Work Text:
Two months and three days away from launch, Shiro was used to waking up at all of God’s forsaken hours to run tests and drills, because no matter how easily you coasted through the initial exams to prove your worth, there was a lot to learn before you could be safely launched into space with two well-meaning, brilliant nerds.
So when Shiro woke up to Keith looming over his bed at some time barely past 4am, looking to Shiro at least like he’d just come from a photoshoot for acti-leisure wear, he didn’t exactly question it. He got dressed like he was told to, yawning widely as he laced up his trainers and tugged on his Garrison hoodie as his dorm room’s door whooshed shut behind them. Shiro spent a lot of time glancing from the corner of his eye at Keith’s set, determined expression as they walked and only then did a little spark of an idea start cresting in his chest.
This close to his launch date, Shiro’s inevitably long absence, the chance of danger-- maybe, just maybe , he was finally going to get the love confession he’d been dreaming about for around a year and a half now. A boy could dream, couldn’t he? In fact, boys who had been pining after their best friend for any length of time were pretty prone to dreaming about all possible, impossible and wild scenarios that might end with a kiss, a fuck, or the ever-coveted confession .
Maybe this was it. Maybe Keith was leading him up to the roof so they could watch the sunrise together. Maybe he was leading him to his room so that they could easily resolve the rush of desire that would come after telling one another they loved each other or maybe-- Keith was leading him to the gymnasium. Keith was taking him by the wrist to press Shiro’s palm to the print scanner so that the door would unlock outside of student-permitted hours.
The Garrison gym wasn’t massive, given that the Garrison was primarily science-driven. It was there for recreation and a few compulsory courses because you had to be a certain level of physically fit for space travel.
Shiro didn’t get his love confession.
Instead he got his ass handed to him.
“You need to widen your stance! And don’t bend your wrists when you punch, you’ll just end up hurting yourself.” Keith barked, an hour into a self-defense class Shiro never asked for. Keith was barely breaking a fucking sweat while Shiro had stripped down to his under shirt and rolled his sweats up to his knees. When he didn’t take Keith’s advice Keith crossed the makeshift ring he’d marked out and grabbed Shiro by the wrist, shoving his leg between Shiro’s to nudge his feet further apart, then he closed his hand over Shiro’s fist and pressed it to his free hand. “See? It hurts like this, right?” he asked, rolling Shiro’s fist forward so that his knuckles pressed into Keith’s palm. Shiro nodded, but in reality his brain had fried around about the time Keith’s thigh had pressed into his. “Keep it straight. It won’t hurt and you’ll land better punches.”
“... Sure, but why-”
“We’re done for now.” Keith cut in, dropping Shiro’s hand and popping out of his personal bubble just like that. “I need a shower before breakfast.”
The next morning, at 4am, Keith was waking Shiro up again. And the night after that, and the night that, until nearly a whole month of the only one-on-one time Shiro got with Keith was spent in the gym, sparring. Each morning he got yelled at less and less, but Keith never seemed satisfied, nor did Shiro ever manage to pin him against the padded floor for more than a few seconds.
Keith might have felt bad for waking Shiro up every morning before dawn if he were a little more of a graceful sleeper. In the dull light coming off of Shiro’s alarm clock Keith got the spectacular view of Shiro with his face mashed into the pillow, drooling, one leg hiked up and over the covers while the other stuck out over the side of his bed. He had bed-head that rivalled an anime protagonist. So Keith grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, biting back his amusement as Shiro snorted awake, squinting up at Keith like he hadn’t woken him up every day for four weeks at exactly the same time. Shiro let out a groan, rubbing his nose into the pillow before sitting up and falling into routine.
They both noticed the tremor of exertion in Keith’s arms as he raised them up for the next round. There was a flush in his cheeks and his hairline was damp with sweat and without really realizing, pride had crept up into Shiro’s chest to see that in his sparring partner. A month’s effort paying off- he still hadn’t managed to pin Keith down successfully, but this was a step… until of course, Shiro realized what he was celebrating. He was celebrating beating his best friend in a fight, controlled environment or not. At some point his dreams of getting a kiss out of Keith had become dreams about getting his feet out from under him. The realization made Shiro drop his battle stance immediately and he saw the frustration wash over Keith’s expression.
