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Shiro stood in the entrance to their shared bedroom, gazing at the sad lump that was buried under the covers. Keith did not so much as twitch once he sat down, did not acknowledge in any discernable way that his brother had joined him in his self-imposed blanket exile.
“You holding up?”
It was testimony to how bad his baby brother was feeling when he failed to get a reply, instead feeling a tug from under his thigh when the blanket was being tucked in more forcefully.
Shiro made sure his sigh held no note of exasperation, otherwise Keith would likely never come crawling out on his own. He put his hand on the lump, safely guessing that he did indeed hit the spine when he felt the uneven ridge under his fingers.
“Don’t you wanna come out? I made pasta and meatballs.”
He couldn’t help the smile when there was a small jerk under his palm. It was kind of dirty to use Keith’s favorite to lure him out, but Shiro was desperate enough to bribe at the moment.
A face peeked out from the folds, dark eyes cautiously taking him in. Unfortunately, they lacked any of the usual excitement at the prospect of stuffing his face until he looked like he had applied red lipstick a bit too generously.
“Really?”
God, if Shiro didn’t know better he would have thought Keith had seen a puppy die. Adding to the croaky voice, his puffy red eyes told their own story.
“Yeah,” Shiro confirmed, pointing towards the door where the light from the kitchen was filtering through, “let’s go before it gets cold.”
The popping joints made Shiro want to wince but he was more concerned with watching Keith’s expression, awfully blank and defeated.
They silently made their way to the next room, sat down at the small table that tended to tilt if you were not being careful with where you positioned your elbow, and helped themselves to some steaming pasta. It was a little reassuring to see a smile tug at the corners of Keith’s mouth as he speared one of the meatballs dripping in tomato sauce before putting it into his mouth to chew it absentmindedly, eyes focused on the plate but definitely not seeing his meal.
The small clock on the counter kept ticking as they ate, Shiro himself struggling to finish his portion as the silence kept dragging out.
He looked up at Keith’s quiet question.
“You’re not gonna demand answers?”
Shiro shook his head, twirling his fork until it was loaded with a good amount of pasta and taking it all with one bite, his cheeks straining a little while Keith made a face.
He gulped audibly, just to be annoying, finally allowing himself a cheeky smile.
“I kind of learned my lesson.”
And judging by the blush slowly spreading over his nose and up to his ears, Keith remembered exactly what incident his older brother was referring to.
Keith tended to be a bit prickly where his privacy was concerned. Something Shiro had learned painfully when he had tried to force him to tell him why he had come home with a busted lip one afternoon.
Not that Shiro had ever found out the cause, seeing as at the end of the day he had been sitting on the seat of their toilet, bent over, a red-dotted tissue pressed to his nose and an apologetic Keith frantically rifling through their first-aid kit. Back then, Shiro had been less than amused – furious more like – at Keith, but looking back it had helped.
It had made way for them to get out a lot of frustration and anger that they had been holding back for months. It had given Shiro the opportunity to just be the older brother, not the caretaker for once. As much as he wasn’t sure how he felt about his lapse and unwanted weakness, it had put things into perspective for him and for Keith as well.
Right now though, Keith was not making pleading eyes at him, scared he had gone too far, lost one more person he so desperately depended upon for his own sanity. Instead, he looked away, careful to avoid any eye contact.
“I won’t ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I won’t lie and tell you I’m not worried.”
Because this had been going for two days now, since Friday evening to be exact, and while Shiro knew personally that moping just was part of being a teenager, Keith’s prolonged inactivity and isolation was concerning. Especially since Keith hated lying around for too long.
Shiro could not be sure if Keith had really listened, since he failed to make any gesture or give a sign he had, so Shiro resumed eating what was left on his plate.
“Why do you think people are so difficult?”
He blinked up at Keith. His little brother still wasn’t looking at him, intently examining a spot on the opposite wall. Shiro sucked in the last bits of pasta hanging from his mouth, trying to decipher exactly what it was Keith was inquiring about. He frowned at the splats of red that had landed on the table but that was a matter for later.
In the end he had to concede defeat.
“What do you mean?”
Keith’s jaw worked, but not from annoyance as he could tell.
“Just… why are people so difficult to read? I always get the feeling I’m missing something,” there was frustration, but what Shiro could hear most clearly was helplessness, “Like, everyone else looks at someone and they seem to know what’s wrong and I just… can’t?”
The uncertainty was palpable and the fact that Keith was hugging himself so tightly that the seam of his worn sweater was straining was only adding to his all-over aura of misery.
The dull thud Shiro’s fork made as he tapped the blunt end on the cheap wood of the table helped him as he thought over how to proceed.
His heart ached for his little brother. Keith was and always had been a profoundly kind but just as deeply awkward kid.
