Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It’s a quote from somewhere. A fact.

All his life Keith has tried not to hope. Tried to ignore any desire for things like home, happiness, more.

Because if he didn’t have hope then he’d never have to feel like this. Alone. Miles from anywhere, above a city he can barely recognize through swollen, bleary eyes.

A deep, dark violet seeps along the horizon, tiny pinpricks of dying stars fading as the light begins to grow. People below starting to wake.

The dawn of a new day.

Except Keith doesn’t want it to arrive. Has been sitting here, through the cold and the misery and the crumbling foundations of whatever his devastating hope had tried to build, for hours. Ruined.

His limbs are numb. Breath barely eking through crushed lungs. The throb of his head smacking against his skull but still, it’s better than moving. Then facing the fact that everything’s gone.

His comics…the stupid fucking movie…people he thought had his back….

Shiro.

The name hurts more than it should. Especially for a guy he’s only known a few short months because what even was he? Keith had thought he could’ve been something. Had foolishly hoped they could’ve been something.

But now the pain is all he sees. The way Shiro had flinched, had barely been able to meet his eyes. And when he did...that look…

There can’t be any left. No more wasted, useless hope.

He’s better off without it.

Four months earlier

“—ey… ...hello?... ...Keith!...”

There’s a pounding in his head, buried deep. Rumbling against his ears.

“...Know you’re in there!”

It settles through his ribs. Starts to spread in dawning awareness that tingles through nerves. An orangish glow dancing behind closed lids.

Slowly Keith cracks an eye, suddenly wincing against the offensive onslaught of sunlight streaming in. Even with eyes shut tight, he can feel how it overtakes the loft, far too high in the sky.

The pounding continues, echoes its way from the front of his place.

“Get up you lazy fucker!”

On top of him, Ruby begins—or maybe it’s continues—to paw at his face, eventually unsheathing claws when he doesn’t move fast enough.

“Ugh.” He tries to hide but the fat, black cat doesn’t relent, nor does the beating downstairs. “No,” he bats at her, “stoooop.”

But she doesn’t listen. Even starts the sad, pleading mews she knows Keith’s helpless against.

Still squeezing eyes tight, he rubs them with the back of his hand and finally gives in. “Okay,” he murmurs, then louder as he shouts in a dry, cracking voice. “Okay, I’m up!”

With a groan and an indignant yowl from Ruby, he rolls to the side, extracting himself from the pillowy new comforter. Though he may be sleeping better, it certainly hasn’t helped his mornings—or, probably at this point, his early afternoons. Extracting himself is a process but he makes it. Shuffling down the stairs in slow, heavy drops.

The incessant banging gets louder as he rubs at his face, barely dressed but still, he opens the door. A mess of tawny brown hair flying by below chest height and straight to the kitchen.

“What the fuck? Were you seriously still asleep? It’s like one in the afternoon!” Pidge, calls over her shoulder as she barges in, a small aggressive ball of energy.

Immediately she sets about making a racket, leaving Keith to cringe in her wake. She clangs through cupboards, uses an excessive amount of force on the coffee maker and doesn’t even pause before filling Ruby’s empty dish.

“Too good to feed your own pets too?” Pidge shoots with an exasperated look.

Keith shoots back, “We slept in.”

“Hmm, must be nice to just laze around whenever.”

Rolling his eyes, he goes to the pantry. Accidentally knocking over a box of pasta when he reaches for the cereal, bits of penne scattering but he turns his back on the mess to get a bowl. Food’s more important right now.

Pidge sighs dramatically, bending down to gather errant bits before the cat can get them. “I think all this wealth’s gone to your head. You can’t even clean anymore.”

He snorts, “Don’t act like you haven’t always cleaned my mess.”

“Yeah,” she says, nudging his side, “and I’m still waiting for my payout.”

It’s not like Keith is rich or anything, but he’s comfortable. Lives in a nice studio in a gentrified part of town, making a living creating something he loves. It’s a far cry from before. His sudden lack of squalor a bit of a running joke between them.

“Pidge, you know what’s mine is yours.”

“Uh huh.” Hands full of pasta, her eyes rove over his space. The mismatched furniture and sparse decor, the clothes thrown about at random and the giant mound of sketches and storyboards that Keith swears have a work desk hidden somewhere underneath. “I think I’ll pass.”

Biting back a smile, he fills his bowl. Cheerios swirling in their milky tide as he takes a seat to devour the little O’s. The hard clang of his spoon breaking the silence while Ruby scratches herself on Pidge’s legs. Somewhere to the side, Pidge makes a disgusted noise when he slurps up the last dregs of sugary milk but it’s all for show.

There’s not much he could do that would scare her off now. He’d tried in the beginning. Back when he was eight years old and this tiny thing would seek him out at recess. He hadn’t understood it then. Why anyone would want to be his friend, but since then he’s always had her. To talk to, to hang with, to crash on her bedroom floor whenever his foster homes got to be too much. Scribbling under low lights and imagining worlds far better than his.

“So, have I inherited your agent too?”

He doesn’t get it, squinting at Pidge and tilting his head with a lined brow.

“... ‘Cause he keeps calling me...”

“Fuuuucck.” Eyes slide closed with the drop of his head. Defeated, heavy breath slipping out. “He just...won’t. stop. calling.”

When he looks up it’s to find Pidge watching him with much more amusement than sympathy. “Well have you tried actually answering the phone?”

“No.” Keith’s mood continues to sour. “He wants me to talk to some filmmaker friend of his and I already said I’m not interested. The only reason I even got an agent in the first place was to have someone else turn these people down.”

Pidge is definitely laughing now. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, it was supposed to. He said he wouldn’t bother me with stupid offers.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think this one’s stupid?”

Hard and deadpan, Keith counters. “They’re all stupid.”

When BOM Comics had picked up the series he’d started back in high school, Beast King Lion had completely taken off. It’d been a shock. That anyone besides Pidge would be into a comic about a team of flight cadets thrown into space, commanding sentient lion spaceships which combined into a super robot, led by two madly in love space gays? He really hadn’t expected it. Nor did he expect the sudden flood of studios practically banging down his door for the rights to turn his heart into a quick money grab.

But he knew what they’d do to it. Water it down and smooth the edges. Twist and warp until all that’s left is a disjointed plot and characters fans would barely recognize.

He can’t handle that. He won’t.

“Well, Coran’ll be here in a few minutes so you can tell him that yourself.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Leaning back to stare her down, he tightly crosses arms against his chest, angry heat rolling off. Locked jaw clenching.

But Pidge is too used to his shit. All he gets is a snort, nonplussed and unrepentant. “You did this to yourself. I may be a lot of things, but I am not your answering service.”

Geez. And people think he’s the jerk. His shoulders droop. “I hate you.”

“Mmhmm.”

There’s no heat behind his words and they both know it. She patronizingly pats his arms, tries to make puppy eyes that have him huffing an abortive laugh. When her tongue peeks out the side, he’s almost cracked a smile, but it’s lost the moment a series of knocks rattles the door.

Stilling as though sudden movement might give them away, he attempts to gather his mental strength. When the musical knocks ring out again, he can only pray he’s not out of aspirin.

Pushing at his shoulder, Pidge rolls her eyes, “I’m also not your doorman.”

He regrets everything the moment he opens that door.

“Keith!” His agent steps back from the stoop, twirling his ridiculous moustache and feigning shocked surprise. “You’re alive! I was beginning to wonder...”

Or maybe he really is surprised. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with Coran.

“Ahh…” the ginger continues, “I’ve brought over some company, so perhaps you might want to put on some clothes?”

Behind the wiry framed man, kind blue eyes crinkle. A woman shifting slightly as she looks away. Her light brown skin sparkles in the sunlight, framed in blonde silvery hair that falls well past her shoulders. Politely she tries to hold back a laugh but is unable to stop her bitten off smile. Keith raises an eyebrow and looks down.

The chill from outside sets bumps across his skin. Wide armholes of his ratty red tank exposing his sides. The tiny black briefs don’t help either. Briefly, he contemplates staying like this, it would serve them right for the unwelcome intrusion. But a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Pidge tells him to suck it up. With a sigh he turns on his heel and makes his way back upstairs, stubbing his toe on the first step which can only be a sign of things to come.

Unfortunately, he finds himself back at his table a few minutes later. Sucking down another round of coffee and feeling slightly more comfortable in an oversized hoodie and his favourite pair of torn, faded jeans.

He can’t hide in the fluorescent light that pours over them. Can’t even pretend to fake the disinterest he usually has for these things. Right from the start he can tell Allura’s different than the others, Keith finding himself actually listening despite his initial intention of brushing her off immediately.

“I’ll admit that I don’t know much about comics, but I do know that Beast King Lion is something special.”

She’s cunning too. Flattering first and foremost.

“I couldn’t put them down. The stories you tell are incredible. Sure, there’s the drama and sci-fi elements but at its heart, I think it’s really about the team. About their bonds and their strength together.”

People called the decision bold. That Keith had taken his two strongest characters, tough, independent, inspiring men, and given them a romantic arc. Connected them in a way that transcended space, time and the realms of existence unapologetically. But for him, it’d been obvious, a way to live out something people like him will never get.

He eyes her suspiciously, tone carefully neutral. “Most people are just happy with space and seeing shit get blown up.”

“I can assure you; I am not most people.”

“No? Then who are you?”

From the corner of his vision, he can see Coran’s moustache jerk at his rudeness. For her part, Pidge only sighs.

But Allura seems to take it as a challenge. “No one really, but I’ve grown up around this business. And though I’m fairly new to filmmaking I know it would make an incredible movie.”

Her genuine belief takes him by surprise. “Why?”

“Do you not see it as you create it? I could tell just by the way you draw; each issue is cinematic. The way you choose to do a scene, even the way you lay out your pages, it’s as though they’ve already been shot in film and you’re simply translating it to paper.”

He’d be lying if he said no. Keith loved drawing scenes from odd points of view, he loved playing with the camera angles. At first, it’d been a way to challenge his perspective but then it kind of became the thing his comics were known for. Probably also why so many studios had come knocking but he hadn’t been thinking of that at the time. Usually, he’s too absorbed in the process. How ink flows from pen to page, words, and pictures taking shape. An extension of endless imagination.

“I’m going to assume by your silence that means you have.”

Pressing his lips together, he darts his eyes around the room rather helplessly. They land on Pidge and her hesitant smile for a split second before he tears them away.

“Look.” He takes a deep breath. Sits up in his seat and tries to compose what he wants to say. “I’m glad you like my comics, really, but I just don’t see it working.”

Usually, this is the worst part. Where whoever’s trying to steal his comics aggressively won’t take no for an answer. But Allura manages to only look curious, almost like they’re old friends and she only wants to help.

“Can you tell me why?”

Keith’s jaw tightens anyway. “I’m sorry?”

She’s been peering at him over the rim of her porcelain mug, but she drops it on the table to straighten as well. “Why don’t you think it’ll work?”

“Because I won’t give up control.” His fist resting on the table tightens at the thought. “It’s my story and my characters and I don’t want to see them twisted.”

“Oh no.” Allura rushes to placate, almost reaches out but reels it in last minute. “That is not my intention at all! I don’t wish to change anything. All I want is to bring them to life.”

It makes Keith snort. That’s impossible and he tells her as much. “There’s too much to cover, it won’t fit in one movie and I’ve seen what happens to adaptations. They’re never as good.”

That makes Allura frown and he’s almost proud of himself for it. “Well yes, you’re correct, not everything would fit. But we can still keep the core of it. Nothing has to change.”

“Nothing? So, you really plan on keeping Sven and Akira’s story? All of it?”

Because this is his sticking point. Sure, they’re in an age where queer media is definitely a thing. But it’s also definitely not a focal point in sci-fi action movies with special effects meant for mass consumption. If anything, it’s a throwaway line in the ending credits.

“Of course,” the wide-eyed filmmaker in front of him says, almost like she’s offended.

And—wait.

“How could you even think I would try to undermine their relationship? It’s the heart of the entire series!”

Honestly, Keith’s a little stunned. He wants to stay firm, tries really fucking hard to keep his stare unwavering but the more Allura looks at him like he’s made a horrible assumption the more it crumbles his resolve.

Keith opens his mouth and stutters, “S-so you’d actually have them out in the open? Not just implied or totally skipped over?”

She’s shaking her head before he’s even finished speaking. “Never. The Black Paladin issue? Where Akira fights so hard to save Sven from himself was the most heartrending thing I’ve ever read. I want to see that. I want people to watch it and know without a doubt that theirs is a love that’ll only burn brighter after they’re gone.”

No one's ever put it like that to him before. Never truly got it the way he did. Sven and Akira meant so much to him, he never imagined them in someone else’s hands but now there are delicate ones enclosing over his own and fiery blue eyes boring into him.

“I want to work with you Keith. I want to introduce the world to this story that’s so close to your heart.”

It’s inexplicable but he feels the backs of his eyes burn. Feels like something’s expanding beneath his ribs and threatening to burst and he can’t find words, but he does find Coran’s delighted face, trying not to smile too widely and Pidge watching him with a knowing softness.

“I—” his voice breaks. “I don’t know.”

“How about this? I have an old family friend who’s just started his own production company, I think it could be the perfect fit. Come with me to meet him, we’ll talk more and then you can decide.” She speaks so, so gentle, like someone would to a flight risk. “If you decide you still can’t do it, I promise not to bother you again.”

Not sure what to say, Keith tips his head forward. Lets his hair fall past his face for the smallest semblance of privacy. He counts up all the reasons he should say no in his mind.

It’s a good list. A solid list.

But there’s still too much space in his chest, much too bubbly, too giddy to ignore. He peers at Pidge from beneath his fringe, sees her wink and mouthed, “just go for it,” and sighs before finally lifting his head.

“You’ll really leave me alone when I say no?”

Allura’s lip twitches but she catches it before it can stretch. “If you say no, then yes, you have my word.”

He’s silent for a second. Draws in all his cagey, fluttering energy and blows it out hard. Can’t stop the way his own mouth quirks when he says, “Okay.”

The rest, he guesses he can say, is history. It was two weeks later that he walked into a surprisingly swanky office for a start-up company and met with Lotor, the founder of Colony Studios, and apparently someone who was also extremely interested in Beast King.

He didn’t make big promises like Allura, but he did seem to defer to her wishes, saying he had complete faith in her vision. He was smooth in a way that would’ve put Keith on edge if not for Allura’s mediation, but Keith wasn't sure how much he’d be involved. How much say did a producer have anyway? In the end, they’d both said enough of the right things that Keith felt sufficiently swept off his feet.

