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Shiro considered himself a fully functional human being, and anyone daring to put that into question soon saw themselves disabused.
Shiro knew his own limitations and his own weaknesses better than any of those who took a look at the bags under his eyes, the uneven scar running over the bridge of his nose, the fake limb they shook in greeting.
He knew things about himself he never would have guessed himself capable of until that fateful accident and he was not letting anyone tell him what he could and couldn’t do.
He could go about his life normally.
He could go to college and get the degree he had been working hard towards for all of his life.
He could and had cared well for his baby brother, despite his young age and the physical, emotional as well as the monetary setbacks of the accident.
He could go grocery shopping, go out with his friends, fall in and out of love, get home smashed and pass out on the couch.
Things every other person he was acquainted with could do as well.
But Shiro was all too aware of the things that had changed after the crash – from little ticks he’d developed to the grueling experience that had been his first ride in a car once he had been discharged from hospital.
It had been a frustrating journey getting back behind the wheel without him falling into a panic attack the moment the doors would close. Luckily, the Holts had been adamant about helping out and driving Keith to football practice with Pidge in the meantime. To this day, Shiro could attest to the fact that Colleen and Samuel Holt were a fearsome couple when on a mission, even if that mission merely consisted of getting through Shiro’s abnormally thick skull and getting him to understand that any help provided, was done so willingly.
But, contrary to popular belief, it had been neither Colleen nor Sam who had gotten him to drive again, but Matt with his butt-kicking and never-ending litany of “We need that data Shiro”.
It had never fooled him into believing that this was about anything else than giving Shiro back some of his independence.
He wished he could say that it hadn’t taken as long as it had, but the end result was what counted and not the endless weeks spent toeing his way into the driver’s seat up to driving in the middle of rush-hour city traffic. While back then he might not have been, Shiro now took pride in that achievement. To others it might have been a given. To him, it wasn’t.
The only thing that had stayed with him though, besides the scars and the prosthesis, was sadly a bad case of PTSD. Which, his therapists and friends had never stopped pointing out, was to be expected and natural. It still remained the most frustrating aspect of his life post-accident.
Frustrating especially, because Shiro could not logically explain how he could once again sit in a car and drive, while a scene in a movie depicting any sort of car accident had him spiraling back in time. Had him gasping for breath as he shook and trembled, had him struggling to regain awareness of his surroundings.
Keith had once proposed that it was a combination of sound and images, maybe the camera angle, but Shiro had a hard time accepting that kind of reasoning, since he had already been driving again at the time. If anything, the latter should have had a far adverse effect on him.
Whatever the reason, he and Keith and his long-time friends had learned to work around it: reading movie synopsis carefully, skipping potential scenes that could trigger a flashback or not watching certain movies with him altogether.
It was a pity, since Shiro would have liked to watch the latest racing movies with Keith, who loved them to the moon and back and that Shiro had used to enjoy a fair amount as well.
Well, what was done was done, and anyway, he was not going to complain now when he was sitting with everyone before their TV on Friday movie night, munching on some sugary microwave popcorn as the girl and boy on screen were having another cliché argument that could have been avoided, if they’d just properly communicate.
It had been Lance’s choice, a movie he had claimed had been his childhood, and since none of them were that familiar with Latin-American media it was a nice change of pace.
Except for Pidge, maybe, who was deconstructing every little scene and interaction, having started a heated argument about cinematic parallels and terrible stereotypes.
“Why does everything have to be so dramatic? Can’t they just, like, talk?”
Shiro felt Lance’s foot jostle his shoulder while he heard him make a sound like blowing a raspberry. He wasn’t sure and he also didn’t care enough to turn around and check, shoveling more popcorn into his mouth instead.
“Of course not. That’s the point! You can’t have good drama without a bit of miscommunication.”
There were twin groans from Pidge and Keith, deeply exasperated and heavy. Hunk, though not nearly as fed up as the other two, did seem to share their sentiment.
“Yeah, but there is a difference between ‘Uh, this makes sense’ kind of miscommunication and ‘Urgh, this is literally just two toddlers refusing to talk’ kind of miscommunication. And Lance, as much as I love you, your movie falls under the latter category.”
There was a sputter followed by a huff and Shiro could tell Lance had bundled himself up in that fuzzy blanket he guarded with his life. Shiro tugged at the little corner he had secured himself. He got a stronger tug in response.
“If you want fuzzy blanket rights you gotta earn them,” came the grumbled threat from behind him, no doubt sounding so muffled because Lance had literally cocooned himself.
