. He both loved and hated that phones were so loud even when not on speakerphone.

“Shiro.”
“How did you get this number?”

Pidge laughed almost maniacally before getting it together terrifyingly quickly.

“It was on Keith’s fridge pinned with a heart magnet, and I have two eyes and a brain.”

He could hear Takashi grumbling on the other end of the call.

“I told you not to let him get hurt.” There was a brief pause, before Takashi’s voice came through sounding genuinely offended and confused.

“And I didn’t.”

“Like hell you didn’t. Fuck you, Shiro.” Pidge’s phone clattering onto the counter was the only indicator that their conversation had ended.

Pidge sat down on the floor in front of Keith and looked at him in a way that made Keith want to crawl out of his skin. They stuck a glass of water out at him that he freed a hand from his blanket cocoon to take but didn’t drink any of.

“Hunk is on his way. I’d give him fifteen.” They crossed their arms and tilted their head. “What happened. I know you wouldn’t give this big of a shit if this was all about Lance.”

Keith picked at the loose string on the hemmed edge of his blanket and ground his teeth together. He pressed one of his fingers into the bruises on his arms until he couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he was taking long enough that Pidge’s worry was growing exponentially by the second, and tried to come up with the simplest words as quickly as possible.

“I told him about my mom. He booked it.” Keith set a look on Pidge that was decidedly pissed off. He felt like a caged animal. “What the hell did you say to him about Lance.”

“I told him what I was going to tell you: Lance’s problem isn’t really with Shiro, it’s with us,” They paused for a moment, looking off and trying to think about their words, “It’s with you.”

“Great, so he thinks Lance just hates me because I’m insane and got as far as he could as fast as he could the minute he realized there might be truth to it. Right. Amazing. My life is a fairytale.”

“Keith–”
“No. Fuck you guys. What the hell was all that? I get that Lance and I tend to rub each other the wrong way and he’s dramatic with his reservations sometimes and we fight a lot, but that was something else. Why the fuck does he have it out for me all the sudden?”

“He was drunk, Keith, and he–”
“And he what? He was a fucking asshole and now he’s fucked up the one good thing I had going for myself too, and I–”
“Are you serious? Shiro’s the only good thing you have going for you? Look around you, Keith.”

Keith pressed his mouth together and bit down hard on his tongue. Pidge didn’t even look offended, they looked hurt. He stopped feeling guilty after half a second, because he realized they also looked pitying.

“Something went wrong that night. He thinks we’re all going to die, ‘or worse’ ,” he gestured that it had been a quote from Takashi, “I told him… I told him I’d stop it.”

“Well that was fucking stupid, Keith.” Pidge wasn’t angry. They knew he thought he was a one man army.

“I don’t care.”
“You never do.”
“I don’t know what happened. I thought we were getting somewhere and then…"

Hunk always knocked before he came in, even if the door was unlocked. His quick rap on the door made them both whip their heads towards it before yelling in unison for him to come in. He had made record time getting to Keith’s apartment. He was still in his jumpsuit from work, with a smidge of oil smeared on one of his cheeks. He carried two grocery bags in his hands and Keith wondered how the man managed to pull this together so quickly. His mind wandered to how maybe, in a distant universe, they could have worked well together. Keith shook his head hard.

“Hey, man,” Hunk gave him a tiny wave with a bag still in hand and dropped them in the kitchen before turning back to the room, “I hope you know we will kick anyone’s ass for you.”

Keith knew, because Pidge had busted into his apartment the second he was off his routine and Hunk dropped everything and split from work to take care of him. He bit back commenting on the fact that the three of them could definitely try to kick Takashi’s ass, but their success was still up in the air.

“Yeah,” Keith wasn’t good at expressing gratitude, “Thanks for being here.”

He didn’t want anyone here, but he knew he was supposed to acknowledge that they were trying to help him, however invasive they always ended up being with it. He was still grateful. Hunk smiled and turned back to the kitchen, and it only took a moment before he was calling over his shoulder back to them.

“Damn, Pidge, you weren’t lying about the eggs and Fireball.”
Keith knew his entire apartment was incriminating evidence of how he’d been living the past few days, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He pulled his current bottle of cinnamon syrup hell from where it was stashed next to his couch and Pidge grabbed it from him before he could bring it to his mouth.

“He’s just a guy.”
“Shut up.”
“He’s just a guy, Keith, there are lots of guys.”
“That’s not the fucking point.”

He knew Pidge knew there was more to the situation than him feeling rejected. They knew he didn’t care about being rejected in general, at least most of the time. It always turned to anger, not a chip in his self-confidence. It was about Lance trying to control him. It was about Takashi as a man. It was about knowing there were threats against him and not being allowed to do anything. It was about the judgment over his mother. It was about being so cared for one minute and dropped the next because what, he didn’t believe him? 

Hunk stepped into the room balancing three steaming bowls and handed Keith’s to him first. It was congee. He was not going to cry.

“How did you–”
“I’m one of your best friends, remember? I know what your comfort foods are. Not that you mention it all the time or anything.”