Another few weeks and Coran was sending Keith a contract to look over and highlighting all the places to sign. He hadn’t understood a lot of the wording, but Coran had promised it was looked over and very much a standard industry contract. Keith was nervous, yeah. Still questioning if this was really the right decision, but Allura was on his side, wanted the story told just as he did. And he did—want this, that is. So, in the end, only a minimal amount of perspiration was shed while signing.

And now here he was, sitting at a table with Allura and a casting director and wondering how the hell he’d got there. They were waiting on the arrival of an actor the studio had already picked to play Sven and Keith was dying.

Allura promised that once Keith met him, he’d understand why they made this decision without him but to just trust someone like that was almost unbearable.

Sven was important, one of the leads, an impossibly beautiful man that Keith had created in a fit of thirst.

Oh god. What if this guy was nothing like Sven at all?

Or worse, what if he was?

“Sorry, I’m late.”

Keith’s drawn from his thoughts—the last coherent ones he’ll have for awhile—because the clouds have parted, choirs are singing, and the most breathtaking person he’s ever seen is walking into the room.

The man’s smiling, that’s all Keith registers. A bright, glorious, thing that beams its light across the room. Almond shaped eyes crinkling in the corners, white teeth gleaming. He moves with poise, shaking hands with the others and exchanging greetings. Ducking his head as Allura turns him towards Keith and he’s hit, full force with lovely grey eyes that widen as they take in the paralyzed mess that is Keith.

“Keith, this is Takashi Shirogane, our Sven.”

“Please,” the Adonis speaks, “just call me Shiro.”

He’s extended a hand. A strong, perfect hand. To match the strong, perfect body that Keith can see clearly outlined beneath his tightly fitted shirt. His shoulders are wide, maybe twice as wide as Keith and Keith has to tilt his head back to take him all in.

He stands tall, unmoving and patiently waiting except for one dark eyebrow that’s starting to rise because Keith hasn’t moved but for the slight drop of his mouth. That perfect hand left hanging mid-air, but Keith can’t think past wondering how someone so flawless can even exist.

“Ahhh—” It’s more of a choke than a word. “H-hi.”

The living god—Shiro—eases up a little, drops his hand and blinding smile to something more subtle, shy. A glint of self-consciousness peeking through when he cups the back of his neck. “I’ve, ah, read all of your comics. They’re really good.”

His voice is soft, warm. Deep in a way that dives to Keith’s core. Keith can only stare. Distantly aware there’s a common response to Shiro’s words but fuck if he’s gonna find it through the shallow breaths and painful pounding of his heart.

“Alright.” It’s Allura, no doubt trying to save Keith from the embarrassing hole he’s sinking into. “Thank you for coming, Shiro.”

She tugs him by the arm to lead him away and there’s a moment where Keith hallucinates dark eyes roaming over his body. It happens so fast.

“We’ve asked you here to run some scenes with potential candidates for the role of Akira. It’s important we find the right chemistry.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Shiro blinks before turning away. “Whatever you guys need. I'm just excited to be here.”

“Now, the script isn’t a hundred percent locked in... yet.” At this, Allura sends Keith a withering glare.

He’d had a disastrous first meeting with the screenwriter. A loud-mouthed, in your face, clearly overcompensating for something, terrible human being named Lance. Okay, so maybe terrible was a bit harsh but almost from the get-go, Lance had decided to fight him on literally everything.

Keith wanted to include a particular excursion where one of the Paladins ended up cuffed to a tree, but Lance called it ‘unrealistic.’ He wanted to keep a bonding moment between Akira and said teammate in the story, but Lance thought it wasn't important. It got to the point where Allura had to physically drag him away, which was good because he’d been this close to punching that smarmy asshole right in his stupid face.

Now he lowers his gaze, at least slightly ashamed.

“So,” she continues, “bear in mind that things may still change but for now, you’ll read the scene as is.”

“Sure, no problem.” Shiro smiles again and it’s as sparkling as the first.

People come. Men that look a little like Keith but it’s his own fault for putting so much of himself into Akira. It should be weird, but he’s too consumed by the physical manifestation of Sven.

They don’t look exactly alike. Shiro’s hair is all black and of course, he doesn’t have weaponized alien technology for an arm. But he’s built like Sven. Muscular arms and flexing square jaw. Moves like Keith always imagined Sven would.

The scene takes place in Beast King’s second issue. Sven and Akira stranded on a dangerous planet and huddled by the fire. Sven asking Akira to lead when he’s gone but Akira won’t hear it. It’s supposed to showcase the stubborn determination of whoever’s chosen to play Akira, but Keith is too mesmerized by Shiro.

He’s good as an actor. Pretending to nurse an injury but still showcasing how much he cares for Akira. Still bringing Sven’s gentle guidance and patience to the spotlight. Speaking like a man that would inspire someone to follow him to the ends of the universe. He’s everything Sven should be.

Between actors, Allura and the casting director murmur over their notes. At first, she tries to involve Keith but it’s obvious his attention is elsewhere. More often than not he finds his thoughts and eyes drifting over, only to dart back before they connect.

Eventually, Allura stops asking.

“Thank you, James.” Keith’s head pops up from where it’d been fixed—possibly somewhere in Shiro’s general vicinity—to find Allura speaking to the latest auditioner. “We’ll be in touch.”

As the actor takes his leave, she turns to Shiro. “And thank you Shiro, that was the last of the day.”

“Great.” Standing from the bench where he’s been sitting, Shiro stretches his arms above his head. Tanned, ridged muscles just visible beneath the hem of his shirt. “Is there anything else you guys need from me?”

“No, I think we’re good. But it was lovely to see you again.”

“Thanks, you too.” Then he looks at Keith, time stopping when that soft smile plays at his lips. “It was nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

There’s no stopping the way Keith’s breath catches and his chest swells.

Shiro’s a fan? Of him?

Me too, he almost whispers, might even mouth it because Shiro’s gaze zeros in on him. Keith has to clear his throat and this time it’s too loud when he practically shouts, “It was nice meeting you too.”

He cringes at the volume but Shiro only grins wider. Hesitating just a second, mouth opening like he’s about to say something but then he’s shaking his head, lips twisting. “Okay then...I guess I’ll see you guys later.”

Keith watches as he leaves, eyes straying of their own accord down the curve of his back, the dip between slim hips. They slide even lower until he wrenches them up just in time to catch Shiro’s eyes before they disappear. With heated cheeks and a tortured groan, he goes to smash his forehead on the table but Allura speaks first.

“So?” she asks, not even trying to hide her delight. “How do you like our Sven?”

It’s another thirty minutes before he’s walking through the lobby. When Allura’s smug face had finally stopped giving him that look.

Obviously, there’d been very little Keith had to say on the subject of who should play Akira except for a shrugged, “maybe the last guy?” when pushed. They’d done a pretty damn good job of casting Sven without him; he wasn’t too worried about the rest anymore.

Checking his phone, he’s got another ten minutes before Pidge’ll be there to pick him up, so he grabs a free newspaper from one of the stands and makes his way outside. Squinting at bleak clouds and hoping it doesn’t rain before she gets there.

“Excuse me, Keith?” A large hand taps his shoulder and he jumps so high his heart gets lodged in his throat. Spinning on reflex, it’s fast enough that Shiro hastily pulls back. “Sorry,” he winces, dark hair getting tossed in the wind. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Sh-Shiro…hey—ow.” Keith’s hands do this awkward half clutch at his heart, half try last minute to salvage a wave, but he ends up smacking himself with the newspaper, sharp corner digging into his eye.

“Are you okay?”

There’re tears building and a mortifying sense of embarrassment. He frantically nods and wills both away by staring past his source of fluster, trying to focus on blurry figures instead. Slowly they start to take shape, slow enough that he knows it’s been silent for way too long.

“Umm…” He can feel Shiro’s gaze burn through his skin. Thinks he might actually catch fire if he doesn’t say something to break this painful quiet. “You were really good in there,” he blurts, the blaze across his face exactly what he’d wanted to avoid.

“Yeah?” Shiro’s tone is surprised, mystified.

It’s completely ridiculous and makes Keith do a double take, knowing it’s far too telling when he says, “Yeah, you're great as Sven.”

“Wow, that’s—um, thank you.” Shiro’s lips look impossibly soft as he bites into them. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

Shifting on his feet, Shiro runs a hand through his hair, eyes briefly darting before they peer at Keith beneath feathered lashes. “I was wondering—if you’re not too busy—if I could take you out for coffee sometime?”

Keith’s mind blanks, his heart stops. Sucking in an audible breath.

“You know,” Shiro rushes to say, “so I can get to know Sven better.”

Oh.

It’s about Sven.

Of course.

“Oh…y-yeah.” His voice cracks. “Yeah, we could do that.”

There’s relief on Shiro’s anxious face, melting tension replaced by something unbearably open. Keith feels the need to shield himself like turning from the sun. “Really? How about Friday?”

Keith looks at his feet. “Sure.”

“Great! Can I get your number?”

Shiro hands Keith his phone, the hard case with stars and nebulae fumbling in Keith’s grasp as he tries to type. Keith braces himself when he hands it back, looking up into round, friendly eyes. They concentrate a moment before Keith’s phone buzzes with a text, a wavy hand smiley face.

“There,” Shiro says, head bent, voice low, “now you have my number too.” The hushed tone is deadly, flowing like honey to spread its sticky snare.

He shouldn’t look that like. Smooth yet unassuming. Keith gulps and finds himself caught in stormy depths.

Shiro leans closer. “So... I guess I’ll see you soon then?”

Keith can’t move. Swept away in liquid tides he finds himself wanting to drown in. Drifting with nothing to anchor him.

Until a horn blares nearby.

“Keith!”

He startles. Actually stumbles back to see Pidge and her brother’s car blocking traffic as she leans out the window. “C’mon, hurry up!”

“Umm…” He’s still floating, still weightless. “That’s my ride.”

“Oh.” The spell drops as Shiro looks away, nose scrunching in something like disappointment before a tentative smile evens it out. “I’ll text you then, yeah?”

Keith nods, more tongue-tied than he’d like to be. “Yeah.”

Somehow, he makes it to the car, but not before a few people start honking. He even manages to scrape his shin against the door while getting in but when Shiro waves as they pull away there’s nothing that can wipe the tiny grin from his face.

Almost nothing.

“Who was that?” Pidge asks with a side eye.

Resting his feet on the dash, Keith scrambles to emote nonchalance. “His name’s Shiro.”

“Shiro, huh?” There’s a tone there that Keith doesn’t like. “He looks familiar.”

“I don’t think so.” It’s too rushed when he says it, causes red to creep up his neck and a devious smirk from Pidge.

“Mhmm.”

She drives through traffic much the same way she does through life. So hyper-focused on making Keith’s life hell, the cars she serves around are barely noticed. If he wasn’t trying to bury every thought he’s had in the last two hours he’d be terrified.

“I just met him, he’s an actor.”

“Oh?” Her mock innocence is infuriating. “For your movie?”

“Ahh...” he crosses his arms like it might shield him from what’s to come, “yeah.”

“And who will Shiro be playing?”

Fuck, she knows. Of course, she would.

It doesn’t stop him from quietly mumbling, “Sven,” into his bicep with the hope that she’ll drop it.

“Who?”

He huffs, “Sven, okay? He’s gonna be Sven.”

Expecting the cackles, Keith grabs onto his seat and wishes Pidge would at least keep half her attention on the road. “I knew it!” she chirps. “The look on your face when you were talking to him…”

“Shut up.”

“You’re in love already, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“When’s the first date?”

He’s pretty sure the inside of Matt’s car lights up with the bright flush that burns literally everywhere.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

He wishes the void would take him now.

Pidge’s eyes go wide, her shock almost insulting. “Oh my god! YOU'RE GOING OUT WITH SVEN?!”

“Nooo.” Keith groans and lets his head fall against the window. “I’m not going out with Sven. I’m just going for coffee. With a guy. Who will be playing Sven.”

Her grin is maniacally wide. “That’s the same thing!”

“It’s not.” The heat starts to dissipate but it leaves a horrible sense of panic behind. He starts to talk it out, tries to make things perfectly clear. “It’s not a date. He just wants to talk about Sven, probably to get a feel for the character or whatever. I’m sure we’ll barely even talk after that.”

“Mhmm.”

“And I’m not in love! He probably already has someone because—I mean objectively he’s good looking—and I’m definitely not looking for—”

“—Uh, Keith—”

“—anything right now. I’m not even that interested, really—”

“Keith!”

Cutting off mid-sentence he looks at Pidge, a what on the tip of his tongue before he sees her large, anime eyes. Follows to where they’re up along the skyline.

“I knew he looked familiar,” she whispers.

They’re stopped at a red light. The first car waiting so there’s nothing obstructing their view of the billboard on one of the towers. The billboard that stands fifteen feet fall and displays a man, shirtless and eyes closed as he downs a bottle of water and wipes with a towel at the sweat pooling between very nice, very well defined pecs.

But it’s not just any man.

It’s Shiro.

Looking like every wet dream Keith’s had from pre-teen to last fucking night. The curve of his throat, the drops that fall from his chin, the trail of wiry hair that starts at his navel and dips below the waist of his jeans that’s just visible in the shot.

Keith’s tongue swells, a choke just barely held back as he digs fingers into his thigh to hold the unquenchable lust that’s rearing its ugly head. Oh, to be that towel.

There might be a snort somewhere on his left, but he definitely hears the haughtiness in Pidge’s voice when she takes in his current state.

“You were saying?”

Fuck.

He’s nervous.

Tries telling himself not to be, but his hands are sweaty and his breath comes fast as he walks towards the coffee shop where he’s supposed to meet Shiro. The prospect of seeing him again so intimidating, Keith hardly knows what to do with himself. He’s so wrapped up in fear, he even fumbles with the simple task of opening the front door. Brass handle sticking and causing the bells above to rattle hard.

Keith ducks his head, attempting to look for a dark head of hair without drawing much attention to himself but he can’t find Shiro anywhere. A small mercy considering his nervous state.

There’s a free table in the corner. Tucked between sprawling bookshelves and a window overlooking the street. Keith makes his way, weaving through a hodge-podge mix of chairs and benches, sprawling art and plain lighting fixtures creating a welcoming atmosphere. He’s never been here before but he likes the simplicity.

Sitting down, he pulls off his coat and sighs. Trying for the umpteenth time not to think of all the ways he’s totally different from someone like Shiro. Someone he may or may not have recently googled.

Advertising campaigns, event appearances, activism. Shiro may only now be breaking into film, his IMBD confirming as much, but his career has already taken him around the world. Putting him in a league so far from Keith’s that it’s almost laughable.

Not that they need to be in the same league. Contrary to Pidge’s obnoxious insistence, this little get together is most definitely not a date.