Shiro shrugged, finally glancing back up at the couch only to be met with blue eyes glowering at him through a dark slit.
Holding up the small bowl of popcorn, Shiro did not even try to sound invested into their argument: “Listen, I have popcorn, I am warm and I have bits of a very, very nice blanket to get comfortable in. As far as I am concerned, I am having a great time.”
The smirk that had been forming on Keith’s face was quickly turning into a scowl of pure betrayal.
“So for the sake of benefitting from unreserved fuzzy blanket rights: the movie’s fine.”
He knew rather than saw Lance pointing at the others as he gave victorious whoops, mixing together with a reproachful chorus of “Shiro”. He couldn’t help the snort.
“Come on guys, it really isn’t that bad. I’ve certainly seen worse.”
“Of course you would,” Keith added, tone suggesting he was honest to God pouting, “anyone being friends with Matt would.”
There was a yelp and Shiro had no doubt that Pidge had just punched Keith. Hard.
“You have no right to talk Mr. ‘let’s watch Dirty Dancing’.”
There was a gag and a yelp but it was hard to pinpoint from whom it had come. Shiro just laughed, knowing where this was going; staring as the woman and man onscreen ran hither and wither through their house, while in the back he listened to Keith defending one of his favorite movies.
“There is nothing wrong with Dirty Dancing. It’s a good movie and it has nice music.”
“And then there’s Patrick Swayze.”
There were sounds of choking and this time Shiro could tell it was Hunk by the hollow thumps reverberating from rapping his chest with a fist.
A beat of silence followed, allowing Shiro to hear the protagonists now arguing about some inconsequential thing that must have happened at the beginning of their relationship. Soon enough Lance’s high-pitched “What?” broke the spell, sparking a flurry of activity behind Shiro.
He took it in stride, moving to avoid a kick from Pidge as she scrambled around on the couch.
Shiro was in the process of putting another handful of popcorn in his mouth to crunch as loudly and obnoxiously as possible when the screen turned black.
Intrigued he continued watching when he heard it.
The dull roll and roar of tires on pavement. The quiet pitter patter of raindrops.
His stomach sank and he put the popcorn back in the bowl, wiping his hand on the blanket. Soon, there were twin lights reflecting on the black bitumen, silence reigning as the camera changed to show the protagonists quietly fuming and ignoring each other, the man gripping the steering wheel and looking out on the road, a deep frown on his face.
Slowly, Shiro inched his hand towards where he thought he had left the remote. His hand met the old carpet and something inside him was quickly growing cold.
“Um guys,” he tried, his voice sounding a little steadier than he felt but the heated conversation was drowning him out.
He gulped, trying hard to ignore the sounds that were starting to muffle everyone’s voices, looking away from the screen in an attempt to escape what was less feeling like some cheesy drama and more like an oncoming nightmare.
He searched for the remote but it obviously had found its way onto the couch, probably when Pidge had adjusted the volume. Urgency made his hands, both of them, tremble hard. He could feel the sweat gathering at his brow as dread crept up on him like a living predator ready to pounce.
He had bent his knees to get up and stopped dead in his track at the screech of tires and the sound of a car horn…
-*-*-*-
Shiro was well aware that driving had been a terrible idea. The fever cooking him from the inside out was nothing but the icing on this terrible day that had already started as a terrible, rainy morning.
He fiddled with the knobs to turn up the radio in the hopes of getting at least some sort of relief out of this, the bass and beats may be able to synch up with his headache so he might be able to ignore the pulsing and throbbing.
He let out a stuttering sigh, coughing into his elbow. The motion almost had him driving into the other lane and he heard the honk from the driver behind him, before watching said driver overtaking so they could slow down to rile him up. His only saving grace was that Shiro had expected it and already taken his foot off the gas.
Discreetly, Shiro flipped them off from under the dashboard, only regretting he couldn’t do it openly unless he wanted to get into trouble. Which he could not allow. Any kind of misconduct on his part and Keith would be taken away.
The youth welfare office already was on their case because Keith had gotten himself into a fist fight on behalf of Pidge, and no matter how smug is baby brother was being or how proudly he and Pidge had exchanged fist bumps, it changed nothing about the smartly dressed woman that had appeared a few days later, telling them that there had been ‘concerns’ when the school had informed them about the incident.
Once again, their every move was being watched and Shiro hated it.
The woman who had first worked on their case had assured him that once he’d gained their trust, it would stay that way. What a joke.
