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“Is everything okay? Is Lily safe?”
“Yeah, yeah she’s safe. I got her. She’s okay.”
“Oh thank god. Thank you for saving her, Keith.”
“Shiro?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the real hero, you know.”
***
The flash of a hand waving across his vision forcefully dragged Shiro back down from the clouds of the memory as the rasp of the firefighter’s voice dissipated, only to be replaced by the far less pleasant voice of his best friend.
“Earth to Shiro,” Matt said around a mouthful of sandwich as he stared Shiro down from across the break room table. “What did the hotshot do in your daydream this time? Save you from a burning building? Soak himself with the spray of his firehose? Take you for a ride on his—”
“Finish that sentence,” Shiro growled as he stabbed his fork a bit too forcefully into his lunch. Honestly, the noodles didn’t deserve that kind of abuse, but it would be frowned down upon to do the same to Matt. “I dare you.”
“Alright, alright, down boy,” his companion laughed as he raised both hands in forfeit. “Just figured I’d ask. Didn’t think your leftover lo mein would be the one to make you look so dreamy, but hey, who am I to judge.”
“It’s really good lo mein,” was all he replied as he shoved a large forkful into his mouth, hoping it would buy him some time to come up with a better excuse. Truth be told, Shiro was aware that his completely ridiculous— and admittedly out of hand— crush on the firefighter was futile. They had talked on the phone the one time, and it had been during someone else’s emergency.
His caller, a nine year old girl that was home alone and scared, had reached him with a voice filled with fear and two intruders in her home.
It was a new home, the girl had said, each word shaking as she’d spoken. She didn’t know the address.
Shiro had done what he could to get as much information as he could from her in order to get any semblance of an address to get someone to her after his tracking could only get him as close as a neighborhood. Stay calm, he had continued to say to her, ignoring the way his own heart had been hammering in his chest. He had been a dispatcher for a couple years now, but it never became any easier, especially when kids were involved.
And especially not when he heard the exact moment the intruders had found her hiding place. After some quick thinking and a sharp plea for the man to leave her alone, Shiro had begun to craft a plan that would call for a help from more than just the police department, and possibly a bit of prayer.
I’ll help you get out of there, he’d told the men. Just leave the girl alone.
That was how he had found himself on the phone with the firefighter— Keith, his mind supplied oh so helpfully— explaining that he needed him to drive the neighborhood with his siren on in search of a tan house with a pink bike on the front lawn. The men would be looking for a police vehicle, but they wouldn’t suspect a fire engine. Anyone else might have seen how flimsy the plan was. Anyone else might have asked why they should listen to a man that sat on the sidelines, not actually taking part in the action.
Keith, as it turned out, wasn’t just anyone.
Instead, he went along with what Shiro had said, and in the end they managed to find the girl and arrest the men. It was a victory, and knowing the outcome would have been enough for him. He was more than used to getting the call for the emergency, only to be met with the sound of a deadened line once the caller was certain someone was coming.
All too many times had he found himself wondering just how things had ended for the people that called, so this had been more than he was used to already. Sitting in front of his computer, he had felt the tension in his shoulders release as he finally let go of a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when Keith confirmed that the girl was safe.
It was in the pause after that he was certain he’d hear the familiar sound of a phone hanging up.
It was nestled in the rasp of Keith’s voice as he said Shiro’s name that he felt a strange sensation in his chest.
You’re the real hero, you know.
It was in those six words, that Shiro fell.
So yeah, maybe he did occasionally daydream about a faceless firefighter with an alluring voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He knew it was pathetic. Was more than aware that it said a lot about the state of his love life that he had developed a crush on someone he had spoken to once, would most likely never speak to again, and hadn’t even seen. In fact, Matt had taken every opportunity he could to remind him of just how sad his life was.
“Seriously, Shiro, do I need to give you and the noodles some alone time?”
Swallowing his bite, Shiro gave his best friend a nonchalant shrug.
“In fact—” he started, prepared with a barbed retort before he was cut off by a half eaten sandwich thrust unceremoniously at his face.
“Nope, you are not finishing that thought,” Matt bit out as he lowered his lunch just enough to see his softened gaze. “It’s too far. Your life depresses me more than my own does, but I know it hasn’t stooped that low.”
Snorting at the verbal jab, Shiro scooped up another pile of noodles before winking at the brunette.
“You’re just jealous that me and the lo mein are truly happy with each other,” he said before loudly sucking down the bite. It earned him the patented Holt eye roll, and for just a moment Shiro wondered who did it better, Matt or his little sister.
“Okay man, whatever you say.” Matt took another bite of his sandwich as he watched Shiro closely, a contemplative look in his eye as he carefully chewed. A silence settled over them as he did his best to ignore the amber gaze, instead focusing on the limp vegetables and greasy noodles that were left in his tupperware. If he had been paying attention, maybe he would have seen the moment Matt’s eyes brightened with the light of an idea.