Soft music plays in the background, familiar chords enough to grab Keith’s ear and lessen the blow when someone knocks his chair. This time, he doesn’t jump when a hand lands on his shoulder, “Keith, hey,” but he does feel a shiver run through his arm. “I’m sorry I’m a little late.”

Shiro’s there, standing above him like one of the Sistine Chapel's famous paintings. God reaching out to Adam with sharp, high cheekbones and hard, chiseled planes of muscle. The bumps rising across Keith’s skin from more than just air conditioning. “It’s...fine. I just got here, actually.”

“Yeah?” Shiro asks. “Good. I hated the thought of you waiting alone.”

His voice doesn’t waver when he tells him it’s okay again but it’s a near thing. A little too breathy in the company of Shiro’s small grin.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Stumbling through an order—dark roast, no sugar—Keith tries to argue with Shiro when he refuses to take his money but he’s already backing away. That handsome face Keith’s been creeping on these past few days not listening to a word of protest—and then promptly crashing into a leaving couple, not five feet behind.

Shiro’s hands fly out, profusely apologizing to the woman whose toes he’s carelessly trampled, embarrassment in every flex of his toned triceps. Keith’s anxiety leeches away as he watches Shiro stutter, muffling a laugh beneath his palm. The tips of Shiro’s ears turning at least three shades darker.

It’s...a really cute look.

Pretending not to notice, Keith fixes his gaze out the window when Shiro throws a panicked glance his way. It gives him the space to admire the man’s reflection—now terribly red—as he sheepishly turns to place their order. Dressed in a stormy grey shirt and rolled, ankle length slacks, white sneakers spotless. Sunglasses hanging from the unbuttoned part of his shirt and Keith’s never seen anyone make that look so good—well outside of pin-up calendars, and there’s a thought that needs further investigation.

When Shiro returns, drinks in hand and lobes still slightly pink, he seems to have mostly recovered. Exchanging pleasantries such as comments on the weather with an ease that doesn’t feel forced except for a lingering stiffness. But even in the pauses, while Shiro thrums his fingers and Keith tries not to stare, he makes Keith feel comfortable, relaxed.

Perhaps a little too relaxed because the force of Shiro’s beauty hits in full when he meets Keith’s eyes, the overhead lights casting a halo across fine hair, and suddenly Keith’s speaking without a filter, “You’re a model.”

Keith cringes. But the tiny snort and the way Shiro’s shoulders release their tension almost make it worth it.

“Ha, yeah.” Shiro’s lips quirk. “Is it that obvious?”

Keith shakes his head. “The giant billboard on Ninth might have given it away.”

“God, right. I’ll never get used to that.”

“Yeah, it’s, ah—” he gulps at the memory “—really something.”

Shiro barks a laugh, hard enough that his head dips and his cheeks dimple. A deep, melodic rumble that does a good job of coaxing Keith from his shell. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Have you been doing it for long?”

“Hmm, maybe ten years or so?” Like this, head cocked in thought and mouth pursed, Shiro seems so humble, so real. Not at all how you’d think a person as experienced and gorgeous as Shiro would be. It kinda makes Keith burn.

“Must be nice.”

With a shrug, Shiro replies, “It’s been alright.”

Keith raises his brows. “Just alright?”

He earns another laugh, this one subdued. “Modeling’s…not really a long-term career. I’ve been lucky to have done it this long, but I don’t know, it’s never been what I really wanted to do.”

“And what’s that?”

Shiro hardly even pauses, the simple statement as easy as breathing. “Acting, of course.”

There’s a glint in his eyes. Keith sees how they flicker at just the mention. Light up in a way that feels wholly Shiro.

“So, you’ve always been into acting then?”

“Yeah, ever since I was little. It’s, ah…” Shiro’s nose crinkles in a terribly endearing wince, “...actually a little embarrassing.” He hesitates, regarding Keith with softly sinking teeth in his bottom lip, eyes shyly falling. “Well...when I was about seven? My grandpa and I would do these plays in the living room. We’d get the whole family together and put on this two-man act. It was—” he shakes his head with a fond grin “—probably ridiculous, but I loved it. We’d pretend we were these heroic characters, just like in the movies...since then it’s always been a dream of mine.”

A vision of Shiro flits through Keith’s head. Young and enthusiastic in some chivalrous, make believe role. So achingly sweet.

“So why haven’t you until now?” The question probably exposes his stalking, but he’s too involved now to care. Especially when Shiro’s face falls.

“Umm…” Shiro doesn’t move his gaze from the ridged grain of their table, fingers around his cup tightening. “It was too much before. Back when my...disease made it too difficult.”

Whatever Keith was expecting it wasn’t this. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, struggling past its tightness.

Shiro’s eyes are pinched as he speaks, lips thin. “It’s okay, it’s gone now. But it was...rough, for a bit.”

The sounds of the cafe are hushed, hardly noticed. A backdrop to the swooping in Keith’s stomach that leaves him scrambling. An overwhelming urge to soothe. To brush his fingers against the arm so close to his own and tell Shiro he’s glad he’s here now but knows it’s not his place.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers, wishing there was something more to say.

Across from him, Shiro rolls his jaw and his grimace slips into something more genuine when he sees Keith’s twitching hand. “Thanks. It was a while ago and I’m fully recovered now so...” he clears his throat, dragging his sharp focus back to Keith, “what about you? What’s your story?”

Unprepared for the quick change in topics, the emotional whiplash leaves Keith reeling. “Me?”

But Shiro rolls with it. “Yeah, I mean you’re so talented. Beast King Lion is doing so well. How did you even get into comic making?”

Despite his lingering concern, the feeling Keith gets when he creates flashes to mind. The thrill of watching his bottled thoughts spill onto canvas. The lightness of letting them go. “I think...it kind of just found me.”

And maybe it’s because of the praise, or maybe it’s the way Shiro looks at him like he actually wants to know, but—unbelievably—Keith starts talking.

“Do you ever just lie awake at night because your brain won’t shut up? Well that was me, all the damn time. When I was younger there was just so much going on that I couldn’t control.” He stops there, not wanting to elaborate and finds Shiro patiently waiting. Nothing expectant about his look, just...listening. It’s shocking how much Keith opens up beneath it. “So, I started spinning stories, like once I made one up about a kid who discovered he was part alien when his real mom found him and took him back to their home planet. In the morning I started drawing them and their adventures and it just...eased something inside of me.”

He doesn’t tell Shiro that kid was him but when his eyes drift to his clasped hands and his cheeks start to heat, he thinks it might be obvious.

Shiro leans forward a little, the toe of his shoe nudging against Keith’s until he looks up. “I think that’s really cool,” he says, soft and gentle.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, feeling way too vulnerable.

“Yeah, I mean, I get it. If I could draw I would’ve loved doing something like that during one of my stays at the hospital.” Shiro’s eyes are so clear Keith can see his reflection, small and awed. “Instead I just read comics made by gifted people like you.”

Snorting, Keith kicks at Shiro’s shin, hand rising to hide his blush. “Right,” he coughs, sorely needing to redirect. “So which ones were your favourite?”

And before he knows it, they’re off. Talking about all of their favourites; books, movies, and of course comics. Keith maintaining that Ghost in the Shell is a classic no matter how bad the live action movie butchered it. They both laugh, though neither can tell why they started in the first place.

“I guess that’s why we should probably talk about Sven, right?”

Keith blinks. He’d been so caught up in just talking, he’d completely forgotten why they were there in the first place. It’s not a date, he reminds himself.

“Right.” Leaning back for air, he runs a hand through messy hair. “What do you want to know?”

“Well...” Shiro rubs his jaw while he thinks. “Mostly I just want to know him from your perspective. Like who is he? What are the things that matter most to him?”

It’s been years since Keith’s thought of this stuff. Back when the idea of who he wanted these characters to be helped shaped their story. But now, so far along in the series, they’re like their own people, almost separate from Keith’s will. So, it takes him a while to gather his thoughts, feeling a tender warmth trickle through as he does.

“Sven’s...just a guy, yeah?” Keith starts, thoughtful. “He’s been thrown into this leadership role but he’s a natural. He’s strong and patient. He inspires greatness and he’s just...good, despite everything that’s happened to him.” He’s leaning now, both elbows on the table and hands gesturing as he speaks. “But he puts all this pressure on himself to be perfect. And he works too much. Sometimes he needs help but he’s too stubborn to ask for it which drives Akira crazy.” Keith pauses to chuckle. “Sven can be a bit of a nerd but he’s nice and smart and—”

He stops abruptly when he sees the look Shiro’s giving him. Defensively, his chin snaps up “—What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Laughing a little, Shiro edges closer, looking diffident when his cadence of voice goes soft. “I’m sorry it’s just—the way you talk about him...”

Horror splashes across Keith’s face, heat rising fast. More than once Pidge has teased him for being “totally gay for Sven.” Quickly, he crosses his arms and looks away.

But Shiro adds, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way...I think it’s sweet.”

Sweet.

Keith flushes harder and starts to curl inward. God, he’s done it now.

“Hey.” Light fingers graze the back of his hand. Unable to help himself, Keith looks into silver eyes so very close to his own. From here he can see the tiny flecks of black and white that make a shade of grey he doesn’t know how to name. Quietly he commits each one to memory.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro murmurs, a small frown starting to settle. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Keith melts at that. At first glance, Shiro’s kindness barely matches his bulky build, yet here he is, concerned he may have embarrassed Keith over a fictional character. Taking the time to comfort.

“No, it’s fine. You didn’t—”

“I really do love the series. I’ve never read an action comic where two men so openly love each other. It really touched me.”

Keith’s eyes widen and Shiro’s drop, cheeks glowing and blunt nails picking at the table. “It’s why I wanted to be a part of this movie. I...wanted to give kids like me someone to look up to.”

At a loss for words, Keith just gapes. When Shiro meets his eyes again they’re full and striking. “So, thank you, Keith. I’m honoured to be given this chance.”

“I—uh,” What does one even say to that? “—I am...too?”

It makes absolutely no sense, but he’s utterly destroyed. Not for the first time, Keith wonders how Takashi Shirogane can even be real.

Needing to do something besides flail helplessly, Keith clears his throat and fiddles with his phone. When Shiro asks him what time it is he recognizes it as Shiro’s attempt to change the subject for his pitiful sake.

“4:30! Really?” Shiro jolts in his seat, grabbing his own phone and flinching at whatever he sees. “Oh no. I’m so sorry Keith but I have to go. Allura asked me for this last-minute meeting with costume design and I couldn’t say no!”

Nodding his head, Keith tries to ease Shiro’s sudden panic. “Yeah, no, you should go.”

Shiro stands to collect his things, talking while packing. “Okay, I’m sorry to rush off, I just lost track of time.”

“Shiro it’s fine, really.”

After throwing on his jacket, Shiro pats his pockets, frantically checking everything’s where it should be. In all the commotion, his hair’s gone wiry and Keith has to grip the edge of the table to stop himself from trying to smooth it.

“Alright, I think I’ve got everything.” When Shiro glances up, his face pinches. Worrying over something before asking. “Do you mind if I call you sometime? I, uh, didn’t get to ask all my questions.”

“Right,” Keith frowns, “I guess we wasted most of our time.”

At that Shiro grins, a slow, devastating thing. “I wouldn’t call getting know to you a waste of time.”

With the amount of times he’s already blushed around Shiro it’s a wonder he’s not permanently red. This time he drops his head to hide behind his hair. “Yeah, you can call me.”

“Thanks, Keith. I’ll see you later, okay.”

Keith watches as Shiro leaves, winded and slightly nauseous. His name from Shiro’s lips wrapping solidly around his thudding heart.

“No, not like that!”

“Well, when you start talking about lube…”

“It’s for the arm, smart ass!”

Laughing loud enough for Shiro to hear in the next room, Keith leans against the wall, feeling at ease for the first time that morning. It’s the first day of shooting and they’re all a bundle of nerves. People on set are dashing by, props and costumes passing in a whirl. And here Keith stands, right where he wants to be.

Shiro had asked Keith to wait outside his dressing room, wanting to be the first to give him the full Sven reveal. Though he’s still sweating, this time talking with Shiro has been a blessing. Even if he can’t see him.

To his—probably inappropriate—delight, Shiro and him have kept in steady contact since their, not a date, coffee date. It’s been mostly through text and a couple group rehearsals, but they’ve quickly fallen into the kind of friendship it usually takes years for Keith to achieve, if ever. He yawns while smiling to himself over last night’s conversation.

Curled up on the couch and absently sketching in his notepad, he’d been surprised when his phone suddenly pinged.

is Sven a cat person?

Had come Shiro’s completely out of the blue text. Keith dropping his pencil and staring.

what?

I was thinking that the lions are like giant mechanical space cats right?
and Sven spent all that extra time trying to connect with the black lion
what if part of the reason was because he doesn’t know anything about cats?

Keith had to sit up fully. Reading Shiro’s quick succession of texts and thinking again,

what??

it’s just a thought

where is this coming from? Are you drunk?

No!
I just feel like Sven might not know how to act around cats

Keith had looked at Ruby dosing nearby, a black ball of fuzz with her little face smooshed into folded paws and snorted.

cats are easy
just feed them, pet them and give them space

To further his point, he sent a photo. Ruby’s ears forward and eyes shut as his hand stroked her fur.

see? I think Sven could figure it out

He hadn’t been expecting the slew of awww’s and subsequent request for more photos, but it’d been nice to finally have someone he could share all of his adorable cat pictures with. Even if they’d stayed up way too late doing it.

It’d also been a nice break from their more common topic; the movie. How rehearsals were going, set design, Keith’s still mostly hostile dealings with Lance. But one thing that Shiro’s refused to even hint at is Sven’s design.

Oh, Keith’s seen the sketches, approved a few wardrobe options and even seen a prototype of the bionic arm, but he hasn’t seen any of it on Shiro.

He’s stressing it. Or at least he had been until the obscene squelching noises started drifting from the open doorway and Shiro started complaining about how much they had to slick up his arm just to put the damn thing on.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We’re almost done in here and then we’ll see who’s laughing.” He sounds confidently smug. Which of course sends another bout of worry through Keith.

“Hey, there you are!”

Pidge appears around a corner, bounding up to greet him with an almost frenzied grin. Having come at Keith’s request for moral support, he’d lost her somewhere between the set and Shiro’s dressing room.

“Oh my god have you seen the lions? They’re animatronics, like, actual moving robots! Hunk programmed them, they’re seriously amazing.”

“Who’s Hunk?”

“The props master? How do you not know this?”

