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Keith doesn't sleep in his own room anymore. It's still his whenever he needs to be alone, and he keeps his things there, but he never sleeps there.
"You need me," he says anytime Shiro asks if he's sure this is okay. For weeks Shiro tried to keep it a secret, but somehow Keith figured it out. "I know you better than anyone, Shiro. You went through hell, and I couldn't be there for you. Just let me be here now."
Keith's presence isn't going to stop the nightmares, and Shiro knows it. But even in the depths of the hellish visions that haunt his sleep, the phantom pains, the sounds of cruel laughter, he senses Keith's warm body beside him, arms draped across his shoulders, hears the gentle whisper of his name.
He wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, tears stinging his eyes, and Keith holds him, refusing to let go even a little until Shiro feels safe again.
He brings Shiro a glass of water, or makes him tea, or even brings him some of the leftover bread Hunk baked that morning. He sits beside him while he drinks or eats, listening if Shiro can bring himself to talk about the dreams. Most of the time he can't, and Keith never asks. Instead, he talks about things like movies, the stray cats and dogs that hung around the Garrison sometimes, how his dad used to play the radio nonstop and the music Keith learned to love and hate.
He loves rock and alternative and will defend Nickelback to the death. He pretends to hate country, but secretly has a soft spot for Johnny Cash and Tammy Wynette. He loathes Eminem and Lady Gaga, and he feels sorry for Rebecca Black even if "Friday" makes him want to jam pencils in his ears.
"It's a bad song. That doesn't mean people should pick on her."
Sometimes Keith will start humming a song that lodges itself in Shiro's brain to the point where sometimes he dreams about it once he falls back to sleep. It didn't take him long to realize it was his way of chasing the nightmares off for the rest of the night. It doesn't always work, but he appreciates it nonetheless.
The nightmares are especially vicious tonight, trapping him so tightly they still flash before him even when he realizes he is dreaming. Keith's voice is the only pathway out, the light at the end of the tunnel, his hands the rope pulling him back to reality.
"You're safe," he whispers, "you're safe, we're in the castle, you're okay, Shiro, everything's okay." And he lets himself cling, face buried in the other's shoulder, his heartbeat slowing down to normal as Keith's fingers card through his hair.
He doesn't know how he'd survive all of this if Keith wasn't here. Scratch that, he doesn't want to know.
He's soon aware of Keith humming "Come Sail Away," one of the worst songs for sticking in his head. But it's soothing, relaxing, makes him imagine oceans and sand and clear, starry nights. Keith is so warm, his anchor to a gentler reality, and the hellish memories and images are soon far away.
Keith's lips brush his temple, and Shiro smiles against his shoulder.
When he falls back to sleep, he dreams of sailing across the skies with Keith at his side.