Another series of coughs had him almost hacking up a lung and tears shoot into his eyes but he swallowed it down.
Keith had been crying after that, and Shiro honestly could not put it past him even with annoyance still burning in his chest like embers and coals.
Keith had apologized as well, saying he had never thought about the repercussions, and that was the moment Shiro had taken him in his arm and told him that it was okay, that they were going to weather this new storm like every other one before.
His phone rang and he growled in annoyance, a feeling telling him that it was his boss again, probably raging and wanting to know where the hell he was.
Whatever. There was no love lost between him and Daniel, and Shiro couldn’t wait for the end of this month where he could take his money, and throw that damn uniform into that man’s face.
He’d put up with him long enough and he was not going to let this psychopath command him around like some little trained puppy. Shiro also had no idea how this man had come under the delusion that it was totally okay to call at ungodly hours and ask that he take extra shifts which had never been agreed upon when he took the job.
Right now, he had little to no choice. He needed that money and if he bailed now, he would not see a damn cent.
He unclenched his hands, rubbing at his eyes and following the windscreen wipers’ motion, the heavy rain almost making it impossible to see and transforming everything into a smeary, dark blur.
God… what he wouldn’t give for a warm bed and a full eight hours of sleep…
But once he got home, there would be a report of five hundred words waiting for him. If he was lucky, he might actually get four hours tonight.
Unfortunately, he had the sinking feeling that with his fever, it might just take him all night.
There was heat building behind his eyes that had nothing to do with his state of illness, and he rubbed at his eyes furiously to get rid of the tears.
He sneezed, sniffling miserably and blinking blurrily.
Maybe he should pull over?
This was getting dangerous.
He put on his blinker, checked the rearview mirror for any traffic, pulled right.
Heard the shrill horn of a car blaring.
And suddenly, there was the crunching and screeching of metal bending, of glass shattering, and for a moment Shiro was weightless as the car was hurtled up, before everything turned into a nauseating kaleidoscope of debris flying around, of light and cacophonous noise, and piercing pain.
He was not sure if he had passed out. It might have been the most logical thing because suddenly his world burst with agonizing pain.
He screamed, howling and sobbing when he opened his eyes only to be met with darkness and the sound of rain beating against the underside of his car. He was dangling upside down, merely held in place by the seatbelts cutting painfully into his muscles.
But while everything felt bruised and contused nothing hurt as much as his right arm. It burned, like stabbing a hot knife into it over and over, the sensation intensifying as Shiro attempted to wiggle his fingers.
The screech he let out as the muscles spasmed helplessly hurt his throat, and the incessant shaking was not doing him any good.
Something thick and warm was flowing over the stretched skin, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. His mouth tasted metallic, making Shiro spit in hopes of getting it out.
He whined, crying out again when his arm, trapped from the elbow down, jerked again, setting everything aflame.
His breath was hitching, chest jumping erratically and Shiro was sure he as drowning in his own blood and oh God no please
-*-*-*-
“Shiro!”
The voice was new, as it was every time, because Keith had not been there when the accident had happened.
He felt himself blink but everything else was beyond his control, and the long, thin tunnel his vision had become was not making it easier to regain his senses. Still, at the end of it, he could see two eyes, set and determined.
This was no longer new to Keith, and the thought would have upset Shiro more if he weren’t about to pass out.
“Shiro, I need you breathe. Can you do that for me? Yes, no, shaking your head, anything’s fine so long as you answer me.”
His jaw and throat were wound so tight and hard that nothing got past but the flimsy breaths he was attempting and failing to draw, but with inhuman strength he did wrestle a sharp but shaky nod out of his body.
“Good, good,” Keith said, his hands coming up to hold onto Shiro’s which were cramped claw-like in front of his chest.
He became distantly aware that his back was propped up against something warm and yielding but he did not possess the mental capacity to piece these things together. Trying not to pass out already took up too much of his attention for that.
His arms were stiff and hard to maneuver, as if they wanted to snap back should Keith let go, but his brother held on. His hands were warm and a striking contrast to Shiro’s cold ones.
“Shiro, try to follow my breathing, okay?”
This was familiar, sadly enough, but Keith’s quiet voice counting down, telling him to hold, his pleased hums when Shiro tried to do as told, his assurances that he was safe and not alone slowly untangled that knot that had been choking him. Stilled the senseless roar of panic that had threatened to drown him.
Step by step, breath by breath, Shiro regained control over his body, dulled senses returning to him.