Thinking back, Keith’s pretty sure he remembers meeting a big Samoan guy who’d tried to talk technical shop with him at some point. Keith had been surprised to learn the lions of Voltron would only be about three feet tall then digitally resized post-production and it could possibly have been Hunk that started explaining all the benefits of that to him.

“I...think I remember him?”

“Sure,” she rolls her eyes, practically vibrating in place, “you’ve probably been too distracted by Sh—”

His hand clamps over her mouth so hard there’s an audible slap but he doesn’t have time to feel bad because Shiro suddenly calls from inside, “Alright I think we’re done. You guys ready out there?”

Pidge uses the momentary distraction to bite into his palm and Keith yelps as he lets go. Getting a pointed tongue wagged his way when she’s back a safe distance.

But he can only brood for so long before Shiro calls again, “Keith?”

“Uh,” he shakes himself, “yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Pidge’s impish eyes watch his every movement. “We’re ready.”

Then Shiro, who hadn’t really been waiting for confirmation, steps out of his dressing room and Keith’s vision narrows.

“Whoa—” he breathes.

At the same time, Pidge exclaims, “—Holy shit!”

And holy shit is right. Keith was not prepared for this. He knew that Shiro looked similar, knew about ten minutes after meeting him that he would make a flawless Sven, but this is something else entirely. If Keith had one of his comics in hand, he would literally hold it up beside Shiro’s image because he swears it’s as if Sven’s jumped from the very pages themselves.

Shiro’s hair’s been clipped, the front with an artificial piece of white that contrasts off the rest of his shorn black head beautifully. Across the bridge of his nose lies a scar, jagged edges never fully closed, tender red skin below. And his arm…

God, his right arm is unbelievable. Sleek silver metal tracing the contours of his arm, joints and black edging giving it a very real, very cybernetic feel. As Shiro moves, Keith almost expects to hear the whirring of circuitry, overuse of lube be damned.

He’s gawking. He knows he is but how else is he supposed to react? It’s finally starting to hit Keith in a very palpable way that this is actually happening. Beast King Lion is going to be a goddamn movie!

“You look so fucking cool,” Pidge shrieks, “oh my god!”

She’s started flitting about around Shiro, grabbing at his arm for closer inspection. Shiro laughs at her eager curiosity and dutifully turns his palm this way and that while she rattles off rapid-fire questions.

“Does this part actually move? How long did this take to make? Is it molded to your skin or...?”

Keith’s still rooted to the spot, still taking it all in. His eyes raking over Shiro’s body that’s revealed to him in a way it’s never been before. Large, defined biceps, smooth, sculpted chest, crazy thick thighs. He’s never wanted to high five his past self more than right now. Because past Keith’s decision to put Sven in these dark, skin-tight clothes was a stroke of fucking genius. The coil of heat that squeezes in his gut definitely agrees.

He doesn’t immediately notice that Shiro and Pidge have stopped talking until her body turns towards him. “Yo, Keith! You okay there?”

Head jerking up, his eyes snap to hers to see the barest hint of a smirk curve her lips before they pull back to Shiro. Watching the moment Shiro meets his gaze with a shy smile. “So...what do you think?”

If Keith even wanted to lie, he’d never be able to under a look like that. “Y-you look amazing,” he rasps.

“Yeah?” Shiro’s smile tentatively grows. “I do?”

It’s hard to hold back his panting but somehow Keith manages. “Yeah.”

At some point, the atmosphere shifted. What was once giddy nervousness is now something weighted, something that’s becoming a little more familiar between Keith and Shiro. A kind of bashful joy.

It plays on the edges of Shiro’s features as he looks to the ground before raising his eyes. As he searches Keith’s face and probably sees the same expression reflected back.

“Keith, Pidge, Shiro, there you all are!” Allura rushes up to the trio, a headset haphazardly placed around her head with her hands clutched tight on a clipboard. “Come on, we're about to start filming.”

Waving her arms in a sweeping motion to gather them up, they dutifully follow her lead. Past the dressing rooms and offices. Past the break room and craft table and into the studio with its grand open space holding the dreams of so many people. Shiro walks just ahead, next to Allura. The director giving him some last-minute instructions for his upcoming scene.

Just as the sound stage comes into view Keith feels a nudge against his side.

Pidge grins up at him, hooking her arm through his and not masking her mischief. “So, Shiro looks amazing, hmm?”

“Shut up.”

In the middle of the set stands a lot of people. Actors, grips, film crew, make up. Even Lance is there, standing next to who Keith is pretty sure must be Hunk.

“Alright everyone huddle up!” calls Allura.

Shoes scuff and there’s a lot of shuffling but eventually, they make it into a very large, very wide circle. Allura pulling Keith into the middle with her as he jerks in surprise to see Lotor on the other side. The man nods to him once before Allura speaks.

“First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for being here today.” She looks about, beaming at all of them like they’re her children. “We’ll be working closely and getting to know each other extremely well over the next few months and I’m so excited to finally start this journey. We’ve been tasked with not only making a movie but telling a story. A story about a group of people thrown together in the midst of war and becoming heroes. A story of found family and found love. Of bonds that can never be broken.”

Keith gazes around the circle, searching. When his eyes find his mark, he’s surprised to find Shiro already watching him, this intense look on his face. A fierce, blazing emotion that looks an awful lot like pride boring into him. The urge to look away begs to be obeyed but he can’t do it. He’s forever drawn towards him.

“I know with the crew we have and the friendships I see already forming, that together we can create something beautiful.”

A smile forms on those perfect lips. Shiro quirks his head Keith’s way and doesn’t even realize he’s stolen his breath.

“It takes more than just one person to see a vision through and I’m honoured to be accepting this challenge with all of you. Now let’s get out there and do something great.”

People cheer and clap. They break but Keith hardly notices, too entranced by the man that starts walking towards him. Even in a crowd, in full makeup and wardrobe plucked from his very head, Shiro’s still the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Maybe even more.

“So, I guess this it.” When he can’t answer, Shiro clarifies, “The first scene.”

“Uh...yeah.”

“Wish me luck?”

It’s said with a half smirk but it’s a little self-deprecating. Like he really believes he needs it, which is just—

“Break a leg, Shiro.”

Shiro’s eyes go wide and a little stunned at the tenderness Keith’s failed to keep in check. A moment later Keith realizes he’s somehow reached out to take Shiro’s hand and it’s altogether too much for either of them. Both parties jumping back with ruffled words and bright cheeks.

“Positions!” Allura shouts and without another word, Shiro turns, fumbling just a little as he stomps up a fake hill with its bright green screen backdrop.

A few seconds later and Keith’s recovered enough to stand behind the cameras, next to Pidge who’s in the wings with Hunk and Lance. Everyone eager to watch the beginning of it all.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Pidge whispers just before the lights go up and then Allura is yelling.

“Action!”

Shiro stands at the top of the hill, gazing out at an imaginary distance. He’s not really doing much but as Allura’s order rings through the air Keith sees the change. Suddenly it’s not Shiro but Sven atop that hill. Troubled eyes staring at his prosthetic hand with unspoken trauma.

James, completely morphed and looking every bit the Akira Keith always imagined, approaches from behind. A soft hand laid upon Sven’s shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back.”

And when Sven looks up, for a moment his brow easing when he sees Akira, Keith feels the buzz through his entire body.

It’s light and airy, a lot like hope.

For once, he wonders if maybe he no longer has to crush it down.

Keith sits in a corner. Seated on a block next to miscellaneous wires and equipment, far enough away so as not to be seen. He likes it back here. A quiet place to observe without being scrutinized or asked questions. Just a fly on the back of a very large wall.

On set, high and dangling on wires that look much too thin to hold their weight, the actors in full paladin armour spin. Keith snorts as he watches their flailing arms. It all looks kind of ridiculous without the scenery of space or any special effects and the yellow paladin is starting to look sick. Keith has no idea how they sell it so well.

By the fifth take Allura’s shouting, “cut,” and they all seem relieved to get their feet back on solid ground.

“Good work everyone. Let’s break for lunch.”

He’s planning on just slipping out, had only meant to stop by for an hour or so; just to check in he told himself. But as he stands the movement catches Shiro’s eye, his helmet now removed and floof of hair adorably disheveled.

“Keith!” he exclaims from across the stage, with more delight than has any business being directed at him.

But Shiro’s always like this. Always warm and always smiling. Always lighting Keith’s limbic system in an overload of mushy feelings that turn his brain to goo. So instead of responding with words he simply waves, but at least it’s lost its shyness after these past couple months.

The black and white armour is still a trip as he watches Shiro weave through crew members preparing for another scene. It was one of the first things Keith had designed back when Pidge stared over his shoulder in math class, whispering unsolicited advice.

“You just get here?” Shiro asks as he extends his hand, Keith clasping it and tugged forward so Shiro can grab above his arm with the other. It’s not a hug but it feels like something.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers, tingling in all the places Shiro’s soft palms touch. “I had a meeting earlier.”

“Oh?” Shiro’s eyebrows raise, close enough to see each, individual hair arched in unison. “For the movie or…”

“Actually, with Kolivan at BOM. We’re planning out the next issue of Beast King.”

Eyes getting big and childlike, Shiro’s tone rises in excitement. “Really?”

It’s too sweet, Keith dropping his gaze to fight off his charmed grin. “Mhm. I've been kind of inspired lately.” By you, he doesn’t say.

Shiro’s fingers squeeze, still holding onto Keith’s arm where he valiantly tries not to melt. “I can’t wait to read it.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, bumping his arm into Shiro’s side, “it’s gonna take a while so don’t get too excited.”

But Shiro smiles, voice warm and rich. “Impossible. Do you wanna grab lunch? I want to hear all about it.”

“Oh, I wasn’t really planning on—” He’s sure he shouldn’t. There’s really no reason for him to be spending so much time on set. Every day, Keith fears the crew must know why.

“Keith. Have you even eaten today?”

The chiding tone tightens Keith’s jaw. Shaking his head, Shiro drags him away without an answer. Each spending enough time in the other’s company for Shiro to know that Keith hasn’t and Keith is far too weak to ever deny a chance to bask in Shiro’s presence. As they exit into the bright afternoon, the bustle of people coming and going forces them to stay close.

Early on, Keith had wondered how a start-up company like Colony could afford to film on such a famous and extensive movie lot. Vrepit Sa studios had over fifteen sound stages, three Starbucks’ and more than a few high-end restaurants. The rent of one stage alone had to cost more than the total gross of Keith’s entire series. As it turned out, when Keith wondered aloud to Allura, Vrepit Sa was actually owned by Lotor’s father. None other than Dai Zarkon, one of Hollywood’s biggest names.

As if the task of turning his beloved comics into a movie wasn’t pressure enough, learning that Voltron (working title) was to be the first film of Colony Studios added an entirely new level. Suddenly seeing the tense face and furrowed brow lurking in the shadows made tons more sense.

Shiro leads him to one of the simpler cafes, more of a cafeteria for a crew who don’t make a ridiculous sum of money. They’re all more comfortable here, though Keith knows Shiro would fit right in with the actors and producers that frequent the higher establishments. Yet somehow, as he sits amongst the working class, marinara from his meatball sub dripping dangerously close to the crisp white wrist guards of armour, he fits here as well.

Conversation between them flows. Shiro needling Keith for any and all spoilers he’s willing to share and poor Keith trying really hard not to spill when Shiro derails him mid-sentence by reaching out to swipe his thumb against the corner of Keith’s mouth. Mind coming to a screeching halt when he lifts that thumb to his own mouth and laps at the sauce collected.

“You had a little…” Shiro murmurs, the metallic in his eyes attracting Keith like a moth to flame. A siren’s call he loses himself in.

It’s impossible not to gawk. Caught on a flash of pink tongue. Shiro looks to be a little stunned as well. Gaze locked on Keith’s bottom lip that he licks at unconsciously.

“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something,” Shiro starts, speech hoarse. “I was wondering, if maybe you might...want to grab a drink sometime...with me?”

Keith sucks in a breath, blinking and holding. Shiro can’t possibly mean—

“Hey guys, what’re we talking about?” Without warning Hunk’s bulky torso slides in beside them, oblivious to the inner scramble in Keith’s head.

He’s puzzling, trying to figure it out when he faintly says, more to himself than anything, “Drinks?”

“Drinks? Oh man, I could totally go for one right about now. Hey! We should go out tonight!”

“Ah, well…” Shiro clears his throat, suddenly looking alarmed. “Actually I—”

But Hunk’s not listening, already waving over the group across from them, “—hey McClain, Kinkade! Drinks tonight?”

“Heck, yeah,” Lance shouts back. “You know I’m in!”

“Awesome!” Hunk raises his fist triumphantly, turning back to Keith and Shiro. “So, what’d you two have in mind anyway?”

For the first time, he finally becomes aware of the two men before him. How Keith’s eyes are wide and bewildered and Shiro works his mouth in wordless sounds.

“I mean, unless you meant something else?”

There’s a moment. Where Shiro looks as though he’s finally found his voice. He skims Keith’s face, something trapped behind his teeth but then his head bows, eyes just a little bit dimmer. “No, I—that sounds good...”

If disappointment had hands, it’d write its truth across Keith’s heart. For a moment he could’ve sworn that Shiro might’ve been—

That he could’ve wanted—

“...I know just the place.”

“Great man, can’t wait!” Hunk exclaims, digging into his sandwich and going off about some upcoming film stuff he’s been stressing.

Shiro’s slumped a little, the mood changed, and Keith can’t tell why. Can only notice in the jerky way Shiro finishes lunch, avoiding the careful gaze Keith tries not to pin.

“Well, if we’re going out tonight,” Shiro says, sub finished and wrapper crackling in his fist, “I should probably rest for a bit.” He rubs the back of his neck, a tight grimace sitting ill on his face. “There’s, ah, that big scene to prepare for next and all.”

He pushes himself from the table, shoulders rounded. Keith frowns and reaches out, starts to ask what’s wrong but then Hunk’s cutting him off.

“Oh yeah, don’t wanna be in the wrong spot when that cruiser explodes.”

That steals Keith’s attention real quick, turning to Hunk, alarmed. “The what?”

“The space cruiser? You know, when the team takes out a Galra fleet? You wrote it, dude.”

Yeah, he did. But that was back when it was only drawings, not actual people. Not Shiro. “Can’t it just be CGI’d?”

Hunk hums, considering. “I guess? But it wouldn’t look as cool.” Then he chuckles, reading Keith’s clear distress. “It’s okay, it’ll be totally controlled.”

“C-controlled?” He’s spluttering, freaking out a little and turning to, “Shiro?”

But Shiro’s still stiff, arms crossed and looking uncomfortable. “Hunk’s right, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, but...”

“We’ve rehearsed it. A lot.”