“Come on, we have--”
“Keith, why the hell are we doing this?” He asked, with the commanding tone that had put him in the running for the Kerberos mission. It stopped Keith dead in his tracks, his hands dropping to his sides.
“Practice.” Keith offered up lamely, licking his lips. “You have to have a physical, you need to be fit-”
“I already had it. I passed. I told you that, Keith.” Shiro cut in, a touch gentler this time as he slowly made his way across the ring. “Now, tell me why we’re really doing this every morning. I have a month left here… I want to spend it with you, but not like this.” He was close enough to touch Keith now, but he didn’t no matter how much he wanted to. One thing Shiro had always allowed of Keith was his space, his freedom to move at his own pace. It was probably why Shiro’s affection was still pinned under his tongue rather than spoken. Keith licked his lips again, his gaze flittering around the uninteresting room, forced really, to land back on Shiro but even then he was staring at the Garrison logo on his shirt instead of his face.
“I… I want you to be strong.” Keith bit on his words, hands flexing at his sides. The way he pressed his fingers into his palms made Shiro’s ache with sympathy for the skin being cut by his nails. “I won’t be able to protect you when you’re gone, if anything happened to you that I could have prevented… So you have to be strong across the board. I know you’re smart. You’re an amazing pilot… This is the only thing I can offer.”
Shiro had known Keith for a little over two years. There wasn’t much that Keith could say that Shiro couldn’t decode, break down like an equation to understand the meaning that Keith couldn’t just say outright- he was shy in strange places, part of what had drawn Shiro in in the first place. So now, standing here not even an arm’s length, Shiro felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner.
He was never going to get the kind of love confession you see in the movies. Keith was never going to run to him minutes before he had to start boarding the ship and tell him he loved him, kiss him like it would kill him if he didn’t. Keith could never be that straightforward.
Instead, Shiro got this. Keith standing here, cutting his palms with his nails and trembling as Shiro finally managed to read what Keith had been spelling out for so long.
Shiro took Keith’s hands in his and slowly peeled back his fingers, hissing quietly at the flecks of blood raising up in the crescents left behind. He kissed his palms, Keith squeaking in surprise but not withdrawing, even when Shiro crowded deep into his personal space, brushing back his damp, inky black hair.
“Shiro?”
“I will always do everything I can to come back to you, Keith.” He said softly, cradling the back of his head. “No matter what happens while I’m away, I’ll come back.”
The kiss was the natural conclusion; Keith, never good with his words, spoke through action. His arms slid around Shiro’s neck and he let himself be pulled up onto the tips of his toes as their lips met, soft and seeking at first and then… not so much. Turns out that no matter how tender the moment, fucking your tongue into someone’s mouth always felt awesome .
“Hey,” Keith’s voice was mostly breath and it was the best thing Shiro had ever heard. “From now on… Half an hour of training, half an hour of anything you want… Deal?”
“Deal.”
***
“Get up.” Shiro grunted, his thin blanket yanked off and disturbing the weak sleep he’d been trying to enjoy. He sat up, feeling the pull and crack of dry blood on his skin, the ache in his scabbed-over knuckles. He was glad when he was handed a polearm at the armoury, the shouts and cheering of the Galra audience heard even this far from the arena gate. Shiro had lost count of the days he’d passed fighting for his life here. Months maybe, years. It all blended into nothing but the faces of his enemies and his fellow ‘gladiators’; aliens , and weak ones at that. Many had died. The few who hadn’t Shiro had done his best to keep alive. In the dark of their cells he’d run drills with them, taught them battle stances and how to throw a punch without making your wrist hurt. Just like Shiro, all of the captives here in this strange place had people to go back to. Families and friends. Loved ones. Shiro had made a promise months, maybe years ago now, to come home to his own. And now he was using everything he’d been taught to keep his word.
“Win this one and you’ll be getting an upgrade, champion. ” The guard hissed at him. The gears of the door clanked in the wall above it, the metal slowly starting to slide up. The roar of the crowd used to make Shiro flinch, his stomach clench with nerves. Now he took it as a sign to shake out his shoulders and focus up. His prosthetic arm was heavy at his side, clunky. It made his shoulder ache from the weight and the poor craftsmanship that kept it attached.
“Win this one and I’m going home .” Shiro replied, but he was only met with scorn. To the Galra’s detriment, Shiro assured himself, he was going home.