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Keith fidgets with his bag as he leaves the classroom, avoiding eye contact with Iverson and especially ignoring the smug look McClain is giving him. He's so distracted he almost bumps into Shiro outside, but Shiro steadies him with a grin and a hand on his shoulder, and something in Keith relaxes at the sight of him.
He avoids the eyes of his classmates as they pass, too — whether their gaze is jealous or cruel, Keith doesn't want to see it. He's heard the comments; Shiro isn't even that much older than him, and though it makes Keith both pleased and embarrassed when Shiro picks him up from college, he can't help but feel a little amused at Shiro's insistence on being traditional.
"Hey," Shiro says cheerfully, and Keith dredges up a smile, turning his attention where it belongs. "How was class?" he asks. Keith makes a noncommittal noise.
"It was okay," he allows, not really wanting to go into details.
"Iverson again?"
It's raining outside, and they stop so Shiro can open his umbrella before stepping into the downpour. Keith huddles into the collar of his jacket, reaching for Shiro's hand and hiding his smile when Shiro swings their joined hands between them.
"Yeah," Keith says. "He likes to pit me and this kid, McClain, against each other. I reckon Lance would be okay outside of class but he's so competitive, you know?"
"You're competitive," Shiro challenges, and he's grinning when Keith looks up at him, wounded.
"You're supposed to be on my side," he says, mock-offended, but he can't help his smile.
"The best revenge would be to make friends with him," Shiro says, and Keith rolls his eyes.
"You always say kindness is the best way to get back at Iverson, as if I can't see you trying to convert me to your pacifist ways."
They stop to cross the road, and Keith nudges closer to Shiro because the man clearly doesn't know how to hold an umbrella. Shiro acquiesces, moving to hold it over both of them, but Keith remains close by his side. "Go away," Shiro says, elbowing him. "I can't walk straight."
"You can't do anything straight," Keith mutters, and Shiro laughs, squeezing his hand.
"Did you have a good day besides Iverson?" he asks. Shiro's apartment building comes into view as they round the corner, and there's suddenly a break in the clouds, sunlight shining down for a second before it's obscured by grey and purple once more. Keith sighs.
"I did actually study this morning, so I guess it was okay," he says. "Did you?"
Shiro's been working at the coffee shop a couple blocks away since he graduated last year, hoping to save up and move somewhere where he can actually use his degree, but for the moment they live in Shiro's little apartment just around the corner from Keith's college, and that suits them just fine.
It's home, Keith thinks, smiling as Shiro tells him about his day and fumbles keys from his pocket, and Keith takes the umbrella and shakes it out as he opens the door.
"Sounds exhausting," Keith says when Shiro pauses.
"Old people are always the worst."
"Like you, then?" Keith asks. He laughs as Shiro punches his arm, forgoing the lift and darting up the stairs instead, and they have a half-hearted chase that becomes too much somewhere around the third floor.
Keith leans against the wall as Shiro unlocks his apartment and pretends he's not completely out of breath, breathing a sigh of relief when Shiro finally gets the door open. He sheds his jacket and throws it over a dining chair, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the sofa.
"I hate rain," he says to no one in particular.
"I quite like it, actually," Shiro says neutrally, and Keith opens his eyes to glare at him. Shiro plucks his jacket from the chair and crosses the room to hang it up. "You need to dress warmer," he admonishes, and Keith rolls his eyes.
"Yes, mother," he mocks, and Shiro ruffles his hair on the way past.
Keith shuts his eyes again, spreading out on the sofa and listening to the familiar sounds of Shiro puttering about the apartment: lining their shoes up by the door, hanging his coat, stirring an abnormal amount of sugar into Keith's coffee — none for his own, because Shiro is too man for sugar — and then the quiet clink of Shiro setting mugs down on the coffee table.
The sofa — their horrible, squashy sofa that Keith swears collapses even further into itself every time he sits on it — dips as Shiro sits beside him, rearranging Keith's limbs and pulling him to his side. Keith wriggles, flinging an arm around Shiro and pulling his feet up, tucking his head into Shiro's neck without even opening his eyes.
"Feet off the sofa," comes Shiro's voice, predictable as always, and Keith hides his smirk at the stern tone Shiro never follows through on.
"In a minute," Keith says, and Shiro lets out a long-suffering sigh.
Keith isn't sure how long they sit, curled into each other and half-asleep before long, rain beating a pattern on the windows and weak sunlight casting an ethereal quality over the room, lending soft edges to Shiro's face when Keith looks up at him.
It won't be too much longer before Shiro insists on getting up and starting dinner, so Keith tightens his hold and leans up for a kiss, smiling as Shiro's hand slides up his back and into his hair. They kiss lazily, small movements and gentle hands until they break apart, remaining close in each other's space, and Keith loves Shiro so much he can barely stand it.
"I love you," Keith blurts out.
Shiro's eyes are full of warmth as he looks down at Keith. "I love you too," he replies quietly, and squeezes Keith's hand. Then he does the unthinkable.
Betrayed, Keith moans unhappily when Shiro starts disengaging himself from where they've sunk into the sofa together, and Shiro gives him a fond look. "I better start dinner," he says, amused.
"In a minute," Keith whines plaintively, and Shiro smirks as he stands up, picking up his coffee and offering Keith the red mug. "Shiro."
"Keith," Shiro mimics, and Keith lazily watches him move to the kitchen. "You can come help, if you want," Shiro says over his shoulder, and Keith laughs, finally getting up and going over to wrap his arms around Shiro, burying his face between Shiro's shoulder blades. Shiro mutters something disparaging and Keith smiles and holds tighter and hopes it can always be like this.