If he’d been paying attention, maybe he wouldn’t have choked on a stray sliver of carrot when his friend broke the silence.
“Why don’t you give him a call?”
“Because that isn’t weird at all,” Shiro managed after a solid minute of coughing and a brief flashing of his life before his eyes. Grabbing for his water bottle, he carefully drank down a mouthful of the cool liquid as he tried to also swallow down his heart.
As if I haven’t already considered that, he thought sheepishly, avoiding eye contact in case Matt could see that it had already crossed his mind. That would just give him more ammo, and Shiro was already outgunned.
“And daydreaming about a disembodied voice isn’t weird at all,” Matt scoffed as he abandoned the last bit of his sandwich. Dropping it on top of the clear plastic of the baggy that had once housed it, he braced an elbow on the table as he pressed his cheek into his palm, fixing Shiro with an all knowing smile.
“It’d be easy enough to find.”
He knew it would be. All they would need to do was look up the police report and Shiro would hold the 10 digits in his very hands that would get him back in touch with that liquid smoke voice.
Except that was weird.
And Shiro wasn’t that sad of a human being.
You’re the real hero, you know.
At least, he didn’t think so.
“No,” he bit out as he dropped his fork into the now empty container before he pressed the lid into place. Pushing back against the seat, forcing the metal legs to screech against linoleum as he stood. He still technically had about 10 minutes before the end of his lunch break but if Shiro knew anything, it was when to retreat, and now was one of those times.
Dropping the empty container into his cubby beside his other belongings, he started to make his way to the door.
“I would just have to look up the—”
“No, Matt,” Shiro ground out, the metallic fist of his prosthetic curling around the door handle as he wrenched it open, adding a note of authoritative finality to his voice. If Matt was anyone else, that might have worked.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
A single snort of mischievous glee escaped through the crack of the door before it fell completely shut.
Shiro wasn’t sad enough of a human being to stoop to that point yet.
At least, he probably wasn’t.
***
The sound of dull hits against vinyl punctuated the otherwise quiet of the empty training room. Each smack of his knuckles sent a faint reverberation up through his wrists and into his arms as Keith continued his rhythmic onslaught.
Right, left. Right, left.
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, the firefighter ignored the sharp metallic taste of blood as his canine sunk in a bit deeper than intended.
How many times do I have to tell you not to be so rash, Kolivan’s earlier words cut through his thoughts as he threw more heat behind each punch. You have to assess the situation first, Kogane.
Right, left. Right, left.
As if he hadn’t heard that before. He’d heard it all before.
You’re such a hothead, Kogane. You never think first, Keith. When will you learn, Kogane?
There wasn’t really much anyone could say to him that someone at some point in his life hadn’t said. It came with the territory of being a foster kid, after all. He ticked every single troublesome checkbox as if he’d made it his purpose to live up to the brand.
Yes, he could admit that he did like fast bikes, fist fights, and anything painted a shiny shade of red. But more importantly, he also liked helping people. Always had, which was almost always the reason he found himself in hot water.
Where people only saw his split lips and black eyes, they missed the person behind them that came away unscathed because he had managed to step in and take the blow. Bruising and cracked knuckles were a small price to pay to protect someone.
If anything, it made things a whole lot easier when it came time to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. After a brief stint at community college, Keith found himself at the local fire station and hadn’t left since.
That had been three years ago, and somehow, he still found himself on the receiving end of the fire captain’s unamused scowl like he was some sort of troublesome teenager instead of the 23-year-old that he was.
Right, left. Right, left.
Yes, maybe he could have stood to have thought it through just a bit longer before he’d run into the apartment building. Yes, he probably should have at least put on his respirator. And yes, he probably should have figured out what the integrity of the building had been. But there hadn’t been time. Flames had been licking their way along the building and twisting up to the night sky, and all Keith could hear were the screams of a panicked mother that couldn’t find her child amongst those that had been evacuated.
A drop of sweat crawled down his temple and towards the line of his jaw as he continued to throw his energy into each punch.
Right, left. Right, left.
It all worked out in the end. Keith had found the girl and gotten her out. As far as he was concerned, it was a victory, so he wasn’t quite sure why Kolivan had decided he’d deserved the public flogging in front of the rest of their team once they’d returned to the firehouse.
Well, that was a lie.
Keith knew perfectly well that he’d earned the reprimands when the a piece of the building had caved in, just barely missing him and the girl as he finally pulled them both hacking and coughing from the smoke filled apartment. That, was not the point though.
She lived. He lived. The fire was out. Go team.
That didn’t matter though. All Kolivan saw— all any of them saw— was a rash decision and a possible death wish.
