Chapter Text
Keith slipped in through the doors to the large hall as silently as possible, taking care not to splash any gathered near the back as he pulled his jacket back to where it should have been. The spring rains had hit hard towards the end of March and caught him unawares on his walk from his flat. He’d pulled his jacket over his head in a vain attempt to keep himself dry, but he could already feel droplets gathering at the bottom of his mullet and soaking into his shirt. He had few doubts as to his appearance right then, sure that he must look even more rugged than usual, but it wasn’t like he was out to impress people.
Just the one, and the one in particular had assured him that he liked him just as he was.
Since his slightly bold move at the end of their coffee date a few weeks prior, the atmosphere between them had been.. Different. To Keith’s frustrations, Shiro seemed hesitant to push any further. They hadn’t exchanged any other affectionate gestures, but since then conversation tended to take a turn for the flirtatious. Shiro would compliment him a lot more, or stare at him more frequently. It was odd, but not at all unpleasant. At first such attention had made Keith feel uneasy but he’d soon grown used to it just being something Shiro did that couldn’t be helped.
They’d both tried to organise more dates but aside from the odd lunch session the two of them had had conflicting schedules. Despite not getting chance to meet face-to-face, Shiro having early mornings and Keith getting in late and sleeping all day, they’d made an effort to keep in touch through messages and frequent phone calls. Some nights Shiro did his best to stay up to make sure Keith got home alright, especially if the weather had been nasty and the roads rough. That kind of thoughtfulness was what he really appreciated, and what he really hadn’t been expecting from the other.
That was the kind of affection that really made his heart flutter.
Halfway through this particular evening his boss had decided to send him home, the workload for the night not being enough to merit his hanging around. Although he’d initially been forced to decline Shiro’s invitation to the evening performance, as soon as he’d gotten off work he’d decided to make his way over. He knew the other had been putting in a considerable amount of work for this concert, something he’d been shocked to find was a no-profit ordeal.
“It’s good publicity for the Garrison,” Shiro had sleepily argued one night, shortly after issuing the open invitation to Keith. “And knowing people have come to enjoy what we provide is reward enough.”
Keith had to admit, he was impressed with the turnout. It was only a small number of them performing, Shiro had explained, just his close-knit group of friends working together to organise and play for the crowd. He caught sight of a few empty chairs at the back and slipped into the end one, picking up the nearest programme to browse over. It was simplistic but efficient, monochromatic (no doubt to save on printing), with a few musical decals along the edges. It looked to be a fairly long concert, with an interval in the middle. He knew he must have missed the start, and his heart sank a little to spot a few of Shiro’s solos in the first half that he wouldn’t get chance to hear. He’d also missed a few pieces by some names he half recognised, though he couldn’t put faces to them off the top of his head.
A quick glance over the tops of heads confirmed that the stage was, currently, empty. There were four chairs set up with four stands, presumably ready for the Leo Quartet to open the second half. His eyes immediately fell on a grand piano just to the side of the stage, black and sleek and sexy in all the right ways. Keith’s fingers twitched immediately. He’d never had the fortune to play a grand himself, but he’d always wanted to. He almost resented whoever got to play that one. They didn’t know just how lucky they were.
The stage sat raised at the end of what he presumed was a function hall. It was spacious and he was sure that was going to mess with the acoustics, but there was little they could do about that. He was sat close enough to the back that if his sensory overload kicked in he could easily make a polite escape without too many people noticing. Just knowing that that way out was available made him feel more relaxed about the whole situation. It was being stuck in a situation without an alternative that usually put him on edge.
Keith found himself studying the coving running around the rim of the ceiling when a general hush fell over the gathered audience, people quickly finishing conversations and starting up an applause instead. He craned his head round the pseudo-poodle perm in front of him, finding a comfortable view so long as everyone else remained fairly still in their seats. He caught sight of the two students who had met him that time outside the Conservatoire taking their seats on the left-hand side of the stage, violins in hand. Beside them came a rather small youth, although the programme’s name of Katie Holt wasn’t one he remembered Shiro mentioning before.
His person of interest was soon sitting on the far right, and Keith had to admit that imagining Shiro in a suit and seeing him in one were two very different things. He wore black a lot better than he had anticipated, and the bow tie just finished the look off. His fringe had been styled to the side and out of his eyes and gave his face an overall harsher look, his profile so defined Keith found himself staring a little. He looked more mature, but not necessarily older. More in control, perhaps. It was a good look on him.
When the audience had settled into silence, the left three began to play. It was a high, almost pastoral start to the piece, but Keith was busy staring at Shiro who merely sat there, waiting to come in. He was pleasantly surprised with how well the three voices merged but they were lacking their fourth, that rich and sultry undertone that brought it all together. He sat upright a little more when he saw Shiro’s bow move to hover over the strings, and then it was brushing against them and Keith felt that final piece slot into place. The cello and first violin moved together, the highs and lows supporting each other and bringing the tune out between them. After a moment more of watching the grace of his friend’s motions, Keith settled back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the colours of the music wash over him.