Keith just nodded and breathed in the steam.
“It’s got pork and corn and spinach, ‘cause I know those are your favorites.”
Keith stirred the bowl a bit before looking up at Hunk and willing his eyes to stay as dry as possible while his heart clenched in his chest.

“Hey Hunk, will you marry me?”
His friend laughed and sat down beside him and Pidge to stir his own bowl.

“In your dreams, man.”

They all laughed at that, and dug into their porridge the second it was cool enough to eat. Keith was overly aware that he was still in Takashi’s shirt when he was trying to make sure to not spill anything on it. He tried to focus on whether or not it would be physically possible to curbstomp himself.

Pidge snatched the Pretty Hate Machine CD from his coffee table and spun to dig through the rapidly disintegrating cardboard box of the rest of his CDs to snag a few more. Keith crossed his arms and questioned them.

“I didn’t think you liked Nine Inch Nails.” That wasn’t even the point, they weren’t one to steal CDs without asking.

“I’m taking preventative measures.”
“Preventative–” Keith swiped the growing collection in their hand, “You’re not taking that one.” He tucked Without You I’m Nothing behind his back and shoved the rest of the CDs back at Pidge.

“If I hear a single note of Placebo coming out of this apartment I’m 5150ing you, Keith.”

“Not again,” He felt like being petty since it was a low blow and for the record, he had gotten off the hook that time, “You should be focusing your efforts on Lance. He’s clearly unstable.”
Pidge snorted because they knew it was a joke. Hunk did not.

“Keith, I know you’re an understanding guy– sometimes,” Hunk’s tone was serious and pretty frustrated and it made Keith still completely where he was standing, “I’m not going to share Lance’s personal business with you, because that goes against every friendship code of honor that I have, but you’ve got to understand where he’s coming from. You both need to let that argument go. And you’ve got to try to be less abrasive with him.”

“I frankly don’t give a fuck about whatever personal business would make him fight with me because I messed around with somebody.” The second Keith said it, the pieces started fitting together in his head. His body cooled with dread. There was no way Lance was jealous, it was a ridiculous notion, but Keith’s brain couldn’t let go of the fact that that was the only explanation that fit the sum of his actions. It wasn’t like he thought Lance was competition, but the thought of it still made him squirm.

“He’s your friend, maybe you should.”
“Yeah,” Keith didn’t even know who he was frustrated with at this point, “And he’s my friend, and he wasn’t looking out for me like he said he was. That was a personal vendetta if I’ve ever seen one. Worse, he’s fucking won, because now Shiro wants to drop me over it.” 

Hunk crossed his arms like Keith wasn’t getting his point, and Pidge spoke up.

“Keith, I just think… All things considered, with what we know about Shiro and what we know about some of the other people he knows, it might be best to quit while you’re ahead of this one.”
“I don’t quit.”
“I’m well aware, unfortunately,” Pidge pushed their glasses up a little more forcefully than usual, “But if he thinks we’re in danger– and you know exactly what kind of danger he means, don’t lie to me– maybe the smart thing to do, for all of us, would be to let him go if he wants to go.”
“You’ve got to pick your battles, man.”

Keith just shook his head. He clenched his jaw and hoped he didn’t look like a child.

“Keith, you already have a ton of shit on your plate. You just met him. You can’t save him.”
“You don’t know that!”

Hunk stiffened once Keith raised his voice. 

“We’re trying to look out for you, dude, and by extension, us.”

“Well then fucking stop!”

“Keith–”

Keith didn’t think he was crying, but at some point he started. His face was hot and wet and he blinked angrily against his blurring vision. His chest heaved and shuddered and he willed it all to stop. It didn’t. Nothing ever stopped when he needed it to, only when he needed it to stay. 

Chapter Text

Keith was not traditionally one to give that much of a shit about the way others perceived him. He had spent the majority of his life with a simple fact settled in his chest, not painful but not always comforting either, that he was entirely unlike other people. Rejection started when he was young, but he didn’t comprehend it as that, just as the type of ‘we don’t get along’ understanding that children have. As he got older, it grew. Emotionally, the clashes he had with other people fell somewhere between fuck you, you suck and fuck me, I suck . He liked living in that middle ground.

This was not such a case.

Everything gnawed at him. He didn’t feel wronged (like when he was trying to prove himself to people in the scene, humiliating enough for him that he came across as so desperate for approval), and he didn’t feel like he had messed up, either (like the countless times he hadn’t been able to bite back his anger, or hadn’t realized the way he felt or the way he thought or the way he acted was offensive, and had taken his friends’ punches). Not understanding the problem made him feel stupid, and not understanding why it bothered him made him feel worse. Pidge had been right. Takashi was just a guy, and he had been blindly– something , about him. In doing so he had messed up what he and his friends had built. Maybe Takashi was right, maybe he needed to leave it alone. He had never been able to stop himself from picking at the scab. This could be a chance to prove himself capable. And no, not to gain Takashi’s approval for conceding to what he had told him was the right thing to do– definitely just for himself. 

He didn’t care about the hollow feeling after. That everyone left. That only Pidge had stayed and it was because they didn’t have anyone else, either. His dad. His mom. The only people who had given him the time of day in class or otherwise. The guys he hooked up with from college and the guys he hooked up with on tour. He was a loner. He liked it this way– no connections. No one can make his life worse if they aren’t allowed into it.
At least this is what he told himself, while he wrestled every emotion he had in the last month into a tiny, tiny box and imagined burying it over and over, every night, instead of letting his mind race trying to fall asleep.