Next time, Kogane, you’ll be suspended.
The captain was a hard ass and ran his crew with an iron fist, but Keith knew he was serious when he started to sling around the threat of suspension. Kolivan knew more than anyone what this job meant to him, and a threat like that only meant one thing.
Keith had really fucked up.
Breathing in steadily through his nose, he held onto the breath as he continued to jab at the punching bag, only letting it hiss back out through his teeth as his lungs began to burn. Letting himself fall into the monotonous cadence of his fists, Keith tried to beat back the exasperated voice that kept running circles in his mind.
Right, left. Right, left.
An immeasurable amount of time passed as he continued to focus on his wrapped knuckles as they continued to beat into the weighted vinyl when he heard the sound of his phone ringing. The standard ring cut its high pitched tone through the air like a heated knife through butter as he pulled his last punch and turned his gaze away from the swaying bag to the lit device on the ground by his water bottle.
He could let it go to voicemail. Should, actually, given there were only a handful of people that would be calling him, none in which he actually wanted to hear from currently.
If it was his roommate, Lance, it would devolve into another fight over who had polished off the last of the pizza rolls. (For the record, Keith had, but he wasn’t going to admit that.)
If it was Hunk, he would want to know exactly what Kolivan had said after he’d pulled him away from the rest of the team to speak with him in private. The EMT would then probably offer some sage words of advice, which honestly, would be worse than anything else.
If it was Kolivan, well, he didn’t want to think what else he might have to say to him after that particularly unpleasant chat they’d already had.
Stepping away from the punching bag and towards his phone, Keith crouched before it, picking it up as it started it’s second round of rings. It vibrated against his palm as he read over the numbers of the unsaved number that scrolled across his screen. Normally, Keith would just let it kick over to voicemail.
Of course, on a normal day, he wouldn’t be looking for a distraction either.
Sliding his thumb across the screen, he waited until it showed the call connected before he raised it to his ear.
“Hello?” He said, breathing heavily around the word as he tried to catch his breath.
“Fuck,” the caller said, the word colored a bright shade of surprise as if they hadn’t really expected him to pick up. Something behind his sternum kicked loose as Keith recognized the voice.
Thank you for saving her, Keith.
It was the 911 dispatcher from the other week. The one that had called him with a crazy plan to save a little girl, and with a need for someone willing to do something a bit rash. He’d received a pretty stern talking to after that one too, but it had been worth it to hear the deep voice that thanking him.
Not, that he didn’t usually get thanked for his work, but something about the way the man— Shiro— had said it had sent a jolt of electricity humming across his veins. It had been so genuine and so pure that he had wondered if all the other times had just been for show.
Keith would be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about the voice since, but no one needed to know about the late nights spent turning those six words over and over in his mind like a smoothed stone as he admired them.
“Hi, uh, Keith?” Shiro said clumsily after a quick jostling that sounded suspiciously like the phone being dropped. “It’s Shiro. The 911 dispatcher. From the other day?”
His voice was equal parts hopeful and flustered, and something about it sent heat racing up his neck. If he hadn’t realized it the first time, he was fully aware now of just how nice of a voice it was.
“Yeah,” Keith said, telling himself he sounded so breathless because of his workout and not the way his heart was suddenly racing in his chest. Sitting back on his haunches, he bit on the edge of his slowly growing smile as he continued.
“I remember you.”
***
Shiro honestly had not been planning on using the number. He had silently vowed when Matt shoved it ruthlessly across his desk before leaving that he would conveniently forget it in his pocket where it would be eventually washed and forgotten forever.
That vow lasted all of two hours and 22 minutes.
Really, it hadn’t been his fault. After dropping himself in the middle of his couch with a cold beer and the number burning a hole in his pocket, he had decided to turn the TV on just to be met by a story about a fire at an apartment complex. More importantly, he had been met by a sharp jawline and mauve eyes that stared straight through him as one Keith Kogane— Hero Firefighter— answered questions about what it was like to save a life. Everything that was said was lost on him as Shiro found himself in awe of the way the man had looked.
If his voice was liquid smoke, Keith himself was fire.
A dark line of soot was spread across his cheekbone, and his dark hair was plastered down with sweat, and somehow, he still managed to steal all the air from Shiro’s lungs. His imagination hadn’t done him much justice at all.
The number was entered into his phone before his mind had even caught up to his hands, and it was ringing before he even managed to get it to his ear.
This, he thought bitterly as it rang, is what I get for being a responsible adult and watching the news.
Silently, he prayed he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t ask for much, so if there was a God, they owed him this much. Right?
Right.
“Hello?”
Or wrong. So very, very wrong.
Somewhere, Shiro was certain Fate, God and Matt were laughing over the current state of his life.
Because yes, apparently he was that sad of a human being.
