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Late at night was the only time Shiro felt comfortable removing his arm. The Galra prosthetic did not remove easily; the process always left him pained and humiliated. He hadn’t taken it off in weeks because the fear of a Galra attack while weaponless frightened him to the core. But his arm ached and he knew it was time to clean the scar tissue.
Shiro sat down to start the process, trying not to linger on the pain and detachment ritual. Doing the removal one-handed wasn’t easy and it left him frustrated. The flesh beneath so raw and chafed, Shiro winced at every movement.
His own fault.
He hardly ever cleaned the flesh due to his own anxieties, despite wearing the reminder was a double-edged sword– anxiety-inducing, but grounding knowing he was not defenseless.
The Galra arm felt heavy when removed, lying across his lap like a carcass. The technology itself impressive but no more than a useless husk when detached. No longer a weapon when not attached to its owner.
Like they wanted, Champion
“No,” Shiro whispered. He stood and the arm fell to the floor with a loud clang. The room reverberated the sound until he felt an ache in his bones. His mind traveled back to the arena and what little he could remember. Flashes of blood, torn limbs, and rage.
Champion
An echo of thunderous screaming. The ground shakes. Screams.
Champion
“No!” Shiro fought back a scream as the memories returned in nonsensical pieces. Heavy breathing filled his ears as he tried to swallow the panic building in his chest. Images like sharp splinters against fragile memory flooded behind his eyes. A scratch he feared to itch.
A knock on the door drew his attention and he feared how loud he must have been. For a moment, Shiro hesitated because the prosthetic lay at his feet and the team had never seen him so vulnerable. He was Shiro the Hero in their eyes. Takashi Shirogane, the man he used to be, long dead, replaced with someone new. Like his arm.
Shiro the Hero – but he was no hero. Heros didn’t have nightmares and missing arms. Heros were whole.
The knock came again. “Shiro?”
Keith.
“Just a moment, Keith,” Shiro said, voice shaky.
The pregnant pause between going to the door and standing in the same spot lasted so long, Keith knocked one more time. He shook himself and dared to cross the room and allow the door to open. Keith stood on the other side still dressed in his t-shirt and pants, always ready for war like him, his face a mask of concern and uncertainty. Shiro watched Keith’s eyes shift away from his face, over to where his arm used to be, but then they were back at his eyes. No further glances.
“Are you alright?” Keith asked quietly. “I heard you yelling and, uh, I got worried.” Keith raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, still seeming unsure.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. Making Keith worry was never his intention and there was a moment where he wanted to reach for Keith’s shoulder with his right arm and he felt it move but then realized too late his arm was lying on the floor of his room.
“Do you need help?” Keith asked.
“I… have to wash up.” A blush cascaded down Shiro’s face and chest, soon coloring his torso. “I never have time to air it out. I can do it…”
“I don’t mind.” Keith raised a hand and placed it along his right shoulder, fingers just lightly grazing against scarred tissue there. Shiro winced but forced himself to let Keith touch him. He shut his eyes to chase away the immediate bad feelings.
Only Keith. It’s just Keith. Just relax-
Keith kissed him.
Not for the first time. They’d kissed plenty of times before always in secret and quickly, but for some reason, this time surprised him and he startled a little. Keith pulled back and a question tasted bitter on Shiro’s tongue, but then they kissed again, with Keith’s arms wrapping around his body to pull him close. Any moment someone could come around the corner and see them together, kissing and touching. The kisses were desperate chases of tongue and teeth, never wanting the other to move too far away.
“Keith?” Shiro whispered when there was a pause to breathe, foreheads still touching, and Keith’s arms secured around his back, under his arm and ribcage.
“You’re beautiful, Shiro,” Keith whispered. “I love you.”
It wasn’t the first I love you and Shiro were certain it wasn’t the last, but it hit him like a freight train anyway. The words slammed into his chest and left him gasping, while his eyes shut, and he fought back a surge of tears. They eased back into his room then, with Keith guiding him to the bathroom to wash up. He sat down on the floor, while Keith had a rag and gentle hands, cleaning his skin while pressing soft kisses to the scars along his flesh. Each one told a story he couldn't remember, but Keith memorized their every sentence and whispered metaphor.
No fear between them. Just humble silence while Keith worked. Shiro sat back and closed his eyes to allow Keith to tend to him, letting his mind shift away from his body for a while. Each kiss grounded him and the safer he felt, the more relaxed he became. Keith’s tongue and lips dragged up his neck and back to his mouth, while the smell of soap filled Shiro’s nose.
“I love you,” Keith said again with a passion he’d never heard Keith use before. “I love you, Takashi Shirogane. I would die for you.”
Shiro slid his left hand to Keith’s hip and urged Keith to straddle his lap so they could look each other in the eye more easily. “No dying,” he said firmly. “You’ve already saved me enough times.”
“I will keep saving you if I have to,” Keith reminded him, again, with a fierce and commanding tone. “You’re everything to me, without you, my life has no meaning… Never forget that.”
Their foreheads pressed together and Keith put a steady hand on his right shoulder until he was holding the amputated scarred flesh. Staring into Keith’s violet eyes steadied his breathing. He knew Keith meant every word, even though Shiro did not know what he’d done to deserve such loyalty. But sitting on the floor with Keith on top of him, loving him with and without his arm, made the arena memories fade away.
Takashi Shirogane still existed and he loved Keith more and more every day.
"What are you thinking about?” Keith asked after a moment. They still sat on the floor, rag lying next to Shiro’s hip, while they looked into one another’s eyes. Lance would say they were a sappy romance cover, but Shiro had never felt safer.
“I’m thinking about how you make me forget,” Shiro replied slowly. “You make me forget anything awful happened to me… I can’t remember what I did in the arena, not really, and I can’t remember how I got these scars, but you… You make me feel like myself again.”
Keith’s hands came up to cup his face softly on either side. The touch gentle and kind. Not how a lot of people saw Keith, but Shiro was privileged. “You’re still Shiro.”
“I’m not like I was before,” Shiro argued lightly. “I’m different now. Changed.”
“Everything changes. The planets, the stars, the universe. Us. We change but we adapt and you–. You’re still Takashi, my Takashi, and nothing can change that.” Keith pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Changing, metamorphosis, and becoming something he could no longer recognize was such a strong fear in his mind. Always plaguing his every move, thought and action. Becoming the Galra’s weapon, hurting Voltron, his friends, and found family. Hearing Keith say he still saw Takashi when looking at him was almost too good to be true. “Do you mean that?” The question came out soft and unsure.
“Yes.” Another kiss. Keith pressed his lips again to Shiro’s scars on his shoulders and chest.
“I love you, Keith Kogane,” Shiro whispered, his eyes fluttering shut again. They remained there for a while, taking each other in, exchanging kisses and soft touches. When Shiro’s eyes grew too tired to remain open, Keith walked him back to bed and made him lay down under the blankets. Shiro watched him pick up the prosthetic from the floor and lay it gingerly nearby.
“I should probably put it back on,” Shiro said as an afterthought.
“It needs air. It’ll be okay. I’m here.” Keith slid into bed with him and immediately Keith was spooning him, arms wrapped around his waist and chest. “Sleep, Shiro.”
Shiro glanced at the prosthetic one more time before allowing his body to relax into Keith’s warmth. The nightmares gave way to pleasant dreams and Shiro allowed sleep to take all of his worries away.