Keith saw the change and Shiro mimicked his slump of relief by leaning a little further into Hunk who held on tight.
Closing his eyes, Shiro did his best to unlock his aching jaw, ignoring the sour taste coating his tongue. Still, he was just glad that there were none of the tell-tale signs of him having thrown up.
“Thanks guys.”
“Don’t sweat it. Just glad you’re alright,” Hunk replied, giving his arm a hearty thump.
He took his time coming down from the spell, relishing in the way his lungs no longer burned and his heart was no longer rabbiting in his ribcage.
Besides Hunk’s warm embrace he was aware of Keith’s hand resting on his knee, his pointer tapping a rhythm only he could hear.
There was the rustling of clothes, of people getting up from the couch and Shiro was suddenly aware of the fact that otherwise, everything around them was quiet. He dragged open his eyes, seeing that the TV had been shut off but he had probably already been in the thralls of his panic attack.
“Hey.”
All of them looked up at Lance who stood there, pale and awkward, and so much unlike himself that Shiro felt something like self-consciousness, maybe even shame, creep up on him.
“Maybe you should lie down,” he offered weakly, one of his hands twitching towards the couch. Craning his neck, he caught sight of an arrangement of cushions and the fuzzy, blue blanket and Pidge sitting on the armrest with her legs crossed, giving him a worried look Shiro had received one times too many over the years.
It made something flare up inside him and he’d prefer to be alone before it could burst out in his wrung-out state.
“Sorry but… I think I’ll go to bed.”
Lance did not flinch but he did seem to wilt at the rejection.
“Okay,” he mumbled, sucking in his lips and standing there awkward before holding out his left hand, “Need a lift?”
Shiro gave it a thought before sluggishly reaching out and holding on, allowing Lance to heave him up and steady him when Shiro’s legs did not instantly cooperate.
Shiro hated his occasional spells, but he probably hated what followed them most. Hated the unnecessarily concerned looks and careful touches. Hated how it made him look and others look at him.
He was quick to thank Lance and the others without looking at them too directly, and just as quick in taking a step away from Lance and his conflicted expression and overly gentle hands. He was not a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. He was an adult and this was not his first panic attack.
“Night guys.”
There was a subdued chorus following his quiet exit, and Shiro did not even bother changing as he let himself fall onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow and just trying to breathe deeply as the door behind him clicked shut.
This spell had been a bad one, probably because it had been a while. Even his bones felt rattled and drained. Shiro had almost forgotten how… exhausting this tended to be.
He sighed, rolling onto his side and catching a glimpse of an auburn tail swinging in front of the edge of his bed like a pendulum clock, making Shiro smile a little.
“No need to be shy, Red.”
The tail stilled, and the next moment the blind cat had hopped onto his bed, sightlessly searching for any nook or space it could squish itself into.
Shiro made an almost silent kissy noise and Red’s ears perked up. Darting over to his face, the cat nuzzled into him like the purring engine it was.
Shiro laughed quietly, extracting his flesh hand from under him so he could pet the cat. His gesture seemed to be greatly appreciated, Red plopping down so they were lying pretty much nose to nose.
As Shiro ruffled Red behind its ears, he could not help but stare at the scar tissue hiding eyes none of them had ever seen. Keith had once said that even the vet could not tell what had caused it, whether it was intentional or an accident, if it had been acid or a sharp object. It remained a mystery to this day.
The harness of his prosthesis dug into his shoulder uncomfortably.
“You and me,” he whispered, never once stopping his ruffling and Red never once stopping its loud rumbles, “we’ve both been through some stuff, huh?”
He wondered if their little stray could even remember what had happened to them. If they too, had to fight with themselves to not get overwhelmed by sudden memories or a panic that sprung at them out of nowhere for no better reason than to make them miserable?
The door opened, light and TV noise filtering in, making Shiro and Red turn their heads. A lumpy mound of fuzzy blue was fast approaching, and before Shiro could voice any protests, Lance’s favorite blanket was thrown over him, covering him and a startled Red entirely.
He broke himself free, but before he could ask Pidge what was going on, he had a phone pressed against his cheek, the ringing tone reaching his ear.
He grabbed quickly as Pidge drew back, looking a little smug but mostly sympathetic.
“We gonna watch a little more,” she explained, running her hand over Red’s head as it poked out of the little hole it had made itself. She gave Shiro a small smile as he held onto the phone and wiggled his elbow, making the blanket flutter a little.