He threw himself into practicing at every chance he had. He took on more projects at work than usual, and came in early and stayed late, entirely focused every second of the hours he was there. He even took the time to research for one of his assignments, when he would usually just rely on what he remembered from the reading and lecture. He asked Hunk for a recipe he had made for all of them once and gave the best boy scout try he could at following it. The Blades didn’t play that Friday, but he didn’t go to the show, either. He knew Pidge and Hunk would probably understand that him distancing himself wasn’t because he was still mad at them, but Lance was a wildcard when it came to taking things personally. He thought about texting him something that would clear the air, not an apology, but something casual enough or funny enough that he would get the hint that he wasn’t sitting there stoking the fire of his anger, but decided his pride simply would not allow it.

He didn’t text his friends. He didn’t text Takashi. He texted Hunk once, then once again to say thank you. He didn’t talk to anyone for fear of his delicate balance snapping until Lance walked full force into him on campus the next Tuesday.

Lance had come fast around the corner, clearly on a mission, and slammed his body into Keith’s, hard. He hadn’t had time to properly brace himself and his left foot skidded backwards on the concrete behind him in a last-ditch instinctual effort to balance himself. He recognized Lance immediately, and glared up at him. He couldn’t read his face, and it made his skin itch.

“I’m sick of cleaning up your messes,” Lance said flatly and shoved Keith’s jacket against his chest. He retracted his hand before Keith could grab it and he scrambled to catch it as it fell.

“No one asked you to.”

“No one ever asks me to do anything besides shut up.”

Keith cringed. 

“Listen, man–”
Lance clamped his hand over Keith’s mouth to stop him from talking. When Keith reached up to pry it away, he swatted at him with his free hand. He dug his fingers in a bit harder than necessary for a split second to prove his point, but didn’t remove it.

“You’re done for the day, right?”

Keith nodded and he found it awkward the way Lance’s hand followed his face.

“Great, so you’re gonna come with me, and I’m gonna talk to you and you’re gonna listen ,” Keith furrowed his brow and he knew Lance could feel the way his mouth twisted into an unamused grimace, “Not argue, listen .”

Lance finally dropped his arm and Keith fought the urge to wipe his face.
“Mkay.”

Keith followed Lance to his car. Sat silently and stared out the window as he drove. Turned a little violently to shoot him a confused look when he pulled into the parking lot of a local burger joint and, after Lance shot him a threatening look he’d never seen on him before and pointed at him aggressively, stayed silent next to him while he ordered two burgers and waited. He kept himself collected until they got back in the car.

“You kind of made this sound urgent, I didn’t realize you’d be making a pit stop for lunch first. You could have done this without me. After.” Keith said the last part pointedly to get across that he was annoyed.

“You’re pissed on an empty stomach. Eat up and then I’ll get down to business.”

Keith didn’t know what to do with the information that Lance was trying to soften Keith’s response to whatever he had to say. He watched as Lance took the time to pull up a YouTube video on his phone and then devoured his burger in thirty seconds anyway. He got the feeling it wasn’t his empty stomach Lance had been worried about. The second he was finished, Lance wadded up Keith’s wrapper into a ball with his and leaned out his open window to toss it into the trash can a couple empty parking spaces away. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little impressed. He took a shot in the dark at trying to lighten the mood.
“We’d make a good driver/gunner duo. Me driving, obviously.”

Lance’s face twisted and he didn’t respond. Objective failed.

Keith recognized the road Lance pulled onto a while later, well-paved after a recent storm and climbing steadily to the top of the ridge that loomed over their town. He’d watched the sunset, moonrise, stars, you name it, here in high school and it felt easier to breathe at the high elevation. Like the air wasn’t suffocating him. Watching the stupid little lights of his town dance around in the valley below him had made all the hardships there feel as insignificant as they were. Every moving reflection, every headlight and taillight and lit window, was another person like him going through the same revolution around the sun. The thought of the planet spinning in circles while spinning in an even bigger circle made his problems seem stupid and irrelevant. He would watch the stars creep slowly above him for hours, thinking of nothing.

Lance pulled into a paved vista-point pullout and cut the engine. He stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood, looking out at the valley below them. The days were still getting shorter, and the soft pink prelude of an early dusk was slowly settling over the lower part of the sky. Keith didn’t need to be told to follow him. He tried to close his door quietly to not disturb the easy silence of the empty desert surrounding them.

Lance didn’t speak, but Keith couldn’t tell if it was because he was waiting or didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what Lance expected out of the conversation, and an apology wasn’t happening, so he went the neutral route instead.

“I’ll never forgive Pidge for showing you guys this place. What a traitor.”

Lance just snorted and crossed his arms, he didn’t look away from the view in front of them. Keith didn’t either, it was easier that way.

“It was your birthday, man, it’s not like anyone frequents it. We don’t brood alone like you do.”

