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Summary
It's only logical, after all, that the hero and lone survivor of the Kerberos mission should get his portrait painted for the Garrison walls. Shiro doesn't agree, but if high command insists, then he's in no position to refuse. He expects a few hours of boredom and stilted, polite conversation with whichever artist the Garrison has contracted to do their official paintings.
He doesn't expect Keith.
“What’re you drawing?” Shiro asks quietly, glancing away from the clear sky to study how Keith looks bathed in moonlight, bowed over his chest as if in prayer.
Keith’s silent for a moment, tracing a straight line from a circular scar to the tip of one of the great long ones along Shiro’s ribs. “Just connecting the dots,” he replies. “Constellations.”