He took things too literally, had a hard time understanding certain jokes and cues unless he memorized how to react to them, was blunt in ways that hurt others without him meaning to, often fumbled and faltered when introduced to new people, and generally had a hard time reading the mood.
It was the only way Shiro had known his brother, which was probably why to him Keith was like an open book. He remembered how some relatives of theirs had once discussed that Keith’s lack of smiles, his lack of expressions in general, was concerning.
And at the time, at barely eight years of age, Shiro had stubbornly tried to confirm for himself that everyone else had gotten it wrong; that his little brother was just as smiley and expressive as any other kid.
In hindsight, Shiro had to admit that he had tried very hard to fool himself. Keith did smile, but those smiles were rare and only reserved for family. Keith had had his own way of showing interest, oftentimes staring at things for an inordinate amount of time, standing almost motionless, not registering what was happening around him in the meantime.
Over the years, Keith had changed. Now, instead of just waiting and watching, he went for something if he was willing or simply asked others if he was allowed to inspect it. He did smile more, although the past months had given both of them little reason to, and he generally was better at showing how he felt.
Yet, for all of these improvements, Shiro still could not deny certain incidents: Keith’s vanishing act in kindergarten, where the caretakers had been frantic with worry only to find their charge hidden in a remote corner of their playground because things had been “too loud”. Or the time he had made one of their cousins cry after telling them that the house they had drawn looked all wrong and stupid, because no house was cleaved in half so you could look inside. Or the time where he had told a classmate in grade school straight out that he didn’t like him, setting off a petty feud that would have put some movies like “Mean Girls” to shame. Keith had never given an explanation for his inherent dislike, likely because there had been no need to. Because to him it must have seemed logical in some way no one else could grasp.
“Is this your round-about way of asking me if something is wrong with you?”
Keith sucked in his lower lip, somehow managing to make himself even smaller than he already was. Puberty had yet to grant him a growth-spurt. For a fourteen-year-old, Keith was still painfully short.
“Maybe?” The hesitancy in his voice was almost physically painful.
Grabbing his chair at the edge of the seat, Shiro lifted it without actually getting up and sat himself next to his little brother. Keith had no time to voice any protests as Shiro enveloped him in a hug, patiently waiting until Keith had melted into the embrace.
“Maybe this is not really any consolation at all, but I don’t think anything is wrong with you,” he said quietly, running his hand through thick dark locks. It was getting pretty long, they’d have to cut it again soon, “and neither did mom or dad.”
There was a slight hitch coming from Keith, and Shiro himself was fighting back tears. The wound was still fresh, but Shiro knew no argument that could be more convincing than this one. Because their parents had adored Keith, unconditionally and with all the love they had bestowed Shiro with as well.
“I… I think that maybe while you do sometimes do or say things at the worst possible moments, there is so much more to you that’s good and incredible.”
Keith held on tight and so did Shiro.
“You’re loyal. You always try to do the best for everyone, which is why you are such a kind person.”
Keith deliberately wiped his face on Shiro’s shirt. Honestly, if they weren’t having a moment here Shiro would have no qualms putting him in a headlock. Revenge would have to wait for now.
“You’re just saying this to make me feel better.”
Shiro gave an exaggerated gasp: “Oh my, I never would have thought that you would figure me out so quickly. Shiro, trying to cheer up his baby brother. Now my plans have been thwarted by your incredible deduction skills.”
Keith wiggled until he could glare up at Shiro, but his pout lessened the effect considerably.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, making no move to disentangle from his brother.
Shiro smiled.
“Love you too.”
Shiro woke to the sound of loud cheering and jeering. In the background the rev of fake engines and a joyous jingle was indication enough that someone was in the middle of a round of Mario Kart.
“No fair! No fair! I had it! I almost had it!”
Pidge could be very vocal about defeat.
Grunting, Shiro brought up a hand to wipe over his face and get out some of the gunk that was making his eyes sticky.
It had been a long time since he had dreamt about the past. Those days almost seemed like a lifetime ago.
Rolling his head over from where he was leaning against the foot of the couch he saw Pidge, Hunk and Keith sitting on the couch in various positions. Actually, it was more like standing very unsteadily on the cushions in Pidge’s case, as she pointed an accusing finger at Hunk.
“I was in first place! I won! It’s not fair that you got a bullet bill at the last second!”
“Just be happy it wasn’t a blue shell.”
Hunk’s smug and flawless delivery was just as funny as Pidge’s cry of outrage as she lunged over Keith’s lap to get at the young man.
And while maybe taken aback by her sudden agitation, Shiro could clearly see that Keith was enjoying himself. Because it wasn’t the upturned corners of his brother’s mouth telling him so, but violet eyes shining with warmth.