Keith didn’t say anything in response. Lance didn’t say anything else. They stood in silence again until it was unbearably uncomfortable. Keith was about to ask him what this was all about when Lance must have sensed his impatience and cleared his throat.

“I thought no one in town was good enough for you.”
It was a dig, and Keith couldn’t believe this was genuinely what he was opening with.
“I thought you didn’t want to piss me off.”

So he did want to talk about Takashi. So he was still upset about it. Keith had already moved on so far from the fact that they had hooked up with the events following it that it felt like he was pretending to be invested in his middle school drama again.

“So what is it, huh? He doesn’t seem like your type.”
Keith snorted, because it wasn’t like Lance probably knew what his type was anyway.

“Why the fuck does it matter, Lance?” His tone was soft and he tried as hard as he could to not sound aggressive. Explaining himself would be a slippery slope into waxing poetic and he was not going to embarrass himself over a man who didn’t want anything to do with him. At the least it would make the situation worse, too. Lance turned his head to look at him and Keith couldn’t get a good read on his expression, which pissed him off since it was usually so easy.

“Remember when I said you were going to listen?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s gonna start now.”

Keith just pressed his mouth into a hard line and stared back out at the sprawling desert below them. The air was starting to cool and he wished he hadn’t left his jacket in the car. He could hear Lance kicking at the dirt in front of him.

“I didn’t–” Lance started and abruptly stopped, out of the corner of his eye Keith could see the movement of him shaking his head, “You didn’t ever seem like the coupley type. The aggressive hate sex type, the untouchable better-than-everyone borderline whore type, maybe, but not the lovey-dovey fluffy cute stuff type.”

Keith’s eyebrows drew together in a wordless question but he didn’t say anything. He breathed in slowly through his nose and ignored the fact that Lance called him a whore. He turned over Lance’s objection to him and Takashi allegedly acting ‘coupley’ in his head, wondering when they had crossed the explicit line beyond platonic while hanging out in front of the others– beyond, you know, kissing– or if Lance had just been watching Takashi anyway. Keith knew he needed to get out whatever he needed to get out and he was going to try his best to respond when Lance was done. He was mature like that, he told himself.

“All your hookups or situationships or– whatever – at least the ones we all knew about, it made sense. Not this.”

It probably hadn’t even been a minute, but Keith couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

“Lance, what?”

“You prioritizing him. You clinging to him. Him clinging to you . The way you guys look at each other that makes everyone want to throw up. Him touching you all the time and not even in a sexy way it's just a like possessive way but you don’t even flinch or anything like when we do it and–”

Keith started to wonder if it wasn’t him that Lance was jealous of.

“Lance–”
“Shut the fuck up , man.” Lance was shaking his head again. Keith pretended not to notice the way his eyes were a little shinier than usual and stopped looking at him. “It’s always been us. Keith and Lance. Head to head, back to back. We’re the dynamic duo of the group, we always have been. Like, we fulfill each other’s competitive streak but respect each other over it. I figured whatever we had going on was better than whatever your idea of a relationship would turn out to be. I thought maybe you just– You–”
“Dude, what the fuck are you–”

Lance’s hand flew up again to stop him but he didn’t touch him this time. Keith got the hint but his skin still burned with questions. What the fuck did he mean it had been the two of them? If anything he and Pidge were a duo, and if he was going to replace the position of a boyfriend with the friendship he had with one of them it would definitely be Hunk. He tried to recall every interaction he’d had with Lance over the years and wasn’t surprised when it was impossible. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. Guilt pooled in his stomach at the idea that he had led Lance on. Not even in a romantic way, but in a platonic way, too. Just in a way . His brain struggled with the differentiation.

“I’ve been so fucking normal, Keith, you have no idea how normal I’ve been. And I thought it was worth it, I thought it was fine, because I thought maybe that just wasn’t even something you wanted and maybe being your best friend would be good enough for the both of us even if it was always something else to me under it all. But I can’t– I don’t–”

Keith’s head spun and he opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again, remembering to let Lance get it out. He dug his fingernails into his palms hard enough he expected them to bleed. Lance’s voice was still strained but he schooled it to be less frantic.

“I wish you could see yourself, that you could know yourself, man. I don’t know how I stopped myself from blurting it all out the first month we knew each other. You’re incredible, Keith, you’re–” Lance’s throat made a weird sound as he almost laughed and Keith’s stomach twisted and his skin crawled with the confession, “I wanted it to be me. I don’t know how he got to you first. And the worst part is he’s weird, and shady, and definitely involved in shit I don’t want to be involved in, but I fucking get it. He’s hot. He’s nice. He clearly gives a shit about you. And yeah, maybe you deserve to be the one protected for once. And there’s no way I could ever be that for you.”
Keith chewed his lip until he tasted blood. He thought about reminding Lance that he and Takashi hadn’t been anything until he kissed him after his set. He thought about telling him that Takashi had dropped him anyways, and high-tailed it the second he found out about his mom. He decided both of those things would probably make it worse. He had a lot of problems with the things Lance had said but figured now wasn’t the time to explain the details. Keith wasn’t about to lie to make Lance feel better, though.

“I never saw you that way, Lance. I’m sorry you thought that.”