It wasn’t like whenever he’d listened to other Garrison musicians play. Where their music would merge into a dull brown, he could practically hear the four of them paint together. Shiro’s rich purple tone and the delicate and high blues from Lance wove between each other effortlessly, while the dancing middle voices filled the spaces with greens and yellows. A perfect balance of warm and cold, maintained at all times. All four of them put so much soul into their performances that people were physically moved around them. Keith could tell as much just from the atmosphere – the whole room became reverent, frissons down spines and hair standing on edge.
This, this was how music was meant to be.
His fingers tapped idly against his thighs as he listened, the piece gently carrying him through the whole way until it finished with a tasteful high note, the cello grounding the others with its sustained sigh and Hunk plucking at the strings in a way that reminded Keith of a bird taking off and away from a perfect scene, leaving it undisturbed yet incomplete.
The applause that broke the following tentative silence was well deserved, and Keith found himself smiling as he watched the four of them stand and take a bow. It was amusing to him to be able to see the differences in that simple action, too. Lance seemed to soak the attention up while his friend shied away from it. The girl seemed to have a slightly awkward smile on her face, although pleased nonetheless. Shiro was a little harder to read, in his mind. There was a joy in his eyes, but also an apprehension to the slant of his shoulders, as if it were a conscious effort to hold himself so straight. Modesty, most likely. An endearing look on him, too.
Perhaps Keith would have to shower him in praise after the concert to see if his theory was true.
The rest of the performances followed through in the same vein as the first – different combinations between soloists and groups, some predictable, some not so. He spotted the woman he’d seen with Shiro that time in the square playing a large and elegant harp, watched as her fingers danced over the strings as if she never needed to touch them. It was an instrument that had long since fascinated him, but one he’d never had the chance to play with and one he doubted he ever would. His drive to play one had disappeared over time, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t still appreciate it. He found himself pleasantly surprised with how well the harp and Lance’s violin complimented each other.
The two musicians seemed to work rather well together, too. There was a chemistry between them as they drove the music faster and filled the beats with energy, and it added something to the piece that he hadn’t known it was missing. He watched as they shifted and twisted, physically echoing the parts they were playing. One leaned in and the other moved with them, a gravity in place on the stage that they both affected and were effected by. It drew the audience in, the playful atmosphere seeping out over every person gathered there to watch.
After them the small girl came to play a piece of her own, accompanied by someone who looked a lot like her on the grand piano. He assumed that they must be siblings. Despite their intense similarities, the pianist looked older than her and carried himself with a little more confidence and ease. Everywhere he looked, Keith saw people playing together. Every time they shared the stage with another they seemed to breathe and live it, and he felt the loneliness cinch around his chest a little more with each passing moment.
He’d always insisted he wanted to play alone. There were too many variables to line up – he wasn’t used to matching pace with another, or trying to adjust it so that their tones worked well together. Tuning, too. Style, technique, that emotive freedom of tempo that flowed so instinctively when he played solo that he doubted he could ever find with another. If it was scheduled it was fake, since he was a firm believer of everything being instinctive and on the fly.
Yet as much as he told himself that he could cope just well on his own.. He was tired. He was tired of being alone. The more he’d started to let Shiro in to his daily life, the more he realised he wanted to share more and more of himself. It was so relieving and joyful to share a good experience or a joke with another, passing on the good mood and watching it spread. When something dragged him down it was cathartic to dissect it with a friend, to split the burden and watch the heaviness dissipate.
He found himself growing encroachingly jealous to see the others get to share Shiro’s sole passion with him while he was left to watch.
It was almost a relief when he saw the cellist take to the stage to finish the concert off, chair in the centre and piano empty. There was no stand, no clutter, nothing to detract from the sight of him sat there alone. His knees clamped lightly around his cello as he ran the fingers of his flesh hand along the neck, grazing over the strings and focusing on the feel of him under his pads. His prosthetic adjusted his grip on the bow, a slight twist of the wrist carrying through the motion of the long piece of wood. Keith watched, enraptured, as Shiro closed his eyes and the whole room fell silent. He had such a presence that demanded respect without ever making the demand. He’d seen people forced to fight and petulantly wait for the silence they deserved. Shiro had no such troubles. He looked so at home up there in the quiet before the storm that it was impossible not to give him one’s full attention.
He lowered his head, almost imperceptibly nodded it once, twice, and then he began.
Thumb resting at the very base of the neck, he plucked at a single string with his ring finger. It didn’t change pitch but it immediately set a strong and stable tempo, something low and rough that reminded Keith of a war march. He watched in awe as the bow drove firmly against the strings, the other fingers pressing against the neck to alter the pitch while his ring finger never faltered for a moment. He couldn’t begin to imagine the co-ordination needed right then. Sure, his own instrument required all ten fingers moving independently, but it was a completely different circumstance in his mind.