“You keep it. Lance insisted. Something about you having gained total fuzzy blanket rights for the night.”
That was… really nice. Lance guarded the blanket with his life, although no one knew quite for sure why. All they could tell that it had come with one of Lance’s moving boxes. Him entrusting it to Shiro was actually rather touching.
“Thanks. I mean-”
“Will do,” Pidge interrupted, already looking a bit perkier than earlier, which honestly was a bit of a relief. Seems like movie night was not ruined as a whole. Still, it was impossible to miss the small glint of concern behind round spectacles, “But you should talk to Lance. He’s not said it out loud but you can hear him kicking himself for it from a mile away. He’s really beating himself up about it.”
Oh.
While the movie had been a bad call, Lance was not really to blame for what had happened.
“It’s not his fault,” Shiro amended, glancing down at the phone’s display when still no one was picking up, but Pidge gave him no time to get excited about the name displayed as she gave a questioning hum.
“We never told him about the rules.”
With her wide eyes and mouth shaped a perfect ‘o’, Shiro was almost tempted to make a joking remark, but his heart wasn’t really into it. Seconds later, Pidge looked like she’d bitten into a lemon.
“Damn. You’re right. And I don’t think we had any movies with lots of car scenes recently.”
“Yeah.”
She gave a groan, rubbing at her eyes with both her hands, riding the glasses up and down the bridge of her nose. Once done, she looked at him.
“But you’re holding up alright?”
Shiro nodded, smiling down at Red, the cat having curled up against his chest.
“I have good company.”
“And you will have even better company once he decides to finally pick up,” Pidge grouched, throwing the device a questioning glance, “How long exactly has this been ringing?”
As if summoned by her words, the green icon stilled and a groggy voice filtered through the speakers: “Hallo?”
Pidge snickered, turning on her heel to disappear through the door.
“Tell your husband I said ‘Hi’.”
Shiro gave a chuckle even as he brought the phone to his ear: “Will do.”
The door shut and now it was only him, Red, and Matt.
Shiro grinned as there was more groaning coming from the other end of the line, a bit of shuffling and of things being moved.
“Your sister sister-in-law says hi,” he joked, leaning back against the headrest as he listened to his best friend slowly, very slowly regaining his bearings. Shiro frowned a little as he heard a thump and a rattle.
“You didn’t stay up all night again, did you?”
“Hello to you too,” came the cheery reply, the sound of a coffee brewer noisily gurgling in the background.
“Still an addict, I see.”
“Seeing would require a video feed.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
And before Matt could protest, Shiro had already pushed the icon for the video chat. He noted, with a bit of annoyance, how wrung out he looked. Still, that was nothing compared to the washed out face that greeted him. Maybe it was just the lights from his computer screen, but Shiro thought he looked pale, peaky even.
“Woah, you alright?”
Matt blinked up into the camera, giving a thumbs up as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with a fist.
“ T’s been a long week is all.”
“Uhuuuh,” Shiro commented, as Matt gave a yawn that made his jaw crack and Shiro wince.
“Sorry,” came the sheepish reply, a click in the background making the young man turn around in his seat, smiling at Shiro and already looking much more alive, “Hold on a sec, I just need to grab coffee.”
The seat was left empty and Shiro felt his eyebrow inch up as he realized that he was looking at Matt’s desk with papers, and pencils, and charts, and graphs strewn everywhere.
Matt returned, falling back into his chair with a happy sigh and startling when he saw Shiro very unhappy frown.
“Ah ah ah,” he warned, pointing a finger into his camera, “before you start: I may not have chosen the most comfortable place but pat me on the back for having managed six full hours.”
Shiro scrunched his face up further, just because, and even he had to admit that it looked ridiculous. So, there was no way he could fault Matt for snorting into his coffee.
“If it weren’t for the laws of this land,” he began in a grave voice, making Matt snort even harder, “I would be on my way to throw you into your goddamn bed where you belong.”
“Weew,” Matt wiped his forehead exaggeratedly, grinning at Shiro as he reclined in his chair that looked unfathomably soft and comfy, “then I should be in the clear.”
They laughed, and Shiro realized how much he had missed this. Too bad Matt was now working in a lab a good few hours away from where they’d once gone to college together.
“But honestly, get some sleep. I feel tried just looking at you.”
Matt took a huge gulp out of his mug, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve from his hoodie.
“Like you’re one to talk. You look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”
“I was back in the car.”