Lance just stared at the ground and nodded. Keith saw his mouth twitch and strain with the telltale signs of trying to stop himself from crying.​​ There was no better way to say it. 

“I didn’t think you were into guys.” It wasn’t a lie but it was a redirection. Keith had seen Lance very outwardly pursue women and women only. He talked about girls all the time, everywhere they went, nearly every one he saw. He wasn’t weird about talking about guys like some closeted people were. It was in that easy open way the rest of his straight friends were fine with. Not serious. Just objective. Keith thought of all the times Lance had told him he was pretty and his chest panged knowing he had been being serious in a different way than he thought.

Lance just shrugged. He folded his arms tighter around himself and Keith got back in the car. He watched Lance through the windshield. The sun was going down. He could see Lance’s silhouette shake before he wiped his face aggressively and moved for his door. He hovered for a second with it open before getting in. 

“I know that was weird, but I’m not sorry.” 

Keith just shrugged vaguely and shook his head in response. He didn’t know how he was supposed to handle this situation. And Lance of all people. Lance who was his friend, who was part of the handful of inseparable people who were the only ones he felt comfortable around. Keith was breaking thing after thing after thing. What a monumental destructive streak.

They drove in silence until Lance dropped him off at the school parking lot he usually parked in. The quiet wasn’t bristling and uncomfortable like Keith expected it to be, more worn out and tired, too exhausted and confused for them to say anything else. Keith gripped his own throat and dug his fingers into the sides to ground himself. Lance managed to spot Keith’s car with the rest of the stragglers and stopped directly behind it. When he turned to look at him, Keith felt pain sink through his ribcage.

“See you around, I guess.” He unlocked the doors and waved his hand at Keith in dismissal, looking back at the parking lot in front of him. “Thanks.”

Lance peeled out the second Keith closed the door behind him. He felt the rush of air as the engine roared and pulled away mere inches from where he stood. When he got into his car, he screamed. He beat his dashboard so hard he was worried he would set off the airbag. He screamed again. His throat hurt with the force of it.

He was finishing replacing the output jack on what had to be a middle schooler’s guitar when his phone started buzzing obnoxiously. His friends had decided to use the group chat again, it seemed. He figured there was no way they hadn’t been communicating this whole time, and the idea that they at some point had made a separate group without him irritated him to a point beyond what annoyance should allow. He set the guitar down and unlocked his phone more aggressively than was necessary to complete the task. The most recent message was the only one that really mattered.

The nest, tomorrow after class, be there or be square

Keith rolled his eyes. Another text popped up, from Lance this time.

Bring Shiro

His breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t know if he should be elated or scared. Either way, there was no way Takashi was coming, because they hadn’t spoken since he had rushed out of his apartment and Pidge had chewed him out on the phone a few days after.

He was sitting on the floor of his apartment, two beer cans crushed in front of him and another in his hand, when he finally got the courage to message him.

I need my jeans back.

It wasn’t the real issue at all, but it was a point of entry. He tried not to think of it as a pathetic thing to be all he could come up with. The response came almost immediately.

Do I need to bring them to you?

He idly wondered if Takashi had been waiting for him to show up at his house, like he had, in the back of his mind, been waiting for him to show up at his apartment.

Bring them here. I’ll be there around five tomorrow, my friends will be too. He quickly sent a separate message with the address of the Holt residence, for convenience of copying purposes. He sat with it for a second, staring at his message and wondering if that had been the right way to go about things, before typing out another.

They aren’t mad at you anymore.

He didn’t even know if it was true but said it anyway. If they were, he would take the opportunity to finally clear it. Takashi took longer to respond than he had in his previous messages. Keith tried hard not to read into it. He was probably doing something.

Whatever you say.

There was nothing else. Keith didn’t send a confirmation or a thank you. He pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed as hard as he could.

He rolled over Lance’s confession in his head. He wasn’t even sure what to make of it. Something about it hurt him but he couldn’t pinpoint the root cause. It didn’t hurt that bad, so he ignored it in accordance with his usual modus operandi.

Keith didn’t have classes on Wednesday, which he knew the others knew, and pulled into the Holts’ driveway at 5:30 on the dot. He hoped he would either come across as fashionably or messily late, neither of which was usually true but could at least pass for confident behavior. He had run out of Sal’s at five, raced home and gotten as plastered as he could while being able to see straight, and drove there very, very slowly.

Shiro’s bike wasn’t in the driveway and he released his held breath in relief. He tried to close his car door quietly, and definitely didn’t drag his hand along the body of his car to steady himself. He made it one step into Pidge’s apartment before Hunk scrambled to stand up and rushed over to him.

“Dude, please tell me you were not this drunk when you drove here,” He grabbed Keith’s biceps and squeezed him, “This happened in Pidge’s driveway and we didn’t notice. Right? Tell me I’m right, Keith.”

Keith just looked at him and tried not to look like he was a second away from jumping out the window. He wasn’t successful.

“Alright, you know you’re getting a lecture later,” Keith nodded, “I’m saving it for when you’ll remember. But what the fuck, man.” 

