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Shiro landed on the next rooftop with a roll and immediately sprang back to his feet, running through the night, the bright white streak across his chest glowing in the darkness. The figure he was chasing wore a red hoodie and he couldn’t help but hope. The way he moved was so familiar and the anticipation of seeing Keith’s face once more was almost overwhelming, making his footing sloppy.
Even with sloppy footing, Shiro could always move much faster than Keith. Keith was impulsive; he’d see an open fire escape and he’d jump without thinking of where he was going next. Sometimes that would get him to higher ground, and sometimes it would get him stuck. Now, the man in the red hoodie was stuck, at the edge of a rooftop with no landing pad except for the ground, fifteen hundred feet below, and a window sill twenty feet across an alley. The man skidded to a stop before plummeting to his death.
Shiro landed on the roof behind him, silently tucking into a roll that left him on his feet.
The man in the red hoodie was tense, Shiro could tell. His hands were clenched into tight fists, dirty nails digging into his palms. He was breathing hard, tired from their rooftop chase, shoulders lifting up and down with every lungful of air. He was out of practice, to be breathing that hard, dirty hood pulled over his head.
Shiro could only stand, watching the way he moved. He was the right shape to be Keith, but even at Keith’s most tense, he never quite twitched the way this man did. Even in Keith’s last days, when every word would pull his shoulders tense, he never lacked control.
Shiro didn’t even want to say it, to ask, watching the man pant. He wanted to know but couldn’t stand to be wrong. Hell, he didn’t even want to be right.
“Keith?” he asked, quietly, and the man stopped breathing. Shiro’s heart paused in tandem.
Suddenly he was breathing again, spinning on his heel, and—
Keith .
His eyes glowed, the irises bright violet and illuminating the night, his lips pulled back in a snarl; Shiro was caught between taking a step forward and a step back, wanting to embrace his friend and run from the aggression Keith was showing now. Keith had no such hesitation and took a step towards Shiro.
“Keith is dead ,” the man growled.
Shiro’s eyes widened. Even in Keith’s last days, he’d never showed aggression towards him .
“Little wing,” Shiro whispered.
Keith’s snarl fell and his face went blank. Not the forced blank, the unreadable expression they were both taught, but purely empty . His eyes lost their unnatural glow and Keith caught Shiro’s eyes as tears fell.
“Shiro,” Keith mumbled, body going limp, falling forward onto the gravel rooftop as Shiro ran to his prone form. The breathing was slower now, less erratic; it calmed Shiro’s racing heart as he cradled Keith in his arms.
Keith looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.
Shiro supported his neck in such a way that he could feel Keith’s pulse.
“Keith, how are you alive ?” he murmured as Keith’s eyes slipped fully closed.