Keith bites his lip, wants to keep at it but Shiro’s curt replies have him faltering. Whatever he does must look especially pitiful because Shiro shifts from his robotic stance, looks like he’s about to comfort but pulls back last second. Rubbing his neck again but voice considerably softer. “Keith don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

He sounds firm, assured. Enough that Keith wants to believe him.

In the background, they watch one of the techs from their crew shove two subs into their mouth at once. They’d laugh if not for the fact said tech could literally be responsible for Shiro’s life in short order.

“Really.” Shiro leans so he’s eye level, defeat from before looking slightly better as a tiny, reassuring smile replaces his frown. “We’ll be okay.”

And he’s so patient with Keith. So good. Squeezes his arm with the slightest of pressure.

So, Keith nods. Looks back to the guy grinning around too much food and watches crumbs fall like rain from his mouth.

When Shiro leaves, he misses the hesitant double look back.

Later, when he’s almost off the lot before realizing he left his sweater at Stage 8, he feels a series of buzzes in his pocket. Shiro’s name lighting up his lock screen.

hey so I’m kind of terrible at this
earlier at lunch I was actually trying to ask if maybe you wanted to go out with me
like on a date?

Keith spends several minutes just staring. Then several more reading each word a dozen times. Phone rattling in his shaking hands.

He wasn’t just imagining it. Shiro was actually asking him out?!

A myriad of emotions filter through, each too fleeting to grab at besides unimaginable joy and panic.

Holy shit.

wow I don’t know what to say

No! Keith, you idiot!!

yeah
I mean yes I would

Fuck. If he makes it out of this alive, he can never show Pidge these texts. But with the way his heart beats against its cage he’s not too sure he’s going to.

really? :)))

God, Shiro’s way too cute.

there’s actually this film festival next weekend
a movie I’m in is premiering
maybe you could be my date?

Yep. He’s dead. Things like this don’t happen.

Almost believing it’s some sort of joke, Keith inexplicably writes back.

sure sounds fun

with you there I think it will be

He can’t. Keith has to put down his phone and just breathe, just for a second. It’s all coming so fast his head whirls and his chest explodes and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this happy about anything.

I’m sorry to ask you over text
I just kept losing my nerve. I was worried if I didn’t do it now I never would

no don’t be

If Shiro were here right now to witness Keith’s fast spiral into disaster, he’d probably change his mind.

this is good

maybe we can make plans later?
I really do need to prepare for this scene

god yeah of course
don’t want you to blow yourself up

I won’t scouts honor
thanks Keith

stop go do what you need to do
I’ll see you later

;)

Keith’s never swooned more at a winky face in his life.

His feet find their way back to the sound stage all on their own. Birds chirping and golden rays spilling across his shoulders an odd contrast to the mess of jitters pinging through his body. It’s going to take a while for this to fully sink in, but right now it feels as though the world spins just for him.

And promptly wobbles on its axis a moment later as he slips into the mostly empty building to retrieve his sweater. Empty but for the two people arguing in the middle. Allura and Lotor.

Her jaw’s set and screaming tense as she trades tight words with the immovable man in front of her. Lotor stands with his arms crossed, exterior cool but for a blaze in his eyes. Keith can’t hear everything that’s being said. Only catches the end the closer he gets.

“Allura, you’re asking too much.”

“I am not. Nothing’s changed since we first discussed this.”

“Yes, but now—”

“Now nothing,” Allura seethes, temper flaring. “Voltron is my project.”

Lotor drops his hands, a purposeful step taking him close, where he squints into Allura’s face with unblinking intensity. “Make no mistake. It may be your project, but it is still my money. I wouldn’t want you to lose your place over something so trivial.”

“Lotor, you—”

Keith clears his throat, the threatening way Lotor looms over Allura unsettling him. Both of them step back, temporarily knocked off course to see they’re not alone. “Uh,” he starts, “is everything okay?”

It’s Lotor that recovers first, glancing at Allura in unspoken communication. “Yes, everything’s fine. If you’ll excuse me.”

And then he’s gone. Lost between shadows and cavernous walls.

“Allura?”

She’s trembling where she stands, clenched fists shaking at her side. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she says before she too makes an escape. Nothing but the click of her heels echoing sharp and with purpose.

Normally Keith would know a red flag when he sees one, but his phone is currently burning a hole in his pocket. The need to go home and ensure Shiro actually asked him out very real. Then there’s figuring out what the hell he's supposed to do from here.

On second thought, maybe he’ll show Pidge after all.

This was a bad, bad, bad idea.

Why the fuck did Keith agree to this?

Sounds like fun? A film festival?

Shiro had assured him it wasn’t a big deal. That it wasn’t one where people were expected to dress up and parade around. But there is a red carpet. And there are people calling out to those who walk it. Keith had frozen the moment he saw them, caught like a deer in the literal headlights of flashes and handheld camera equipment.

And Shiro—perceptive, present, phenomenal Shiro—had taken Keith aside and given him the out he so desperately needed.

“It’s okay,” he’d soothed, “I can just meet you inside if you’re too uncomfortable.”

Despite Keith’s protests that he could do it, Shiro had insisted. “We’re supposed to have fun tonight right?”

And so, Keith relented, not that it’d been difficult to convince him. No one wanted to talk with him anyway. Not when the man beside him looked like he belonged on the cover of People Magazine’s Most Beautiful issue.

When Shiro had picked him up that evening it’d taken a Herculean effort for Keith to fetch his heart from his throat, flailing to find anything close to resembling the type of compliment he deserved. Gold and glittering in a pressed blue suit with open collared shirt, Keith had nearly died on sight. Shiro’s lightly tousled hair, his strong, clean-shaven jaw, the white handkerchief neatly folded in his breast pocket. All small details that added to Keith’s demise.

Now, hiding behind a heavy gold curtain inside the theatre, watching Shiro wave and smile through the window, he still hasn’t found a way to properly describe him.

Striking. Gorgeous. Divine.

The words don’t cut it.

“Takashi!” shouts a woman on a monitor playing in the lobby. A live feed from the event. “Takashi Shirogane, over here!”

On screen, Shiro smiles, salutes her way while posing for one last picture before going over. He extends a hand in greeting and Keith’s pretty sure that’s not a common gesture in this type of setting.

“Call me Shiro.”

“Nadia Rizavi, E!News. Shiro, I have to say I love the new look.”

Rather than spend an hour each day just in hair, Shiro had decided to actually dye the front of his hair white to match Sven. You’d think it would look ridiculous outside of anime but once again, Shiro defies convention.

“Thanks. It’s for another movie.”

“The comic book adaptation, right? How’s it going?”

“Yeah, Beast King Lion. And it’s been going really well, thanks. I’ve been having a lot of fun.”

“You have any juicy gossip for us? Any fights on set?”

Shiro laughs. “No. Nothing like that. For the most part, I think we all get along. I’ve been lucky—” Here he pauses, eyes down as a private smile blooms across his face, tone a little more reverent than before. “—I’ve met some pretty incredible people.”

From inside, Keith’s chest flutters.

“It’s said this could be your break out role. How do you feel about that?”

“Right now, I’m just focused on staying true to the character. All I want is to make something I’m proud of and hopefully something that people will love.”

And then he smiles that blinding smile. The one that parted clouds and moved mountains the first time Keith saw him. It’s as decimating now as it was then.

The reporter makes an exaggerated sweep of her eyes. “Well if this is a preview of what’s to come, I think many will approve.”

“Thanks, Nadia.”

The screen switches to another reporter, another story and Keith turns his eyes back to the carpet. Sees the way Shiro laughs, charms and wins everyone over, making it look so simple, so effortless. Almost like he was born for it.

It’s kind of hard to believe Shiro’s just getting into acting. Keith’s seen him work and he’s a natural. Over the course of their friendship, he’s alluded to his illness once or twice. Talked about the ways the degenerative disease would’ve made acting impossible. Shiro being here now, living his dream, is a miracle. That he wanted Keith at his side for such a moment, an honour.

While lost in thought, Keith also loses him. Gelled dark hair disappearing from view. He stretches to his toes, searching the crowd but there’s nothing. He cranes his neck higher, overbalancing and stumbles back. Shoulders hitting a solid wall of flesh behind him.

“Careful,” Shiro cautions lowly in his ear, wide hands grabbing Keith’s hips to keep him steady and sizzle where they lie. Slowly they turn him around to where Shiro gazes, unabashed. Freezing Keith like a butterfly pinned beneath glass.

“Thanks,” Keith swallows, thermoregulation off the charts as he flushes hot then cold. Shiro’s so large, so close. “You’re, uh...kind of a big deal, huh?”

When Shiro chuckles, his eyes squint. Lips shining in the lights still flashing outside. “Naw, not really.”

“No? I think I heard ‘the next big thing’ at one point.”

Shiro huffs. “That’s just blowing things out of proportion. I’m just me...like how you once described Sven. I’m just a guy, you know?”

And maybe, Keith thinks as Shiro crowds in, every mark on his face in crystal focus. Maybe he is.

Past the looks and the talent and all the hidden things Keith wants to do to him, Shiro’s really not so untouchable. He’s the guy that could talk for hours on end about the superiority of the USS Enterprise over the Millennium Falcon. The guy that texts Keith every day asking for pics of his beloved Ruby. The guy who once ate an entire box of Oreos in one sitting while Keith watched on in horror. And still, he’s the first person Keith thinks about every morning.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, dangerously close to leaning in. “I guess so.”

In front of him, Shiro’s eyes flick down. “You look good tonight,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His eyes flitting across Keith’s face like he’s working himself up for something just as the lights in the lobby flicker to signal the start of the film.

Keith lingers. They both do. Long enough to feel sparks between their bodies and a deep-seated need to close that gap. Almost long enough to forget why they’re there entirely, but somehow, Keith remembers.

“C’mon,” Keith says softly. Fingertips brushing against Shiro’s wrist and trailing far enough to grab his hand, letting them twine. “We probably shouldn’t miss your own movie.”

Opening his mouth like he might protest, Shiro tightens his hold, still clinging to Keith’s waist. Something tender and unspoken in those steel grey eyes. “Okay,” he whispers after a beat. And then he grins. “If you insist.”

As they walk through the theatre, they never let go. Each point of contact calming yet setting Keith on fire.

He’s never felt like this before.

Nothing’s ever come close.

When he first sees Shiro appear on screen it’s a strange sensation. To see the man beside him, always immaculately dressed, looking slovenly in khaki shorts and a neon, hooded muscle tank, backwards hat shoved over greasy black hair. He’s a frat boy, the older brother of the main protagonist.

Keith has to keep stealing glances between the Shiro beside him and the one on film, trying to reconcile the difference. It’s not bad—those tank tops really showcasing Shiro’s “assets”—but it’s blowing his mind a little. He knew Shiro could act, has seen it for himself, but there’s a difference between watching him play a character that was practically written for him (see: Sven) and this. But the looks back and forth only go for so long before he’s totally engrossed.

It’s a small part but Shiro plays it so, so well. Not so much stealing the show but enhancing it. Making the scenes and his co-stars better just by being in it. By the time the film ends, witnessing it is more than entertainment, it’s a privilege.

Keith’s stunned. Just sits there looking at nothing until Shiro has to clear his throat. He’s about to say something when a woman from the movie leans over the back of their chairs, her head popping right in between them.

“Congratulations Shiro, you were wonderful.”

He smiles, glancing at Keith who’s finally shaken from his stupor, concern hiding behind those upturned lips. Keith wonders when he learned to read those details so well.

“Thank you, Ellen.”

“I hate to do this when you’re—” her eyes point to Keith apologetically, “—but they want the whole cast for a quick interview.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

She gives them both a quick nod, pats Shiro’s shoulder in something like motherly affection then makes herself scarce. Her retreating back a blip against the grandeur of the old theatre Keith’s just now noticing. Red and gold everywhere. Accents upon accents. Sucked into their splendour.

Beside him, Shiro coughs and he turns in time to see the amused grin he tries to hide. “You’ll be okay by yourself for a bit?”

“Uh-huh,” Keith replies, eyes still trying to track all the details he’d missed.

Shiro chuckles lowly, “Okay then, I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

He’s staring up at the ceiling. A goddamn mural is on the ceiling. Right next to a glittery, dripping with crystals chandelier that must be at least ten feet in diameter. He’s watching the way the light refracts off each surface, tiny spots of coloured beams twinkling against the walls. Then he feels it, the lightest pressure against his temple. Feathery warmth of breath and brushing lips across his skin. His eyes widen, goosebumps spreading as he realizes that Shiro just—he just—

When he finally whips around for confirmation, all he sees is the edge of Shiro’s jacket slip behind the doorway. An incredibly agile man for someone so built but Keith knew that already. Still, he blushes, resists the urge to wrap his arms around his middle and squeal like a pre-teen.

At least he still has some dignity.

The details of the theater completely lose their charm after that. Keith gathers his wits and makes his way to the lobby. Not sure what to do and not wanting to just sit on the stairs he wanders, checking out the old movie posters hung on its walls.

All the classics are there, Gone with the Wind, Citizen Kane, The Godfather. The posters are huge, best viewed from at least several feet back. When he spies the poster of The Wizard of Oz, Keith recognizes it immediately. Once, when he was ten, he’d stayed in temporary housing while the state tried to figure out what to do with him. He remembers this poster hung in a room he’d shared. Remembers staring at it and wondering what it was about, wondering if he’d ever have a family to watch it with. It turns out he never did.

As he reaches out with some unknown compulsion to feel the glass beneath his hand, he gets the sensation of being watched. Skin prickling, hairs raising. Sure enough, when his stinging eyes shoot up, they catch Shiro, leaned against the wall with one of the softest looks Keith’s ever seen on his face.

Immediately, his hand pulls back and he splutters into a fist, blinks to make sure no moisture has escaped.

“That’s one of my favourites,” Shiro says, coming up beside him now that he’s been caught.

Keith, still a little shaken, coughs again, attempts to keep his voice level but it’s noticeably rough. “I’ve, ah, never seen it, actually.”

“Really?” Both dark eyebrows in front of him rise to the sky. It feels over exaggerated, more for Keith’s benefit but he’s only grateful. “That’s terrible, my grandpa would’ve been horrified.”

It makes him snort. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm, he used to say there was nothing better than the classics. He’d go on and on about everything. Books, music, movies…” here he trails off, eyes lighting up and smile slowly creeping across his face. “Hey, can I take you somewhere?”

“Sure,” Keith shrugs, intrigued but also a little worried about that giddy look, “as long as it’s not another nerd bar.”

It’s funny how fast that smile shifts to one of total confusion. “Nerd bar?”

Smirking, Keith prompts, “The one you dragged everyone to last week? With all the board games?”