Hunk let go and Keith followed him back to the circle his friends were sitting in on the floor, surrounding a handful of Chinese takeout boxes and Pidge’s paraphernalia. Pidge grabbed a paper plate to slide it in front of him and he started compiling the remnants of the boxes onto it. The group easily slipped back into the rhythm they took on when just shooting the shit to hang out, but Keith was notably tense and trying to let the alcohol in his system do its job. Lance was back to his usual self, or at least acting like it– if Keith hadn’t known what happened on Tuesday he never would have guessed anything had happened at all. He traded his usual spot to sit between Hunk and Lance with his back to the door. He couldn’t stop watching it. He couldn’t stop staring out the windows looking for a glimpse of headlights. He thought he was going to hyperventilate and figured turning his body was better than gouging his eyes out.

It was six before anything changed. The light he thought he saw in the driveway was ten minutes apart from when he heard the garage door open. He could hear Mrs. Holt laughing and saying something nice. He dug the heels of his palms into the floor. His friends all straightened and twisted to face the door, and he kept his gaze glued to the video playing on Pidge’s computer. He wasn’t watching it. He bored a hole through the screen until he saw Takashi’s shadow fall over him. His friends lit up in a vaguely friendly chorus of “Hey Shiro” .

He twisted his head to look over his shoulder and up at him where he had settled directly behind Keith. His hair was a mess and the dark circles under his eyes were telling. His mouth was a tense line and his gaze stopped flitting around the room nervously to hone in on Keith. He had his helmet and Keith’s clothes tucked under one arm and a binder in his other hand.

“Hey, Shiro.”

Keith didn’t miss Takashi’s eyes narrowing in an almost-wince before he was able to pull his mask back from where it had slipped. He just looked up at him. He felt paralyzed. Takashi’s stare locked with his made him feel like his eyes were going to burn.

He shuffled to switch the binder out with Keith’s clothes, and tried his best to condense them by whipping them around with one hand before leaning over to offer them to Keith. Keith took them gently and held Takashi’s stare the entire time.

“Do you want something to eat?” Keith’s tone wasn’t exactly compassionate, but he lifted his plate with what remained of his food towards Takashi. He shook his head and put a palm out to stop it.

“I already ate, but thank you.”

Keith thought he was going to explode. He thought his veins were going to burst one by one until his body couldn’t take it anymore. His head buzzed. He felt like his ears were ringing through the absolute silence. This was so, so much more awkward than he had anticipated. Everyone being uncomfortable and cordial with each other was somehow worse than hashing out what they all had to say. Takashi looked so nervous Keith almost felt bad for him.

Keith almost instigated something before Takashi cleared his throat. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes to take a slow, deep breath in through his nose and then tossed the binder he was holding onto the open spot of floor in the center of his friends’ circle.

“This is everything I know about the Galra.”

Explosion was traded out for implosion on the roster of what Keith predicted his body was going to do. His blood ran cold, and he stared at the binder. He could tell his hands were shaking but didn’t have the capacity to press them against his legs to still them, no matter how much he wanted to and how much he wanted to stop his obvious reaction. He could tell the shock was settling over his friends for five, six, seven seconds before they all gained their energy back at once. Pidge swiped for the binder and started flipping through it frantically. It was photos, logs, handwritten pages all on printer paper and neatly hole-punched. Keith could make out the vague impression of it at the edge of his vision. He didn’t look. He kept staring at the ground where Takashi had thrown it down. 

“The Galra Galra? Wait , so you mean–” Lance threw his hands over his mouth and stared at Keith, wide-eyed. Keith kept staring at the floor. Lance reached for him and Hunk slapped his hand away.

“Holy shit , Shiro.” Hunk redirected and leaned into Pidge’s space to look at the contents of the binder himself.

“So it was true? So that bullshit statement video was… well… bullshit? Oh my god. What do we even do with this? Keith, do you even wanna know?”

No. Keith did not want to know.

“Shiro, how did you get this?” Pidge looked up at Takashi and Keith could see the flash of the light reflecting off their glasses.

“Not, uh, legally. Don’t tell anyone.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’m serious.”

Pidge waved a hand at him and snorted in a way Keith thought could pass for a chuckle.

“Dude, do you know what I get up to in my spare time?”

Lance was leaning over to scrutinize the binder while Hunk took over flipping pages. There were so, so many. Keith’s head was spinning. He felt dizzy. He thought he was going to throw up. He stared at the ground where Takashi had thrown it down. 

All of these years wishing for truth, he never realized he didn’t want it.

He tried to rationalize. If Takashi knew, then others probably did too. It wasn’t out of the question that somehow his mother had come across this information one way or another, he really didn’t know what she had gotten up to before she found him when he was in high school. He thought, maybe, it would be probable that finding this out could have shaped her delusions. He thought, maybe, it would be probable that however she found it out could have added to the urgency and fear she had around it. In the back of his mind, something stung. It was a pinprick but felt electric. He tried to ignore it.

What if she hadn’t been wrong at all?

Another heat worked its way up his spine. Did this mean Takashi accepted his offer?

