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Getting closer to Lotor is a desire Shiro doesn’t quite understand. At times he feels as if he's not in control, like his body bends to the will of some outside power, and he’s just along for the ride. More often than not, Shiro's left questioning himself—wondering whether or not his behavior and how he feels towards Lotor is of his own volition. He knows all too well he’s been on his own when it comes to supporting Lotor, and while thus far each decision has yielded satisfactory results, he can’t help but wonder if he'd made the right choice in those instances.
Regardless of the different angles he takes in order to approach the same question, an answer he can believe continues to elude his grasp. It’s not as if he feels like anyone’s telling him what to do—whatever’s going on and if anything’s influencing him at all, it’s far too subtle to demand anything from him. They come to him in the form of mere suggestions, non-threatening and gentle, whispering to him without a voice, guiding him, but always remaining shy of actual force, leaving him to wonder whether it’s the decision he would have made on his own, or if he’s being compelled by an outside power he’s yet to understand.
So, when he’s approached by one of the many guards that roam the Galra Head Quarters and informed Emperor Lotor seeks his presence in private one day, Shiro finds himself at a loss for what to do. He doesn’t move at first, waiting for that same feeling to find him, almost as if he expects to be stripped of his will and for his feet to begin moving on their own—but nothing happens. His mind is empty, completely void of anything resembling instruction, and for once, Shiro feels like he as a choice. The fact that he wants to see Lotor gives him the smallest glimmer of hope, that maybe he had been choosing Lotor's side all along.
As the door to the Galra Central Command opens, a slight, albeit pleasant breeze washes over him—the sensation, as meager as it is, gives Shiro the assurance he needs—if nothing else, this is a decision he can own, and nothing can take that away from him.
“Shiro.” Lotor turns to him, a hint of tenderness that seems out of place laces his voice as Shiro approaches. “It’s good to see you.”
“I was told you wished to see me?” Shiro asks, cutting to the chase as he would in any other situation.
“Yes,” is Lotor’s simple reply.
“Is something the matter?” Shiro inquires only when Lotor fails to explain himself further. His eyes drift over the command center, half-expecting to find a distress signal of some sort flashing across a nearby screen. When nothing seems out of the ordinary, he looks back over to Lotor, waiting for an answer.
“Not at all,” Lotor replies, reaffirming the conclusion Shiro’s already made for himself.
“I have something for you.” Lotor’s cheeks began to darken in a way Shiro can only liken to a blush, although he doesn’t understand why.
“For me?” Shiro’s repeats, unable to stop himself. Of course, he’s heard Lotor, but that doesn’t make putting things together any easier for him.
"Indeed," Lotor nods. “I realize it might sound rather preposterous, but the Galra maintain certain,” Lotor pauses as if he needs a moment to find the correct word, ”traditions, as part of our culture that most don't understand or even know about.” He looks directly into Shiro’s eyes at that moment, his gaze piercing his soul, as if to expose him for what he truly is. “For the Galra, trust is something rare and truly precious, many go their entire lives without finding another they can feel safe enough to dare put even an ounce of faith in.” Again, Lotor falls silent, for a tick. “Having said that, if and when we do find someone special to us, we have a special way of making that known.”
The omnipresent smile on Lotor's face seems to soften, his eyes laden with a certain emotion that strikes the fear of God within him, yet at the same time fills him with a sense of warmth, the likes of which he's never down before.
“For me, Shiro, you are that person.” Once again, Lotor confirms his suspicions.
Before Shiro has the opportunity to utter any form of protest, Lotor is already advancing on him, reaching into his armor and retrieving an item Shiro can't see.
“Will you give me your hand?” Before reaching out to him, Lotor removes a glove, something he's never witnessed from him before. He recalls seeing the sharp outline of claws threatening to tear through the fabric when he's caught glimpse of Lotor's fingers moving across a screen (not that he'd ever paid close attention to Lotor's hands before) but now, looking down at Lotor's exposed hand, he realizes Lotor's fingernails are just as blunt as his are.
There's nothing telling Shiro to move, however the act of presenting Lotor with his left hand doesn't feel like a conscious decision, but nevertheless, it's still something he desires. He stands there, completely frozen as Lotor reveals a black bracelet (the fabric appears leather in nature, although Shiro doesn't know for certain) and secures it around Shiro's wrist.
“I don't understand,” Shiro confesses only after his mind refuses to provide him with some kind of explanation.
“You lent me your Bayard, you escorted me to the Kral Zera, even when your team was against it.” Lotor never says it outright, but he doesn't have to—somehow, it all clicks with Shiro at that moment. The bracelet in tandem with Lotor's deliberate use of his bare hand holds a substantial amount of significance, and to him, to the Galra, it means something special. “You saved me, and for that, I trust you with my life.”
“I was only being pragmatic,” Shiro insists, however, he’s not sure whether he believes the words spilling from his lips.
“Were you?”
Shiro falls silent, unable to answer. Lotor’s inquiry seems simple enough, he shouldn’t have any difficulty reaffirming his stance—leaving Lotor defenseless in their pseudo-trade with Zarkon would have sent him to his death, and subsequently, putting Lotor on the throne was a far better option than Sendak, or anyone else who’d sought the Emperor's title for that matter.
This time, however, there’s nothing piercing the silence that settles within his mind, and when answer he waits for refuses to make itself known, a small, yet genuine smile begins to creep up on Shiro’s lips.
“I don’t have anything to offer you.” Shiro bites his bottom lip, slightly embarrassed by his predicament. It doesn’t matter that he hadn’t seen this coming—the fact that he hadn’t only makes matters worse.
“This isn’t an exchange, Shiro,” Lotor explains, his fingertips brushing over his own, trailing over his open palm before reaching his wrist. “It’s a declaration of trust.” Once again, he can’t seem to find an explanation for it, but he takes comfort in Lotor’s touch, it soothes him and puts his frazzled mind at ease. “The fact you allow me to do this at all,” a note of affection Shiro’s hard pressed to label as anything else peppers Lotor’s voice, "is an answer in and of itself."
Shiro wants to say something, to return the sentiment in some way, but the connection between his brain and his voice refuses to cooperate. Lotor may be able to accept the lack of a verbal response, but it doesn’t settle well with him. He needs Lotor to understand the true extent of the gift he’s given him. He does the only thing he can think of. Just as Lotor is about to pull his hand away, Shiro reaches out in turn, this time taking a firm hold on Lotor's hand, their fingers lacing together as if they'd done this countless times before. There's no proper justification for it, but having Lotor's trust means more to him than Lotor may ever know. He'll take the faith Lotor puts in him and cherish it for the rest of his life.
He just prays he won’t ever make Lotor regret it.