Shiro gasps, eyes gone wide and insulted, “What? That place is great! And I’ll have you know, Monsters and Mana is not a board game.” He crosses his arms. “It's a role-playing game...with pencils and papers.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Whatever, we were there for over five hours and somebody’s character kept dying.”

“Well,” Shiro sniffs, “I thought it was great for team building. I bet everyone else had a good time.”

Staring straight on, Keith tries for his best deadpan impression, pleased when Shiro starts to crumble.

“....Didn’t they?”

Instead of an answer, he cocks his head, can only hold a blank face for so long before it breaks into a grin, little snicker of a laugh cut off when Shiro pushes him with twitching lips.

“Jerk.”

“Fine, I’m kidding. It was fun.” Keith shoves him back. Sees a sad, pouty look start on Shiro’s face and loses all self-awareness just to see it disappear. “Shiro, you know I’d follow you anywhere.”

Aaaand, that’s probably too much truth. Reflexively he drops his face to hide behind his hair but like an idiot, he actually tried styling it and the spray holds firm. His cheeks flame up and there’s nowhere to turn so he practically sprints towards the door without looking back. “Where are we going anyway?”

Only a few skipped beats and Shiro bounds after him, cool fingers slipping between each of his shocked digits.

“You’ll see,” Shiro says and when Keith gets the courage to look up the sun behind bathes him in an unearthly glow, gentling his smile and hazing his eyes. Incinerating Keith’s poor, disfigured heart.

Shiro takes him to another themed bar but this one pays homage to the “Golden Age of Hollywood.” Similar to the theater, there are movie posters all around but here they’re accompanied by headshots of famous actors, some of them signed. They sit at the bar with large marquee words lighting their drinks as Shiro talks about his grandparents. About how they would come here once a month and dance to the music of an almost forgotten era. As he speaks, Keith can see it in the couples around them. They’re easily the youngest but somehow it adds to the charm.

And Keith is so very charmed.

He’s charmed at the way Shiro scooches closer when he thinks Keith’s not looking. At the way his lips curl up, but he valiantly tries to fight them when their fingers brush and neither moves back. Now Keith traces the pads of his fingertips through pooling condensation, pleasantly buzzed after his second whiskey sour. He’s in the perfect zone, nerves gone, and loosening warmth left in its place.

On stage there’s a band playing covers, Keith humming along when they play their third Frank Sinatra song of the night.

“This was my grandma’s favourite,” Shiro says, half-lidded eyes glued to Keith’s face for the past ten minutes. “Dance with me?”

It’s so easy to say yes. To let Shiro lead him by the hand and place his other on the body he’s lusted over for months. Without his jacket, Shiro is a vision. His button shirt undone enough to hint at sharp collarbones, sleeves rolled up and parallel lines broadening his chest. If Keith had a few more drinks and lot more courage he’d pillow his head there and never leave. As it is, he’s finding it hard not to bury himself in the crook of Shiro’s neck but then he’d miss the face that’s looking at him in silent awe.

“I wish,” Shiro speaks in a hush while they turn on the floor, “they were still here.”

Keith lifts his eyes, peering through lashes at Shiro’s fine features dusted in the rose. “To see you act?”

Shiro hesitates. “Maybe that too.”

The crashing of Keith’s heart must be felt through both their chests, pressed as they are together. Shiro chews his lip, Keith faltering at the sight of how near they are, how each shallow indent leaves a mark behind.

“You never told me what you thought.”

“Hmm?” Concentrating is getting hard.

“Of the film. Was it...okay?”

Keith blinks. Slowly easing back but not grasping. Okay? He has to stare at the now unsure look that’s staring back. He shakes his head, mystified. “Shiro...”

How does he even convey what he thinks, what he feels? He must wrestle with himself enough that Shiro starts to worry, shifting and looking at Keith with his big, sweet eyes.

God, how can he not see that he’s worth all the hype? For Keith, it all comes rushing out.

“Shit, Shiro. You were so fucking good.”

The absurd man doesn’t look like he believes it. “Yeah?”

“Yes, duh!” Keith gets in his face, completely serious when he exclaims, “How do you not know how incredible you are?”

Shiro’s cheeks tick and go dark but still, he tries, “W-well, I don’t know about that.”

“Stop.” Ceasing his dancing, Keith grabs those burning cheeks, probably harder than intended but Shiro needs to know. “I will fight anyone that doesn’t believe in you. Including yourself, you hear me?”

Mouth now agape it's clear Shiro’s totally shocked by this visceral display. “K-Keith?”

But it’s important he listens. If Keith can do one thing for Shiro, it’s tell him how special he is. “You’re amazing! You’re so gifted and brilliant. You deserve every good thing. Believe it!”

His eyes are liquid, so sterling they look like pools reflecting starlight. Shiro reaches up to grab Keith’s hands within his own, voice so soft it barely registers. “You too.”

Keith falters, words lodged, stuck for good. The quiet between them a line that starts to blur. That slowly bleeds until there’s nothing left but a yearning that turns magnetic. Both men pulled unconsciously forward.

“Keith...can I…?”

The rest Keith swallows. Claims with his lips and if Shiro’s surprised he doesn’t let on, pushing in with urgency all his own. Kissing soft and pliant and moulding into a perfect, pressing shape.

Like flint against sparking steel, they ignite. Lips fluttering, tongues sweeping. Gasps filling their hearts to burst. Taking all that Keith is and all that he wants and laying it bare.

They’re breathless, dizzy. Each so deliriously punch drunk their curling lips break them apart because they just can’t help it.

”Keith,” Shiro breathes, giving so much meaning behind one word. A heavy hand toying with the ends of Keith’s hair. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Keith grins so large that it almost hurts. “Yeah?”

The hand slides back, gently weaving through strands to grip at the base. To tilt Keith’s head and kiss and kiss and kiss. Want and longing running free.

Soon enough their surroundings seep in, current actions less than appropriate given their location. They laugh self consciously together, foreheads resting, noses nuzzling, and begin to sway. Letting the music along with their laboured breaths speak for themselves. Held in each other’s arms secure. Right.

Finally, Keith lets his head drop. Tucks himself into Shiro’s orbit and floats. Dancing until his feet hurt and even longer after that.

When Shiro finally asks to take him home they both already know the answer.

They barely make it through the door before Keith’s lifted, mouths disconnected for only a second as Keith wraps his legs around narrow hips. When they make it to bed Shiro’s weight pins him to the mattress. Careful nips and bites trailing down Keith’s jaw.

Keith’s too desperate to realize he’s in Shiro’s space, his room. Too desperate to do much but paw at the buttons of Shiro’s shirt when he crouches back to disrobe. Fabric slipping from taught shoulders and exposing his lovely, bare torso to hungry eyes.

Keith’s hands move on their own, sweeping down his sternum. “I can’t believe you’re real.” Fingers drag along curving muscle. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve made you up.”

Dark eyes turn deep. Shiro leaning over to settle his heat and smooth Keith’s palm above his heart. The powerful muscle beating wildly.

Slowly, Keith arches up. Pressing his mouth and his chest, their hands clasped between them and holding on for dear life.

“I’m here,” Shiro says. Gaze binding, lips brushing. “I’m real.”

Two days later and Keith almost skips onto set. The morning is beautiful. Clear skies, warm weather and Keith’s old bike had driven like a dream. The months of disuse doing nothing to hamper the way it purred beneath him. His hair’s tousled, eyes wild. Alive.

It helps that he hasn’t seen Shiro since the morning after a date so perfect he’ll remember it forever. The anticipation to see him again building since Shiro kissed him stupid on the porch while saying goodbye. Their time apart filled with texts and calls and so much fluff Keith wonders what’s happened to himself.

But he knows.

Feels it in the way his skin still tingles. Sees it in the fading bruises around his neck and thighs.

He’s in such high spirits he doesn’t notice the somber mood or nervous double takes he gets while walking in. He’s later than he wanted to be, filming already in progress.

Today’s the big day. The day they put to film the most important part of his entire series. The culmination of everything.

Shiro and James are already fighting as Sven and Akira, each opting out of stunt doubles for such an emotionally charged scene. Sven is under the witch Haggar’s control, has lured Akira to a clone facility on some distant moon. Has lost all autonomy and turned on his comrade, his friend, his something else neither has admitted to...yet.

Keith can’t wait to see the confession play out. Is dying to witness the moment Akira’s love saves Sven from the brink.

He’s oblivious to Pidge coming up behind him, arms outstretched before Hunk pulls her back. She squirms but he holds tight, Keith too entranced in the sight of Shiro before him. Towering over James and arm painted green along with a foamy green stick to symbolize the neon sword of Sven’s Galra tech arm. He stands over a beaten Akira, raises his weapon and swings down a blow Akira barely manages to meet.

Crazed eyes full of blood lust. Fangs bared.

Akira struggles to hold and this is it. The moment he spills his heart.

“Sven, please,” he starts. Keith’s pulse going mad for the next line. “You’re my brother.” That’s...not right. “I love you.”

It’s—

It’s not fucking right.

Sven’s eyes ease for a second, almost like he’s gotten through, but his lips pull back and he doubles down.

“Just let go, Akira. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

He continues but Keith doesn’t hear it. Can’t hear anything against the sickening lurch of his stomach and the way his insides clench.

Akira was supposed to say he loves him.

But not as a family. Not as a fucking brother.

It was supposed to set Sven free.

Instead, they fight. Keith watching in growing shock as they mimic what looks to be Akira cutting off Sven’s arm. One last uttered, “Akira,” before bright lights flash and someone yells, “cut.”

It’s deathly quiet.

Usually, after a scene, there’s clapping or movement or something. But this is a graveyard. Everyone is lifeless.

“What the fuck?”

Except for Keith.

Collectively they all look to where he stands, half hidden in shadow. Anger rising. Fists tight.

“What the fuck…” This time he shouts it. Sees the way the actors on set, Shiro—wide eyed and alarmed—included, flinch at the sound. “...was that?!”

He whips his head around, heart pounding, frantically searching for someone to answer. Allura, maybe.

Instead, it’s Lotor. The man Keith hasn’t spoken to in months, that steps to him. Grabs him by the arm and attempts to drag him away. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”

“No! Let go of me!” Keith shoves him, hard. Breath caught and head spinning. “Where’s Allura?”

“I’ll explain outside—”

“Where the fuck is Allura?”

The director's seat is filled, but not by her. The woman in her place looking frightened as Keith spins past Lotor, each forward step echoing violence.

“That’s not what happens,” Keith shouts, trembling finger pointed.

Two more steps and he’s not thinking just acting when Hunk and Pidge jump in front. Hands up and terrified.

“Keith, don’t.” Pidge pleads. Her scared face only twisting him further. Why doesn’t she see?

He can’t stop, not when it’s so wrong. Turning back to Lotor, he straightens up. Stretching to full height and glaring.

“Akira tells Sven he loves him. They fucking love each other. That’s what breaks the spell!”

Lotor eyes him in cool disregard, has been doing so since the first but now he sneers. “If you don’t calm down, I’ll have you removed.”

“Allura said she wouldn’t change anything, she promised she’d never. Allura—”

Bright eyes narrow. “—Is no longer with us and you have no say. You sold the rights the moment our contract was signed.”

“What?” All the blood rushes out, wild madness all that’s left. “No. That’s not—” he starts to shake. “—this is my fucking story!”

Lotor’s arms flex like he wants to strike in the face of Keith’s storm, but his voice is level. “This is a business. We tested your story with audiences and it made many uncomfortable. A change had to be made. We’re not here to lose money.”

Keith’s shaking his head. It’s not about the money. It’s never been about that. He knew. Allura knew.

“You fired her.” It’s quiet until it’s not. Until Keith gets in his face with fire in his lungs and yells. “She wouldn’t change it, so you fired her!”

The mask breaks for just a second. Smoldering eyes glaring at Keith and teeth bared. “Allura didn’t have what it takes.”

If Keith could see straight, he might be worried by the way Lotor’s grabbed his shirt but all he sees is red. Someone gasps.

Blinking to himself, Lotor steps back, heaving a breath to compose himself. He smoothes Keith’s shirt and says in quiet malice. “You have no reason to be here. I suggest you leave before I call security.”

And when he turns to walk away, Keith lunges. An inferno of fury choking on wrath, but unyielding arms yank him back. Lifting him from the ground while he fights and howls.

“Keith, stop. You’ll only regret it.”

Shiro’s presence doesn’t calm him as it should. Not after what Keith just saw. “Get off me!” He’s nothing but instinct, a feral animal thrashing for escape. “I said get off!” Blindly throwing back his head, his skull connects with something solid.

Shiro grunts. “Not until you stop fighting.”

Something in his tone forces Keith limp. His blaze receding enough to feel drops on his collar. When Shiro releases him, he turns to see blood oozing from Shiro’s nose, scarlet and awful. Instant regret pierces through him but it’s weak against his anger. His hurt.

He stumbles back, can hardly look at Shiro. The lines of his face, the pinch of his eyes. He looks concerned, troubled. Wounded.

“You agreed to this?” Keith asks, not fighting how the words tremble.

The deep lines of Shiro’s face get wider. “Keith—”

Keith swallows, fissure cracking down his ribs. “Did you know?... When we—”

“No.” Shiro’s aghast. White as a sheet and moving towards him but Keith can’t bear it. “Keith, please.”

Faces loom around them. The cast, the crew. Everyone there to witness Keith’s break down. Pidge’s face swims into view and it’s heartbroken. Each emotion Keith feels reflected in hazel eyes that cut him. Shiro’s getting closer but Keith can’t let him touch.

He turns and runs. Breaks through the exit and doesn’t stop. Pieces of him ripped away with every mistake he’s ever made. Every fuck-up that lead him to this.

Jumping on his bike, Keith tears through the lot. Lets the wind build around him and whip through his hair. Lets it scream down his ears and fill the shattered cavity of his chest.

Onward he drives and doesn’t look back. Through a city as vain as the people that live there and up the mountain road to see it from above.

Tiny. Insignificant.

Just like him.

It’s a long, long time before he comes back down.

Keith, I’m sorry

where are you?

please tell me you’re okay

The messages sit heavy on his phone. Keith taking his frustrations out on a punching bag because all these cowards left in the gym won’t fight him anymore.

He hears a ping and hits the thing harder. Wishes he could rip it from the ceiling.

He hasn’t returned a single text. Not from Coran, not from Pidge.

Not from Shiro.

Those he hasn’t even looked at. He’s seen the name. Seen the little heart Pidge added just before their date and feels the shards of it pierce him. More than anything, it’s the absence of Shiro that hurts like hell, but he’s tied so close to the mangled corpse of Voltron it’s hard to separate them.