Shiro played with his whole body, torso twisting and shifting as his shoulder lead each pull of his bow. There was a moment when he slid the horsehair across multiple strings at once and Keith immediately dug his fingers into his thighs as he braced for the inhuman screech that was sure to follow. To his pleasant surprise the notes, while falling in between the Western-recognised pitches, slid chromatically down lower without ever bending in a way that was painful. It was unsettling, as intended to be, but not once did it sound unpleasant to the point of unintentional. Every motion was precise, a restrained freedom to his playing, and Keith even spotted patterns in the way Shiro shifted his head as he lead in to the next section.
The music shifted from a low and driving Norse-sounding refrain into something snappier and quicker, Celtic in style. He watched his fingers move with fluidity and ease as they walked up and down the neck, not once missing a beat or a step as his bow pressed down both on single strings and doubles, managing to fill the room with the sound of multiple instruments from just one alone. The syncopation was forceful and firm, confident in its statement. Keith found his foot tapping solidly inside his boot, the silence on each beat louder for its absence. The piece explored both the richer and broader sounds of the lower register before singing in the tighter, sharper and higher limits of the instrument. It was easy to hear the versatility of both cello and cellist, the two working together to paint images of clashing seas and white-tipped waves in the minds of everyone present.
It may not have been what Keith had been expecting to hear from him, but there was no doubt to him that Shiro was worth every bit of respect he seemed to have gained at the Garrison. There was a talent to him that had been cultivated to perfection, as much as it pained him to praise the institute. Would Shiro have been able to play so well without them? Potentially, but it was unlikely he would have ever reached such a polished state as this.
The music ended too soon to rapturous applause, the shut-away expression on Shiro’s face fading quickly to muted embarrassment as he stood and took his bows. There were catcalls and yells of praise that were finally hushed for an ending speech to explain the charity collection boxes near the exits. Since it was a free entry, it was only polite to donate a little to the group’s chosen charities on the way out. Keith wasn’t surprised to hear that the charity of choice was one that dealt with amputee youths. People began to file out towards the great doors behind him, but Keith had his eyes elsewhere and was immediately weaving his way through to make his way to the front of the stage.
He got there to see everyone packing their instruments away, a light and gentle banter between them as they did so. Even out of performance they just… They practically flowed together. Lance and Allura seemed to be the ones at the exits collecting donations, but Keith spotted the soft case covering her harp near the back. Hunk was dismantling stands and stacking chairs in the corner, the Holt siblings shoving each other light-heartedly while they sorted out the sound system.
Keith quietly stepped round the outside to where Shiro was putting his instrument away, delicately draping the velvet cover over the top of it to protect it from the inside of his case. There was a small smile on his face, as if relieved to have everything done and done so successfully, though when Keith lightly touched his arm to catch his attention he jolted and glanced to him immediately, that smile blossoming into something full and bright that made the former’s stomach jump and twist a little uncomfortably with butterflies.
“Hey,” Shiro breathed, eyes practically dancing. “You made it. I thought you had work?”
“Work got cancelled,” Keith smiled back, unable to help himself as he stepped a little closer. The lack of confirmation about the standing of their relationship was killing him inside, but Shiro opened his arms almost immediately and wrapped around him, pulling him in a little closer. Keith reached up to brush the tips of his fingers over the lapel of his suit jacket, feeling the soft material underneath. “You look smart.”
The blush that peppered the other’s cheeks reminded Keith of his plan to praise Shiro more and more, just to see that completely adorkable side of him. Shiro ducked his head a little and Keith leaned in, glancing up underneath the hair that Shiro had been attempting to hide behind. He felt bold in his teasing, but he was happy and warm and got to spend time with his friend that he hadn’t been expecting to get. “It would be disrespectful to perform in anything less.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Keith smirked, feeling a surge of confidence in his chest that he really didn’t know the cause of. Either way, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth when teasing his romantic interest was on the line. “I think almost all the old ladies in the audience would have been very happy to see you in less. Get rid of this..” He tugged lightly on his jacket, sliding his hands under the fabric to brush against the crisp white shirt underneath. “This, too. You can keep the bow tie. Very dapper.”
“How kind,” Shiro responded, his voice almost coming out in a drawl. He squeezed Keith’s waist under his hands, and the younger was sure he could feel a nervous hesitance to his grip, as if afraid to overstep his boundaries. It was nice to have his space respected like that, but he wanted to reassure Shiro that right then any touches would be more than welcome. He was just about to work out how to say as much when Shiro seemed to straighten a little and look over him, Allura and Lance returning with their tins full of generous donations.