He felt Takashi nudge at his shoulder gently with his knee. He didn’t look away. He didn’t move, save to slide his hand to grip around Takashi’s ankle. He could feel his body curling in on itself. He vaguely comprehended his friends pointing and chattering. His vision was turning black and purple and green from staring at the same spot for so long. He felt Takashi’s hand brush against the side of his head, tentatively, and when he didn’t flinch away, threading through his hair and all but petting him. He let out a choked gasp for air like he had been crying and everyone froze, stopped talking, stared at him. He turned to look up at Takashi and in breaking out of his trance realized he had been crying. And holding his breath, it seemed. He opened his mouth in a vain attempt to articulate what he was thinking, even worse, what he was feeling, but only a pained noise came out.

“If they don’t know you know, you’ll be okay,” Takashi’s tone was confident and soft and encouraging, Keith thought he could drown in it, “ It’s going to be fine , isn’t that what you said?” 

That was so not the point. He could tell Takashi hadn’t meant to sound challenging by bringing up what he had said without this context and he tried hard not to care. He did, however, remember how much he hated having his own words thrown back at him. It was enough to break him out of whatever embarrassing emotional stupor he had been in. He stood up and got right in Takashi’s face.

“Outside. Now , Shiro.”

Takashi almost beat him to speaking the second the door closed behind them. Keith stuck a finger at his chest and he closed his mouth.

“Is this why you stormed out? I thought you hated me, Shiro.” He didn’t understand why Takashi looked confused. It took one, maybe two braincells to put together how acting like that would come across. “Don’t fucking look at me like that. I thought you were scared, or disgusted, or–” 

Takashi cupped the side of his face lightly, sliding his finger and thumb around Keith’s ear. He shoved his arm away. He hoped the fire he felt in his eyes translated to how they actually appeared.

“Keith, I thought this would be the right thing to do. I couldn’t have explained it then. I needed you to know why I thought you all would be in danger. I needed you to understand .”

“You think I don’t understand?”
“No,” Takashi said it simply, “Did you consider my response to your radio silence after that?”

Keith was going to beat the shit out of him. To pull that he hadn’t been considerate enough in the situation made him feel like he was on fire. Takashi put his hand against Keith’s face again and this time he let him. He turned away and looked at the ground and pursed his lips to keep his mouth shut. He had never been the best at putting himself in other people’s shoes, especially when he was on the other side of something with a high emotional stake. He tried to force Takashi storming out of his apartment out of his mind and focus on the real issue.

“Do you think my mom could have really been Galra?” His voice was quiet. Quieter than he had ever heard it. He didn’t look up at Takashi until he brushed his thumb across his cheekbone. When he looked up the man in front of him wasn’t smiling, but his face was soft and worried and for some reason, for the first time in his life, the very concept of it didn’t make Keith want to peel off his own skin.

“I don’t know.”
That didn’t make things better or worse. They both knew that. Takashi’s fingers caught and tangled in Keith’s hair as he tried to rub tiny circles against his scalp. Keith leaned into the warmth of his palm. He chewed his lip for a second before looking back up to meet Takashi’s stare.

“You have to help me– You have to help me figure it out.”

He felt Takashi freeze. It only took a second for him to pull himself back together but he could tell he was more rigid than before. Takashi looked back at the house and sighed through his nose in a way Keith could only tell was disappointed. It ripped through him.

“No, Keith.”

He swore his heart stopped for the thousandth time. He tried to be angry, and for some cursed reason he only felt sad.

“What do you mean no? ”

Takashi brought his other hand up to hold Keith’s head. Keith couldn’t tell if he felt trapped or held. The look Takashi was setting on him made his stomach drop.

“ No, Keith. You can look at what’s in that binder, but I’m not pushing anymore. You won’t get anywhere and it definitely won’t be worth it. Trust me. I’m serious, Keith, they– I won’t let that happen to you. You won’t learn anything they don’t want you to unless you witness it yourself.”

His voice was so calm Keith wondered how he did it. He could feel the pricking heat of tears in the corners of his eyes and couldn’t tell if it was from disappointment, or the overwhelming fucking swell of emotion that was Takashi being so set on protecting him, even from himself. He wrestled with the fact that in the back of his mind, he knew that, God, he needed it. He pressed his face against Takashi’s chest and felt his arms immediately drop to come around his shoulders. He squeezed him hard, like every time before, and pressed his face to the top of Keith’s head. 

He would find some way– some way that wouldn’t involve Takashi or that wouldn’t make him liable, some way that he could thoroughly defend or wiggle around– but Takashi was not going to keep him from this. 

He tried to set his mind to a place that was more determined and less desperate or disappointed and let Takashi hold him. He moved his hand up to pet the back of Keith’s hair before he spoke.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Keith pulled his head away to look up. Takashi wasn’t looking at him. He was staring out at the dark span of earth ahead of him.

“What?”
“Calling me Shiro,” he looked down at Keith and he was shocked that he seemed genuinely curious, “You didn’t do that before.”

Keith shrugged. “Everyone else does, it seemed appropriate.”

He could tell Takashi was thinking. He tried to pretend it didn’t have anything to do with him knowing calling him by his real name was intimate, that he only knew it because of him giving him his full name when he came into his work, that he had been calling him the nickname everyone else called him in an attempt to put emotional distance between them and hadn’t been doing it by accident. Part of him wanted to smack him, tell him that he knew too well the forced submission of softening your name so that people felt more comfortable saying it, that he was going to call him his Japanese given name if it killed him.