Even now, with his worried messages lying unread, Keith can see him as Sven. Leaning over Akira and speaking words Keith never wrote. Devaluing their love, Keith’s work, and his livelihood.

The bag sways back and forth. Jittering like the nerves inside that haven’t stopped in over five days. He’s beaten, he’s tired. He’s devastated.

So, the punches continue. Fighting the only thing that takes enough focus to stop his mind from replaying ever horrible thought.

“Bad day?”

The small voice behind makes him falter. His eyes falling shut and whole-body tensing.

“How did you find me?”

Pidge snorts. “Please, you’re predictable.”

If she’s expecting a response, she doesn’t get it. Keith can hardly manage to breathe these days.

The quiet gym is mostly empty. It’d been full before he got there. Before the wrecking ball disaster of his life came crashing through. From the corner of his eye, he can see coach Iverson heave a sigh of relief at Pidge’s entrance. He ushers out the remaining stragglers and then the gym is theirs.

“Are you...okay?”

A bitter laugh would be better than what he gives. Wheezing a sort of choke that scrapes past raw vocal chords.

“So...not, then.”

Keith fights his first instinct. To whirl and yell and push Pidge away until she won’t come back but that’s never worked with her. He raises his arms half an inch and lets them drop. Allows his worn-out spirit to show in the slow way he turns about face.

“Should I be?” he asks. Maybe to the universe at large.

She doesn’t answer. Just takes one look at his knuckles bleeding from the seams of his wraps and takes them in her hands.

“Idiot,” she softly chides and pulls him over to the nearest bench.

Gently, she starts to unwrap the bandage, takes her time and clicks her tongue at every pained noise that escapes. Quietly cleaning each wound with steady care. It’s meditative for both of them. Keith’s heart aligning to a natural rhythm for the first time in what feels like forever. They don’t speak but her unwavering trust shines in the silent way she works, tending over more than just his physical damage.

After all is said and done, Keith’s hands swabbed and disinfected, his swollen skin wrapped in tensors, he takes a breath and meets her gaze.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Pidge says with stable eyes and surer hands.

He’s reminded of all the times she’s done this before. Bandaged him up and said these words. She wasn’t wrong then but now it feels like she might be.

Ruefully he huffs. “Sure.”

“No.” She’s fierce with it. Tips her head and locks her jaw. “We will.”

Arguing. He can’t muster the energy required to do it. Breaking eye contact, Keith hauls himself up, searching for his bag. A towel comes first, wiping at his face and chest and hanging his head as listless as the cloth he drapes over it.

“Have you talked to him?”

His throat constricts. Bottled water spilling from his lips. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Pidge.”

Handing Keith his jacket, she catches his forearm. “Look, there’s something—” she chews her cheek in hesitation “—you should really talk to him.”

But heavy bones make it hard to think, to care. He pries himself free, throws his bag across his back and turns away. “I just...can’t, right now.”

Every step feels laboured, leaden. The glass of the storefront revealing his friend’s reflection as he nears the exit. Standing torn with the fingers of her hands still grasping the place his arm had been.

He drops his head, fist placed against a heavy door and grimace tight. “You coming?” he finally calls, pushing out and leaving the door to swing in his wake. The briefest flash of relief clearing Pidge’s brow.

She follows him home and sets up the couch with pillows, blankets and a veritable display of snacks by the time he’s out of the shower. Not even giving him the option of ducking out as she drags him towards it and brings up Netflix, searching for anything sci-fi they haven’t already seen.

Once settled and show picked, Pidge gets comfy. Burrowing into the nest of blankets until she’s humming in satisfaction. Keith though, keeps himself rigid, as if the slightest movement might upset their tenuous balance. But all of that shatters the instant Ruby hops into his lap and Pidge leans against him to lavish her in love, their combined heat melting into his icy chill. Soaking through the meat of him.

It doesn’t quite reach his core but it’s a start.

They don’t talk of Shiro, or the film, or Beast King. They don’t talk of much at all. Just exist in the bubble of his living room and make fun of the show's gaping plot holes and cheesy effects.

When it’s time to leave, Pidge attacks with a surprisingly protective hug. Somehow wrapping every inch of her shorter limbs until he feels engulfed. Cradled into the one person who’s never let him down. As she picks her way towards Matt’s car and into a brilliant, late evening sun, Keith starts to think that maybe she could be right. Maybe they will get through.

Except that it’s never that easy.

A half hour later, he’s searching for Ruby. The cat never misses a meal and it’s a wonder she’s not dogging his every step. He’s clearing through a pile of junk she likes to sleep in when he comes across the gift Pidge and her family gave him the first day Beast King Lion was released. A framed copy of issue one with the words, go get ‘em tiger, written in her messy scrawl.

The reminder throbs like the rest of him.

Another couple hours sequestered in an apartment with stark white walls baring their emptiness and he’s back to square one. Already planning tomorrow around hitting the gym—maybe after a lengthy run—when there’s a knock at the door. It’s late and it can’t be Pidge again.

A sinking feeling and something like dread grips Keith’s gut.

“Keith?”

Even softly through the door, Shiro’s voice stakes his desiccated heart.

Traitorously, his body moves on its own, Keith’s pathetic weakness an automatic response. Hand twitching and foot raised before memory snaps, chest seizing as he stumbles.

“Are you there? Please...I just want to know you’re alright.”

He’s not. The hot pain leaves him crippled.

“I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be here, but I can’t—please let me explain.” The words are wavering, their rending vibrations destroying. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know about the change until that morning. And I tried, I—Lotor said he’d replace me, he...said he’d make sure I never worked again.”

Like a sudden hand in the dark, Keith’s ripped from his spiraling grief. All of it forgotten in anger. Lotor can ruin Keith’s comics and drag him through shit but to do that to Shiro?

“I thought maybe if I did it his way, I could convince him later. I thought—fuck, I don’t know—I shouldn’t have gone through with it. You trusted me and I betrayed you...I’m so sorry.”

Outrage dies as quick as it came, doused in the monsoon of Shiro’s agony, his delicate heart cracked and bleeding.

Keith inches a little closer.

“I left Voltron. I won’t do it like this, I can’t. I don’t expect you to forgive me and if you never want to see me again that’s fine. I just wanted you to know that I—I miss you. You mean so much to me...” There’s a break in his voice, a thunk at the door. Hard weight collapsing against it.

Inside, Keith’s mind is shredding. Feelings, thoughts. Everything warping. Shiro can’t mean it, it can’t be true—his career, his dream—he can’t be that stupid.

The silence stretches, Keith not realizing it's gone way past comfortable. Only a sniff and a quiet, “okay,” finally breaking him free.

The door rattles on its hinges.

Shiro pushing off. Shiro leaving.

He’s at the door and ripping its handle before he’s aware. Blood pumping.

“Shiro, wait!”

Only a few feet away, Shiro whips around in alarm. Bloodshot eyes and purple bruising lined beneath, crooked beanie falling off. He’s a mess.

A hot, terrible, beautiful mess.

The sight of him springing tears to Keith’s eyes.

“K-Keith?”

“Are you crazy? You can’t quit Voltron!” Keith rubs at his eyes, angry at them for blurring his vision. “This is your chance, your breakthrough. You can’t just throw it away.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Not like this.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Willing Shiro to listen, he rushes forward. Twists his fingers into the soft hoodie that covers him. “It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

Hands rise to clutch at his shoulders, surprisingly rough and shaking. “You are. Keith...” Deep, wounded eyes search his own, disbelieving. “Of course, you are.”

But he’s wrong. Keith ready to retort when Shiro cuts him off.

“It’s not just for you. I took this job to be a part of something groundbreaking. Sven and Akira—their relationship. It could mean so much to people. What kind of person would I be if I allowed the studio to destroy that representation?”

“But—”

“I want to be proud of what I do, and I would never be if I stayed on.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, stunned and amazed. He knew Shiro was good right down to his core. So brave and so noble but he doesn’t seem to understand. “You could lose everything.”

There’s so much playing behind Shiro’s eyes. Loss and shame, guilt and longing. A tentative hand skims across Keith’s cheek, fingertips tucking loose hair behind his ear. “I don’t care.”

Conviction written in the curves and dips of his dazzling face, it’s obvious he means it. It reminds Keith so much of—

“You’re so stubborn,” Keith huffs. “You really are just like Sven.”

“Well...” The hand in his hair turns purposeful, runs the length of his jaw and sends shivers down his spine. “That’s good, right? I mean, I’m pretty sure you have a thing for Sven.”

“Fuck.” Chuckling wetly, Keith snuffs.

It’s cold in the hallway. Metal doors on either side leaking frosty air. Keith hadn’t noticed until now but he’s freezing. They both are. However, Shiro’s still preoccupied. Staring at Keith in timid affection. So open his loyal heart and all its misgivings lay on his sleeve. A fierce desire rising within Keith to protect it. Gently, he grabs Shiro’s wrist still cupping his face.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for Keith but here it flows free. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. I should’ve tried harder to reason with Lotor. I sh-should’ve said no right from the start.” Shiro works himself up. Fingers tightening and pools forming in eyes Keith would rather see wrinkled in joy.

“Shiro. I was never mad at you.”

Head snapping up, Shiro’s lower lip trembles. “Y-you weren’t?”

Keith shakes his head, losing his voice. Overwhelmed by the lightness he feels in his chest. The freedom he didn’t know he’d caged when he shut Shiro out.

He ducks into Shiro’s neck and doesn't have to wait to be tugged close. Shuddering at the sensation of Shiro’s body folding around him. Safe. Protected. Their embrace impenetrable.

There’s a feeling that starts to grow—or rather one that’s been there all along. Inflated and swelling right past enamoured and straight into uncharted emotional territory.

It should terrify Keith, but here in Shiro’s arms, nothing does.

So, he takes a leap. Tenderly drags his nose along Shiro’s throat. Over the bob of his Adam’s Apple and beneath his jaw. Nuzzles past lips holding back breath and up.

Shiro hardly moves but for an eager gleam to now clear eyes and that’s all Keith needs to push. Meeting their lips in a tortuous slide. Slow and hesitant until they’re sure. Until heat starts to spread and Keith tries to go deeper but Shiro pulls back. Concealing a wince far too late.

“Sorry,” Shiro says, looking sheepish. “I’m still a little sore.”

“Wha—?” But then Keith remembers. Remembers thrashing against Shiro’s hold and connecting. He zeros in on the swollen bridge of Shiro’s nose. The faint blue-green on either side. “Oh shit, Shiro I’m—”

“No more apologies tonight, okay?” A grounding grip at the base of Keith’s neck keeps him steady. Shiro pecking softly at the corner of his mouth.

“But I—”

“Nope. Not listening.”

Laughter falling sweetly free, Keith shuts up. Swaying into the ceaseless moment. There’s no telling how long they stay. Long enough that eventually Ruby slips from the door to investigate. Winding herself between their legs and meowing for attention. Shiro takes one look at her big yellow eyes and pleads to Keith, “Can I?”

Keith rolls his eyes, steps far enough for Shiro to scoop her up then tucks his arm into the crook of Shiro’s elbow. Leading the three of them into a studio that suddenly feels as bright as the sun.

They’re both exhausted and the couch set up looks inviting so together they plop. Shiro gathering Keith back into his arms and guiding him down.

“You know, we could just sleep upstairs,” Keith muffles, but already knows he’s too comfortable to move.

Shiro cards through unruly hair and Keith’s so peaceful and so content that he falls asleep just like that. Snuggled close to a man who makes him forget about everything but this.

And in the morning, when he wakes to find a drooling Shiro with Ruby sprawled half across his face, Keith’s battered heart slowly starts to mend.

The smell of Chinese food wafting through the apartment draws Keith from his work. Removing the buds from his ears, he hears Shiro shuffling through the kitchen for plates. A moment later he’s calling out. “Keith?”

“Over here,” Keith answers, popping up behind the stack of papers that’d hidden him from view.

When Shiro looks up and smiles it’s as lustrous as always but after months of being on the receiving end, Keith’s finally gained some composure.

It still hits him from time to time. When Shiro plays with Ruby, unaware he’s watching. When he reaches out for Keith with a laugh high on his cheeks. When he’s calling Keith’s name, flushed and enraptured. Keith’s fully aware of how fortunate he is.

Glancing down at his iPad, he notices a few lines out of place and starts to fix them. Then he’s shading and before he knows it Shiro’s sliding up behind him to hook a chin over his shoulder.

“What’re you working on?” His hands slide across Keith’s belly, set to rest clasped below his navel.

Keith leans his head to give a better view. “Just another panel.”

On the screen below is a sketch of Sven and Akira, seen between the crack of a door on their new home, the IGF Atlas. Being spied in a rather...compromising position.

“Mmm, eventually you’ll have to start working on the plot.”

Keith laughs. “It’s my comic. I do what I want.”

It’d taken him awhile to get back to Beast King. To look at its pages and not feel an ache so deep his whole body rebelled. But he and Shiro were healing. Inspiration easy to come by when his feelings for the man at his back sparks creativity every day.

And there’s nothing better than an extra few spicy, fluffy, super gay, spite fuelled pages. Just so everyone knows that Sven and Akira will always belong together.

He picks up his stylus and goes back to lovingly rendering how the cabin light reflects off their bare skin.

Shiro places a kiss against his neck. “Come and eat,” he murmurs, letting his lips brush along Keith’s skin as he speaks. “Everyone’s expecting us soon.”

Despite Voltron being put on hiatus due to the mass exodus of half its staff, Keith and Shiro had kept in contact with a lot of the crew. They even had plans to meet with a few that evening.

Many had become some of Keith’s closest friends. Even Lance, who’d shockingly been one of the first to leave the film.

“I didn’t spend hours putting up with your sparkling personality just to have it all rewritten,” he once said. To which Keith had told him to fuck off and somehow that became their thing.

It was nice, after it being mostly just Pidge and himself for so long, to have this group of support. Not quite family but maybe that’s where they were heading. The only thing missing was Allura.

They hadn’t heard from her at all since being fired as director over four months ago. Keith couldn’t help but feel hurt by how’d she come into his life with all these big promises only to disappear the minute she couldn’t deliver.

He thinks about her now as they enter the bar. Not the games bar that Shiro’d brought them to once but something similar. Themed with items on the menu named after various sci-fi things and drinks like Critical Miss, Vulcan Mind Meld, and Smaug's Golden Hoard. To think he once thought Shiro was cool.

“You’re here!” Immediately they’re smothered in a whole lot of Hunk. The big man wrapping arms around both Keith and Shiro. “It’s so good to see you!”

Releasing them, he enthusiastically pats Keith on the back. Happy and smiling wide. Overly excited. Keith wonders how much he’s had to drink.