“Still there?” Keith’s voice cut through the white noise that was his brain hitting reset after the firefighter had confirmed that he remembered him. Running the palm of his flesh hand down his face, Shiro prayed for death as he listened to Keith’s heavy breathing on the other end. Each gust of air sounded like a pant that did nothing to help the way his heart was beating itself black and blue inside his chest.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said lowly, trying to swallow the aching burn that had opened up in his chest as he imagined that glass cut face colored with exertion. For a moment, he wondered what that same face would look like looking up at him from his bed.
For another moment, he wondered if he’d earned his seat in Hell yet.
“Is this a bad time?” Shiro asked, praying Keith couldn’t hear the way his voice faltered over the question, filling it with hope. Though whether it was hope for a yes or no, even he wasn’t sure.
“No, just caught me after a workout is all.” Trapped behind the words was a low chuckle that twisted itself deep in Shiro’s stomach like a knife. It was a sound he wanted to hear again and again, only able to imagine what Keith would look like with his sharp lines turned soft by a smile.
“How’d you get my number?” Keith suddenly asked, shattering the vision with the single question. Pulling the phone away from his ear to eye the timer on the call, Shiro noted that it took all of two and a half minutes before he officially messed everything up. Because while he knew he could lie, he also knew he wouldn’t.
He wasn’t a good liar anyway. Once upon a time, he had told Matt it was a good thing. At least you know I’m always telling the truth, he had said when he was young and naive.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he breathed in before answering quickly, hoping that dealing with it much like tearing off a bandaid would somehow make it better.
“It was on the police report.”
Silence.
Of course, it didn’t.
“Ah,” Keith huffed eventually, interrupting Shiro’s careful inspection of his metallic hand as he wondered if he thought he could use it to suffocate himself.
“So, I just wanted to thank you,” he replied lamely, trying to salvage what he could of the conversation as he felt the crushing weight of embarrassment pressing him further into his couch.
“You did that already,” Keith said lowly and evenly, almost as if he was trying to keep his tone neutral. It was the kind of voice people used when they had something on their mind, and now that the firefighter had caught his breath, Shiro could hear the way it colored the edges of his words with something dark.
Shiro knew that kind of voice well. He heard it damn near everyday.
“Hey,” he breathed as he sat up a little, straightening his back and pressing his elbows into his thighs as he braced himself. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, but are you okay?”
It had been a stupid thing to ask, and Shiro regretted it almost as soon as the question left his mouth. He didn’t have any right to ask it. He didn’t know Keith, and Keith didn’t know him. Worst still, his voice had automatically dipped into quiet compassion. Opening his mouth to say literally anything else, Keith beat him to it.
“Why do you ask?” The firefighter had spoken so quietly, that Shiro thought maybe he misheard him altogether. Another tense moment of quiet rolled out between them as their breaths mingled over the line.
“I’m just really good about picking up on that sort of thing,” Shiro finally said, shrugging as if Keith could see him. Biting into his bottom lip, he pulled a small strip of skin away, momentarily letting the sting beat back the feeling of embarrassment that was curling around in his gut.
“It comes with the territory.”
A dry chuckle crackled through the speaker, reminiscent of burning kindling.
“You know, you’re the first person to ask me that,” he replied carefully, as if admitting so much was already admitting too much.
“Look, forget it, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine,” Shiro backpedaled quickly, offering Keith an out. It was another thing that came with the territory. Read the situation, and adapt.
“No, I,” Keith paused for a fraction of a second. “I want to. I really—”
Sirens pierced through the background, shooting through the speaker so loudly that Shiro had the tear the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened by its shriek. A low growl greeted him as he placed it gingerly back to his ear.
“You should get going, duty calls,” he offered, trying to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment as it coated the back of his tongue. All he could hope was that Keith couldn’t hear it in his voice as well.
The sirens continued to screech over the line, filling his head with their high pitched sound.
“Can I call you back later?” Keith asked tentatively, stutter stepping over the question as if it would be some kind of misstep to ask. As if Shiro hadn’t been the one to call him in the first place.
A flutter rolled through Shiro’s chest. If he were a bit more dramatic, he might even say that his heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah,” he breathed, hoping that Keith would still hear his low answer over the commotion of the firehouse. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” Relief rushed forth through the single word, and somehow managed to fill his own veins with its buoyancy. He was going to call him back. “I’ll talk to you later, Shiro.”
Carefully, he tucked away the way his named sound on Keith’s tongue in the mental folder he had already begun to compile on the man.
“Be safe, Keith,” he managed before he was met with the silence of a dead line. Pulling the phone from his cheek, Shiro set it down on the coffee table before he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Dragging a settling breath in through his teeth, he let his heart slow down to a normal rate in his chest.
And then, if he struck a triumphant pose after gathering himself, well, no one needed to know.
*************************