“You don’t have to. Call me Shiro, I mean. It’s– it’s fine if it’s you.”

Keith just looked at him. He didn’t miss the faint flush of his face that concentrated in the tips of his ears, even in the dark. He didn’t nod, he didn’t agree. He tucked his face back into Takashi’s chest. Neither of them moved and after what felt like a minute that dragged on for eternity, Keith mumbled against his shirt.

“Are you sure?”
How was he supposed to know if this had to do with his own image, from his time in the scene when he was younger, from his time in the military and his time spent with the Blades, who Keith knew had gone through the wringer. What did all of them call him? Why? He struggled with the idea that he stuck out as special in comparison in Takashi’s mind. It made his stomach churn. He couldn’t tell if it was from want or fear.

“Yeah.” Takashi’s voice was so quiet Keith barely made out what he said. He figured he meant to whisper between the two of them and he had obstructed it by having his ear covered and head below his. Keith didn’t know what response he was supposed to have. He pressed a soft kiss to the fabric of Takashi’s shirt and pulled away from him.

“They’ll give us so much shit if we disappear for too long after last time.”

Takashi knew it was true, and laughed at Keith’s redirection either way. Keith stared at him as the both of them waited for the other to make the first move towards the house. Keith knew he had priorities, he knew finding out the truth about his mother was one of them. He knew making sure his friends, who he hadn’t considered until he realized abruptly recently were grouped in with Him vs. The Universe despite his wishes, were safe, was another of them. He knew Takashi was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit perfectly into either of these things. He was determined to fit him as best as he could. Something in him had switched, when Takashi had explained the binder and tried to calm him, and he couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t going to let him go. He couldn’t.

“Damn, longer than usual this time,” Lance had his face up to his watch like he had outside the bathroom door at Allura’s and Keith was a split second from punching him, “Extraterrestrial proof just really do it for the both of you?”

“Lance–” Takashi gripped Keith’s bicep to preemptively hold him back and he didn’t have to say anything else, because Lance shrank back where he was sitting at the look he gave him and seemed to recognize that that was stupid to say, all things considered. It only took him a moment to shrug it off and go back to questioning his friends about the contents of the binder. Keith scooted backwards from his original spot on the floor and stuck a hand blindly under the couch where he knew Pidge stashed their alcohol, and patted the floor beside him for Takashi to sit. He obediently made himself comfortable next to Keith, the both of them set away from where their friends were leaned together. Keith made it halfway through a bottle of something that tasted sickeningly sweet and absolutely disgusting before he couldn’t take his friends raving to themselves anymore. They stopped asking Takashi questions a while ago, but he was still watching them like he was monitoring. He had a hand on the back of Keith’s neck and was idly rubbing circles into the knob at the top of his spine while the two of them sat in silence, one of them paying close attention to the conversation happening in front of them and the other desperately trying to focus on anything else. Keith shifted to stand up, but Takashi held him down. He shot a wild look at him.

“I’m gonna get out of here,” he said it to his friends, but he and Takashi had their stares locked as he tried to stand up again, “You guys knock yourselves out.”

“You’re not driving anywhere like this.”

The look in Takashi’s eyes bore a hole straight through him. He was not in the mood to obey just for the sake of it, but Takashi’s hand was annoyingly firm on the back of his neck.

“Oh man, Shiro, you should have been here earlier, you would have been so pissed.”

Keith thought maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, his glare would materialize into a laser beam and obliterate the four of them. Takashi’s grip tightened just barely, but it was enough that Keith noticed the rumple it made in the collar of his shirt. Being scruffed like a kitten was making its way steadily up the list of the top things he hated.

“What are they talking about?” Keith hated how Takashi sounded when he was pissed. He wasn’t too keen on the fact that right now, it made him feel like he was a kid again, getting told off by some condescending authority figure for making bad choices.

“Nothing–”

“He was in worse shape than this when he pulled into the driveway, is what Hunk’s talking about,” Lance cut him off and waved an accusatory hand in the vague direction of the driveway, “Did you see how his car is parked? Horrific.”

Takashi hauled Keith up by the back of his shirt and, once standing, he twisted around trying to wrestle free of his grip. He felt stupid and powerless. He planted a solid kick to one of Takashi’s knees and he finally let him go.

“That’s it. I’m taking you home, Keith.” Keith brushed off his arms like they had scrapped and glared up at him. Disappointment looked terrifying on Takashi.

“I don’t have my–” Takashi reached down and unclipped Keith’s keys from where they dangled off of a belt loop in one fluid motion, before looping a finger through the same one and tugging him in the direction of the door.

“I have no idea how the four of you have survived this long.”

He shoved Keith lightly between the shoulderblades to keep him moving towards the door, but stood to address his friends. When Keith stumbled a little he turned back from where he was watching him over his shoulder to shake his head and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Pidge has my number. Don’t contact me about any of this except face to face. Feel free to reorganize it however you’d like, but don’t copy anything.” He shot another look over his shoulder to where Keith was leaning in the doorframe. “I’ll see you guys around.”