A beat of silence hung between them, Matt setting the mug on the desk audibly. Matt had seen them all, and it still boggled Shiro’s mind that he’d stayed despite the tears, the vomit and out-of-control emotions. Shiro sure as hell had not been as willing to put up with himself as Matt had with him.
“Bad?”
“It was over fast, but I think it just hit harder because it’s been a while.”
He was being honest and Matt accepted it, nodding as he guided the mug back to his lips, brown eyes straying to a corner of the room Shiro could not see. His brow furrowed slightly, lips moving and twisting as they always did when he was thinking something over.
After many long years of friendship, Shiro knew that talking would only get him nonsensical grunts and hums. So, in the meantime, he decided to give his furry space heater a bit more well-deserved attention, running his hand over the cat’s back. Red wiggled around, exposing its belly and Shiro felt infinitely blessed as he scratched the animal’s chin.
“You know what,” Matt suddenly declared, sounding awake and resolute. A glance at the phone’s display showed the very picture of zest, “Dr. Greggs called in sick till Tuesday. And since pretty much everything is a stand-still until then, why don’t I come over for the week-end?”
Shiro could feel his eyes bug as he watched Matt getting up and excited, flittering over the screen as he rambled on, grabbing stuff and tossing it on something that looked suspiciously like his bed but Shiro was not certain that the poor lighting was messing with him.
“Woah, are you sure?”
Not that he wasn’t getting excited at the prospect, but he knew how incredibly busy Matt tended to be.
“It’ll be fine,” Matt assured, a small duffle bag already in hand and making a beeline for the bed (?), “I could take my time on Monday and-“
“No, Matt,” Shiro sad kindly but firmly, making him pause. He blinked owlishly at his computer, coming closer and sitting down again as Shiro went on, “you don’t need to come. I know you probably have another project that needs your attention. Don’t stress yourself.”
“Shiro,” Matt said calmly, his eyes not just searching the camera but Shiro’s gaze. There was an intensity behind the way he held himself, holding Shiro’s gaze, “do you want me to come?”
Did Shiro want Matt to be here?
“Yes.”
Matt’s smile was soft and understanding, and Shiro could feel gratitude swell inside of him.
“Then I’ll be there tomorrow,” he announced quietly, tapping the desk with the flat of his hand.
Shiro gave a small sigh, smiling back at Matt, “I can never win with you.”
“Never.”
Matt was smiling so wide now his dimples were showing.
Conceding defeat, Shiro shimmied down until he was lying in bed proper, watching a bit as Matt gathered more stuff, both of them chatting about this and that, filling the silence with quiet laughter and embarrassed groans.
“I can’t wait to introduce you to Lance and Red,” Shiro finally said, stifling a yawn and fighting his drooping eyes.
“Yeah,” Matt folded a pair of jeans before jamming them on top of everything else he’d already put in there, “the pizza guy, right?”
Shiro gave a sleepy hum. Woah… he really hadn’t realized how tired he was. He glanced at his shoulder, deciding that he needed to take care of that first before anything else.
He put the phone down, struggled out of his shirt, and finally got the contraption off. He gave a deep, guttural groan, realizing he needed a shower stat but not feeling up to it.
The noise seemed to have caught Matt’s attention, calling for Shiro.
“You okay? Something wrong with the prosthesis?”
“Not really,” Shiro admitted, “just need a shower.”
There was a low sound, distorted by the phone’s speakers before Matt offered: “Let’s make a deal: you take the shower, and I will sleep another five hours so you won’t freak. Sound good?”
Shiro had been rather vocal about his concerns with Matt wanting to hope into his car and drive through the night. He shook his head, smirk quirking his lips.
“Fine, fine. Will do.”
“Huzzah!”
“Okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow. Night!”
“Night, Matt.”
The call ended, Shiro still playing around with Pidge’s phone for a moment before heaving himself up with a grunt, pouting when Red did not so much as twitch at his departure.
“You better still be here when I come back.”
As if it had heard him, Red snuggled further into the blankets. Picking up a fresh towel, his ointment, and after putting on a shirt, Shiro made his way to the door, ready to get cleaned up and let the others know about the impromptu visit.
He stood in the entrance to the living room for a moment, watching as Keith and Lance were obviously being destroyed at cards by Pidge and Hunk.
The accidents had changed a lot of things, but Shiro wanted to believe that something good had come out of it anyway, needed to believe in it.
And the smiling and relieved faces of his friends, as he made his way over to them, he wanted to consider one of those.