“I won!” Lance cheered loudly, waving his hefty collection in the air. Allura rolled her eyes lightly as she followed him, though the ‘it wasn’t a competition’ remained unspoken between the group. Keith could practically feel Shiro’s amused huff beside him as his hands dropped back to his sides, the space between them felt immediately. Keith didn’t know why he was offended or upset at that. They weren’t dating, so Shiro was allowed to drop his contact when others were watching. It was no big deal.
Maybe he’d just wanted to be reassured that the other wasn’t ashamed to be seen with him. It wasn’t like the others didn’t know they were friends, but was that all they were ever going to be? He knew he was overthinking it, felt himself withdrawing in on himself as the group passed congratulations between each other, that blond pianist coming over to clap Shiro firmly on the shoulder in praise. They all seemed so together, and the more Keith watched the more he felt trapped on the other side of a window, watching them. A window with no hinges, one he was destined to stay on the outside of.
A loud cry of joy went up around them and Keith quickly forced his attention back to the present, watching as Lance tackled Hunk and the two slung their arms around each other. There was a general air of cheer between them all, and it took him a moment or two to pick up that a group trip out to the pub had been suggested as a way of celebrating a successful evening. The two students set off first, Matt and Katie following a little behind with some gentle ribbing at each other (primarily about Katie’s young age, it seemed, although she appeared to be very adamant about joining them and getting a drink and nobody was stopping her and that since Matt was the visiting outsider he no longer had a say in her life – Keith was impressed with how well she stood her ground and found himself forming a silent respect for her). Allura was the one who trailed, pausing in her steps and casting a curious glance over their way when Shiro didn’t move to follow them. She raised a delicate eyebrow, something dancing in her eyes that he couldn’t quite read.
“You not joining us?”
“No,” Shiro responded easily, only a touch of guilt at declining in his voice. “I’m going to head back early, I’m afraid.”
“Big plans?”
“Something like that.”
Allura chuckled and raised a hand in farewell before grabbing her instrument to wheel back to her car. Shiro watched her for a brief moment before he turned to pick his own case up, hoisting it on his back and resting the straps squarely on his shoulders. He made to grab his satchel but Keith was already on it, gripping to it almost desperately. Shiro was already lugging a giant instrument around, it was the least he could do to carry the rest.
“I’ve got it,” he promised fervently, earning a soft and thankful smile from Shiro in response. Perhaps if he didn’t cause too much fuss he would be allowed to walk Shiro home, if only to snatch a few minutes together without the others. They’d had so little time together in recent times, so little to chance to see each other in person or have meaningful conversation that he just really, really wanted to draw it out for as long as possible.
By the time they’d locked the hall up the rain had stopped falling, leaving the night air crisp and fresh. Keith kicked at the odd puddle as they walked, watching the street lights catch the splashes and making the floor glisten. Conversation was sparse yet easy, the silence between them more familiar and comfortable than anticipated. There was nothing to say and so they didn’t say it, not right then. There were hundreds of things Keith wanted to say to him, but they could wait. What was the point in rushing them?
At no point did Shiro seem to suggest he leave, either. He never stalled at a crossroads, silently pushing for them to go their separate ways. It was only when they reached the base of Shiro’s apartments that they paused, but neither made a move for the satchel to be passed between them. Keith clung to it earnestly, as if it was his key to unlocking more time with the other. If he didn’t hand it over Shiro couldn’t leave him for the night. Keith didn’t much fancy going back to his flat alone, not after the lovely evening he’d had. After being shown such close camaraderie the empty spaces in his own four walls would just be louder and harsher than usual.
Shiro let out a small breath and glanced up to the sky, searching the few stars visible through the dim city lighting as if they held the answers to his innumerable questions. Keith took the time to study his profile, falling on to that sharply defined jaw once more. Elegant and regal and, if he dared to think it, perfect for nipping.
Not that he would indulge that train of thought for long.
The silence drew on and the ease and comfort in it distorted, leaving the lack of words palpable and not altogether pleasant. Keith opened his mouth and made to raise the satchel in surrender, though halted halfway when Shiro’s hand came to meet him and overshot, landing on top of his own and squeezing.
“Sorry,” the older male breathed, a hint of nerves in his eyes. Keith flashed him a curious smile, as if unsure as to what he was apologising for in response. “I just, I don’t know how to..”
“Yes?” Keith took an unconscious step closer, excitement fluttering low in his chest. He didn’t care what was coming, but if it was making Shiro nervous like this he could only hope it would be a good thing.
“Would you.. Would you like to stay the night? I know you don’t live all that far away, but it’s late and dark and I don’t want you to—”
Keith interrupted him, a finger raised and pressed against his lips. He could feel Shiro’s mouth tremble into a quirked and shy smile, and Keith made sure his own was firmer and more certain, just to reiterate that everything was fine between them.
“I would love to.”