“We just saw you on the weekend,” Keith says, tilting his head and looking to Shiro who shrugs.

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy now.”

Keith frowns. “I guess?”

“What he’s trying to say,” interrupts Lance as he comes up behind them. “Is that we're always happy to see our favourite dark edgelord.”

“Screw off.”

“No can do compadre. Everyone’s already here so come on.”

They pull Keith from Shiro’s side and into the fold. Pidge sitting at a table with Ina. James and Ryan over with the other actors who were supposed to be paladins lining up shots. A few other crew members milling about. Everyone waves at him. Everyone smiles. It’s still a little strange...but good.

“Keeith!!” James and Ryan shout from the bar. “Get over here.”

As Lance tugs him along, he catches sight of the plastic figurines lining shelves in between bottles. Their bobbleheads bouncing to the music. There’s Marvel characters, DC, an Ellen Ripley. Where does Shiro keep finding these places??

When they get there, the shot placed before him is noxious green.

“For the man of the hour,” Ryan says, holding up his own and waiting for cheers but Keith pauses.

“Huh?”

“Oh, um…” There’s stuttering while James knocks Ryan’s elbow. The rest of the gang strategically looking elsewhere.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Still, no one looks. Keith goes to press when Shiro comes up beside him, a disappointed glare at the actors and a comforting hand against Keith’s lower back. Keith looks up. “Shiro?”

“We may have had an ulterior motive in bringing you here tonight.”

Now they’re all looking at him. All with this knowing, expectant grin. Someone approaches from the edge of his peripheral and he recognizes Coran first but he’s not alone.

Shiro speaks low in his ear, squeezing his hip before falling away. “Someone wanted to see you.”

But Keith hardly feels any of it. Stuck on the high silver bun perched on top of the blue, blue eyes that are staring at him much like Shiro had when he’d shown up at Keith’s door all those months ago.

“Hi, Keith.” Allura smiles, small and tentative.

Though he’d been thinking about her not ten minutes ago it’s still a shock to see her. Honestly thinking he never would again. He thought he’d done a good job of closing that chapter out, but with her in front of him, the rush of memories steals his breath.

“Allura?”

“I’m sorry to sneak up on you like this but I was afraid you might refuse to speak with me otherwise.”

He’d like to say he’s a better man but clearly Shiro had been worried too or else he wouldn’t have conspired behind his back. Speaking of, Shiro cups Keith’s shoulder with an encouraging grin. Nodding over towards Pidge, where he starts to head after a gentle push in Allura’s direction.

Unprepared, Keith’s eyes are glued to his ratty shoes, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Not really sure what to do, his hands fidget useless at his side.

Allura starts. “I...owe you an apology. I’m so sorry for what happened. I tried to keep Sven and Akira intact, but I couldn’t.”

Around them, everyone’s faded away like Shiro. Giving the two creators their space. His eyes track up to watch how Allura wrings her hands. It’s weird to see a woman usually so poised look fretful.

The anger he thought would be there doesn’t come. Instead, he feels a sense of longing to reach out. He can see the hurt Allura carries just from the hunch of her shoulders, can hear the apology in her earnest voice.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, filling his lungs with the space to forgive. “I know that Allura.”

The crease between her manicured brows eases, enough to get her eyes softening but—“But I was the one who involved Lotor. I knew the pressures of running a company and trying to move from his father's shadow were getting to him, I thought we were on the same page but, still I asked for his help.”

“It’s okay.” Keith finally meets her eyes. “I don’t blame you. I’m not upset anymore.”

This time has been long enough, giving Keith room to reflect on the things that’d brought him to that moment, that decision. Allowing him to face the truth.

“I think we both know I wanted Beast King to be a movie. If I didn’t, you’d never have gotten my permission. All you did was give me a push.”

Her lips twitch, as they so often do when she’s trying to remain stoic but failing. “So...can you forgive me?”

He doesn’t joke much, but something about Allura’s almost there grin makes him want to try. Keith frowns for a moment, making a show of pretending to think very hard just to get her to crack. When the hopeful smile she’s been fighting finally breaks he allows himself to smile too. “Yeah,” he says, “I think I can.”

Before he knows it, she’s jumping into his space, arms flung wide and around his shoulders. Keith laughs at her exuberance and returns the hug. Her sigh of relief in his ear much like the one that falls from his soul, the last piece falling into place. But of course, Lance has to cut it short.

“Alright! Does this mean we’re back on? Are we making a movie or what?”

“What?”

When Allura straightens there’s a twinkle in her eye, pink-cheeked and giddy. Keith’s eyes widen and his heart pounds. “There’s a reason I haven’t contacted you until now, our negotiations prevented me from reaching out.”

Tracking back and forth across her face, he’s really not sure what she means. Confusion clear when he asks, “Negotiations?”

She nods excitedly. “It was finalized last night. Keith, my father has just bought the rights to Voltron.”

He can see Lance’s rapt face behind her back and a few others intently watching but he still doesn’t understand.

“Your father?”

“Oh my god, Keith. Do you even know who Allura is?” Lance throws his hands in the air with dramatic exasperation. “Ever heard of a little studio called Altea? Her dad’s only the founding CEO.”

Of course, he’d heard of Altea, the only studio large enough to rival Vrepit Sa. Only Keith is just now putting it all together. His eyes still bugging out of his skull when he looks at Allura. “Y-you said you’d grown up in this business...that Lotor was a family friend…”

She nods. “Yes. My father and Zarkon had a...falling out a while back, but Lotor and I remained in contact. We wanted to do things on our own. To make movies that showcased their greatness—at least that’s what I thought. I’m sorry I didn’t do it like this from the beginning but Keith…” She grabs his hands. “If you still want to, we can finally make Voltron the way it was meant to be.”

“You...you mean…” He’s having a hard time processing.

The way things ended had been painful. To see something he loved twisted and torn apart. It’d failed. Voltron had failed and Keith had made peace with that. Forgiving Allura so easily proof of that peace.

But now? Now the prospect of not only having it but having it the way he’d always dreamed, the way he thought it would be from the very beginning is...petrifying. Petrifying and nauseating and exhilarating all at once. Rushing up his chest to seize every muscle keeping the cage of his ribs firmly in place.

Almost everyone in the bar, the actors, the crew, his friends, they’d stuck by Beast King. Stuck by him. Even when it meant losing their jobs and breaking contracts, for some burning bridges.

It doesn’t just feel like Keith’s decision anymore.

“I...um…”

He looks around the room, hadn’t noticed how quiet it’d gotten until now. How so many were watching and waiting with bated breath, half drunk drinks laying forgotten. A cautious optimism crackling the air.

Behind Allura, Lance is nodding in a, ‘don't be an idiot,’ kind of way, Hunk beside already grinning. James, Ryan and a dozen others hanging on every complex twitch of his brow.

His eyes flicker from face to face, searching for the one that matters most. In the corner, hand on Pidge’s back—who’s beaming and possibly being held place—and studying Keith in half-formed wonder, stands Shiro. Shadows cutting across his face and lips parted. There’s an argument happening beside him, the pool table wagers turning heated, but all Keith sees is the man he’s so far gone for.

The man that’d almost given up everything to face Lotor and his empty threats head-on. Who’d stayed by his side when anyone else would have, and probably should have, ran. He deserves this. The chance to play Sven. No one else has ever been more perfect for a role.

But more than that, Keith deserves it too. For the first time ever, he feels it with conviction.

At first, it’s just a curl, the slightest tick at the corner of his mouth. But the more he looks into sparkling grey eyes, the more his smile grows. Until it stretches clean across his face with an unfamiliar pull for how wide it is. He can feel everyone’s anticipation, their enthusiasm. Feels it burst into life in vivid colours that thread through chipped corners and rough edges. Breaking from every crevice that’d once hidden the last of his shattered hope.

“Okay,” he whispers, more like a puff. “Yeah, okay, let's do this.”

Allura claps, Lance crows. Hunk cries and Pidge launches herself onto a table.

And Shiro watches from afar. The look of a man that’s so damn proud, Keith’s love, his gratitude, his ‘holy fuck how did I ever get this lucky???’ floats him up and into the stars.

Fourteen months later

This was a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad idea.

Why the fuck did Keith agree to this?

Another red carpet. So bright and gaudy and just...red.

So far, he’s successfully managed to avoid every one of these whenever Shiro’s brought him to some movie premiere or event, but this is different.

This is the premier of Voltron Legendary Defender.

The adaptation of his comics. The film Shiro and his friends worked so hard on. The thing that brought them together, that changed Keith’s life and the way he views this completely unbelievable world.

But that still doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with this.

Shiro squeezes his hand. “You ready?”

And Keith squeezes back. Or maybe clings. In a death grip.

Chuckling, Shiro takes him aside. Hair back to all black and grown out for another part he’s currently playing. Looking absolutely blistering in his classic tuxedo with amethyst bow tie.

Keith knows he doesn’t look too bad either—wearing reversed colours in a deep purple suit and black tie—but even two years later he’s never seen anything more incandescent than Shiro. He doesn’t think of that now though, with the cameras and reporters all twisting their necks for a better a view of the hidden couple.

“Keith,” Shiro says, drawing him back to the moment. “You’re going to do great.”

Swallowing, he nods. Focused on the hollow of Shiro’s throat that dips below his collar. Tracing the bump of his Adam’s apple and the little pores his stubble will grow into by morning. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

Shiro’s wide hands softly cup his cheeks. Guiding his head until he’s staring into dazzling eyes with every perfect imperfection memorized. “Always.”

Gentle lips press against his forehead and he breathes in Shiro’s scent. A woodsy cologne Keith got him for Christmas because it reminded him of the way Shiro makes him feel. Calm, grounded, secure.

Blissful.

Then Shiro’s hands drop to his own, fingers woven tight as they face Keith’s fear together.

It’s awkward at first. Talking to strangers about himself. Especially when most of them are interested more in Keith and Shiro’s relationship than the actual movie. As promised Shiro stays close and eventually Voltron does get brought up. Words like courageous, inspiring, to critical acclaim, falling so easily into their questions Keith’s head starts to spin. But then he notices everyone else. Hunk and Pidge walking side by side together, Ryan and James and their stunning dates. They’re all soaking it in. Taking the accolades as the hard-earned praise it really is and who is he to deny that?

And when Lance somehow manages to one-up them all in the date department by going with Allura—as in together—he wouldn’t be able to stop his incredulous laughter even if he tried.

The packed theatre isn’t quite as grand as the one Shiro brought them to on their first date, but the amount of people is still large enough to start that circle of anxiety all over again. Until Pidge and Shiro flank him on either side; their friends, who he can now say without a doubt are exactly like a family, all around. Taking up the middle seating, the perfect spot.

Lights dim and the crowd goes hush and it sounds corny as fuck, but Keith almost feels like there really is magic in the air. Hair rising along his arms when the opening sequence rolls.

It’s immersive, stunning. Special effects and gifted actors bringing to life a world exactly like the one he’d built in his head. Exactly like the art his comics depicted.

And then it comes.

The scene.

The showdown between Sven and Akira, where they finally, finally confess their love.

He’s seen it before, during filming, editing and twice post-production. Allura staying true to her word and allowing Keith as much say as he’d wanted. But still, to see it like this, in the dark of a full theatre, on the big screen…

It takes his breath away.

The neon purple of Sven’s metal arm, glinting off Akira’s sweat soaked face. The dance of their fight. Keith is mesmerized. Mostly by Shiro’s powerful movements, the grace in which he attacks, the harsh emotionless look in his eyes.

They’re getting to the end. Sven looming over an Akira that’s desperate to reach the love of his life. Splayed on his back as Sven’s blade burns across his cheek. It’s then that Keith perceives not everyone is as enthralled as he. At least not on the movie.

He turns to find Shiro gazing at him. Eyes soft in the blue light of the screen. Keith can still hear the soundtrack, can hear Akira’s last pleas, “Sven…please,” but he can’t tear himself away from Shiro.

The words come to him without thought. The ones he wrote so many years ago. Alone and pressed to the pages with a thought that he’d never find anything like this.

“I love you,” Keith whispers, just as Akira shouts it.

A few gasps, some quiet murmurs, but Keith doesn’t care; locked only onto Shiro. On the sweet smile that plays up his lips. In the background, Sven tells Akira to let go, that he doesn’t need to fight. But just like in the comics, Akira never gives up.

Keith leans closer, mouthing along when Akira brokenly repeats. “I won’t! I love you!”

Shiro’s grin grows. Then he’s feigning shock and reiterating his role with a stutter on his face, eyes widening.

Helplessly drawn in, Keith holds his gaze. “Do you hear me? I! Love! You!”

There’s a commotion on screen, Sven struggling to break from the witch's mind control. His face contorted as he realizes it’s his Galra arm so he rips it off in an incredible show of strength. Akira’s rushing over, dropping to his knees beside his fallen heart.

And Shiro grabs Keith’s chin. Pulls him in until their foreheads touch and Keith has to lift his eyes to keep contact.

Sven’s disoriented but he clings helplessly onto the paladin that cradles him. Much like Shiro does to the back of Keith’s neck, echoing Sven’s words.

“A-Akira?... You saved me, I...I love you too.”

There’s more on screen, Akira crying, Sven crying. Akira affirming that they saved each other.

Shiro takes the time to gently hold Keith’s face, running a thumb beneath eyes that have started to mist. He twirls a tendril of hair that’s fallen from Keith’s ponytail, parts his mouth in genuine wonderment and utters Sven’s line.

“It’s always been you.”

Later Pidge will rib him for it, but now she watches as they slowly come together. A warm puff of hitched breath as Keith’s heart stalls with the seconds that tick. Reviving itself double time when Shiro’s lips take his own.

Molten and bold.

Large fingers press between Keith’s shoulders, drawing him impossibly close and in that moment, Keith feels it. Shiro’s commitment, his joy. The undeniable truth that the roots of their devotion spread in growing rapture each and every day.

Without words Shiro tells him he’s worshiped, treasured.

Loved.

Shiro may be the best actor Keith’s ever seen. And James isn’t bad himself. But to anyone looking, the kiss on screen is nothing but a broken fragment of the one raging between a simple comic creator and Voltron’s leading man.

Nothing will ever compare.

And two days later—on the patio of what’s now their live in studio/apartment—cozied up to Shiro in the early morning breeze, they open the paper to rave reviews. Reviews that continue to come for weeks and weeks and weeks. But it’s the personal stories that touch the most. That stick with Keith and reaffirm his fiercely fighting spirit.

He presses his face to Shiro’s chest, arms wrapped and beating hearts in sync. No longer needing the world of Beast King Lion and all of it’s characters to escape; the fine art of his life more than enough.