Chapter Text
The first time Keith saw him, it was an accident. He’d had to walk past his usual entrance to the subway station due to unexplained construction, and with a quick search on Google Maps, he was on his way to the next closest one. The streets he’d walked along were familiar — not because he could explicitly remember traveling along them before, but because all streets were kind of the same when you lived in a city.
Keith had felt more than a little contempt for the day. It’d been long enough as it was, and his usual subway station being closed just felt like an added blow to the already crappy day, having begun when he’d sat down on the train only to realize he’d forgotten his headphones.
He hadn’t thought anything was likely to get rid of the glower etched on his face, and he couldn’t deny the dark kind of pleasure he’d derived from seeing other hurried citizens of New York scurrying out of his path. But then, completely unexpectedly, he felt his angry expression melt off his face as if someone had poured water over it, washing off cheap make up.
Because the sound gracing his ears was absolutely angelic, and it took Keith a few turns of his head to finally discern where it was coming from. The beautiful music was emanating from a beautiful boy, his lilting voice and masterful strumming of his guitar turning only a few heads. Keith couldn’t believe there wasn’t a crowd formed around him.
Without thinking about it, Keith found himself redirecting his steps, found himself crossing the street and coming to stand in front of the singer. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful and almost reverent as he played, obviously more for himself than any fleeting audience. Keith was enraptured, and it was as he was staring at the man’s fingers expertly moving over the guitar’s chords that he sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Automatically, his eyes flicked upward, and he realized the guitarist was looking right at him. His eyes were half-lidded as he sang, as if he was ready at any moment to close them again and lose himself in the music, but he held eye contact with Keith. And then, most unexpectedly, he winked.
Keith felt a flush rise to his cheeks, unbidden.
When the man continued to sing, it felt like he was singing directly to Keith.
“It's making my heart beat so fast
In my mind, you're the angel on the painted glass
Looking for high, divine, connection
I'm a lover, in need of confession.”
The man didn’t break eye contact the entire time, and his smirk just grew and grew, probably because Keith was visibly blushing. Whatever, he didn’t need to feel so flustered — he was never going to see this guy again.
Finally, Keith dug a couple dollars out of his pocket — he’d planned to use the vending machine at work earlier but had never actually gotten around to it — and tossed it into the guitar case laying open before the guitarist. The performer’s eyebrows bounced upward as he grinned and Keith managed a small smile before abruptly turning and disappearing down the street. He had a train to catch, after all, and part of him was afraid that the performer would try to strike up a conversation after finishing the song had he stayed. Considering how Keith’s tongue still felt twisted up in his mouth even now, he felt his hasty departure had been in good taste.
—
When Keith finally walked into his apartment, he felt the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. That was, until he realized he wasn’t alone. He already had his shirt halfway off by the time he reached the living room, well on his way to the shower, when someone cleared their throat. Keith shrieked, automatically yanking his shirt back down, only to find himself brandishing his knife at his own brother.
“Jesus, Keith, you still carry that everywhere?”
“For good reason!” Keith said defensively. “I mean, there’s an intruder in my home.”
“I have a key.”
“For emergencies,” Keith stressed, though he did put his knife back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”
It’d been months since he’d seen Shiro. Keith had graduated high school and gotten the hell out of Texas, following his brother halfway across the country and riding on the high of a full-ride waiting him at NYU. The first few years of college had been pretty awesome. Still, his love for the school hadn’t been enough for him to keep attending. Not after what happened at the beginning of his junior year.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Shiro pointed out. Keith didn’t try to deny it.
“You’d think if I was avoiding you, you would’ve respected my privacy and not broken into my apartment.”
“I care about you more than that,” Shiro said, using that voice that said, this is my stance, and I’m not budging. Keith had heard it many times over the years, though it’d been for less serious things when they were younger.
Keith grumbled something unsavory under his breath, which Shiro ignored.
“I got a letter for you,” Shiro said, cutting to the chase. Though Keith tried not to, he stiffened. The two of them had lived together, back when Keith was still in college. After he dropped out, Shiro had always been there for him, always trying to cheer him up, always trying to get him back on the wagon. It’d been suffocating.
That was a horrible thing to think, but Keith had still thought it. And he’d acted on it, too. He’d moved across the city and rented out a tiny apartment that was still entirely too expensive, slowly draining the savings he’d managed to rack up after both not having to pay for college and competing while he was attending.
Two years after the year he should have graduated, Keith found himself slowly climbing the ladder in the boring firm he’d managed to snag a job in, knowing that soon he’d reach a wall, one he couldn’t breach without a proper degree. Not that he really wanted to breach it anyway. Keith never would’ve wanted to do this with his life, and yet here he was.
Despite moving out in order to avoid Shiro, Keith had managed to convince himself that he was doing what was best. Otherwise, he would’ve ended up blowing up at his brother, someone who’d been doing everything in his ability to be there for Keith, and Keith wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle that.
Nowadays, he and Shiro saw each other a couple times a year. They got together for stilted conversations and awkward company for each of their birthdays and Christmas, plus Shiro tended to reach out whenever he happened to be in the area. The last time that had happened, Shiro had taken him out to dinner in order to tell him that he and Adam were engaged. Keith hadn’t even realized they were still dating.
Despite the distance Keith had built between them, and the resentment he felt towards himself whenever he let himself really think about it, he knew Shiro still loved him. Shiro was entirely too forgiving for his own good, and Keith knew that if one day he reached out, Shiro would be right there meeting him halfway. He knew they could fall right back into their old dynamic if he just let them, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
And Keith was quickly remembering why.
“Cool,” Keith finally said, trying to force the word out of his mouth in a semblance of a normal tone. “Did you bring it?”
“I opened it,” Shiro admitted.
“You know that’s illegal, right?” Keith said, his head snapping up so his gaze could pierce through Shiro instead of his own shoes.
“You gonna report me, Keith?”
Keith just rolled his eyes, letting his arms cross familiarly over his chest as he glared across the room. Across all that distance. “Are you planning on giving it to me or not?” he finally snapped.
“I feel like if I do, you’d rip it up.”
Keith silently cursed Shiro. Even after all this time apart, he still knew Keith too well.
“It’s from Marmora,” Shiro continued. Keith tried to pretend he hadn’t heard him. “They said they’d take you back if you finished up school at NYU. I bet we could even negotiate for your scholarship back.”
“Drop it, Shiro,” Keith said. Each and every one of his nerves felt tight — strung up and twisted and about ready to snap.
“Keith,” Shiro implored. “Just think about it—”
“No,” Keith said, cutting him off. “If you leave it alone, we can go out for dinner. Otherwise you can just go.”
Shiro grimaced. “I would love to have dinner with you,” he said. “But I promised Adam I’d attend his presentation tonight. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine, Shiro,” Keith said, pushing and shoving and kicking the bruised feelings inside himself into a box and locking it tight. This distance was his fault. He couldn’t forget that.
“Can we reschedule? For soon?” Shiro said, his eyes hopeful.
“’Course,” Keith grunted. “I’m gonna take a shower now. Lock the door on your way out.”
“Sure thing.”
When Keith got out of the shower, he found the letter waiting for him on his living room table. He couldn’t quite bring himself to rip it up.