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Keith wants to say no. But when Takashi Shirogane asks him, after eight years of radio silence, to cycle halfway across the country with him, Keith could only ever say yes.
Keith waits for Shiro at the entrance of Altea Park, turned toward the tree-lined horizon so he can’t keep desperately searching for any sign of him. He tries to play it cool. Tries not to even look when he hears the tread of tires on dirt approaching.
“You got tall.” Shiro’s voice is as warm as he remembers, if deeper now.
Slowly, Keith turns to face him. “You don’t quite look the same either.”
Shiro’s hair has gone from jet black to silvery white. There’s a jagged pink scar across the bridge of his nose. His right arm, it’s— gone. He’s bulked up, too, his muscle tone bordering ungodly. He’s fucking even hotter than Keith remembered.
“It’s been a while,” Shiro says.
And whose fault is that? Keith wants to say. But he just nods. “Got everything we need?”
“Think so,” Shiro says, opening up his panniers so they can take inventory. They go through Shiro’s itemized list—he’s always been well organized—and confirm they have what they need for their trip.
“Think we’re good to go,” Shiro says. “You ready?”
Keith nods.
Shiro raises his water bottle and clinks it against Keith’s. “Here’s to the road ahead.”
…
They make solid ground their first day. It’s refreshing with the wind at Keith’s back and clean air in his lungs, his heart racing from exertion, his legs the good kind of sore.
They don’t talk, not until the sun hangs low on the horizon and their stomachs are growling.
They stop at a greasy spoon of a diner, where Keith orders the all-day breakfast and Shiro opts for—surprise, surprise—the homestyle mac ’n’ cheese, vanilla milkshake on the side. Some things just don’t change.
“So you’re alive,” Keith says, finally, after the server has taken their order.
“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Alive and cycling halfway ‘cross the country, no less,” Keith says. “You gonna tell me why?”
“Because we can,” Shiro says. “I can. I— I’m cured, Keith.”
Keith’s breath catches. “I— You said there wasn’t a cure. You told me the last time I saw you that you didn’t want me to watch you die.”
“There wasn’t one,” Shiro says. “None that had been approved. But I was desperate, so I volunteered for some experimental treatments. The first one—“ he nods at his missing arm— “wasn’t so successful. Neither was the second, or third, or fourth. But the fifth… it worked. I’m actually gonna live to see thirty.”
“I’m— I’m glad to hear it.” Keith lets himself smile, just a little. He wants to hug Shiro, lift him in his arms and spin him around. But Shiro broke his heart when he shut him out, and he can’t let it go so easily.
“What’ve you been up to?” Shiro asks. “It’s been so long.”
“Not much,” Keith says. “Really.”
“Did you end up majoring in astrophysics at Garrison U?” Shiro asks. That had been his dream, after all.
Keith shakes his head. “I dropped out.”
Shiro’s brow pinches.
“It just… wasn’t for me,” Keith says. By that, he means he spiraled out of control after Shiro pushed him away and couldn’t put himself back together.
“Okay, so what then?” Shiro asks.
“I was kind of… lost for a while,” Keith says. And by that, he means he spent a year completely isolated in the middle of the desert, just waiting for some kind of sign, or miracle, or something. It never came.
“Eventually, Allura reached out to me,” Keith says. “She was working a case and needed someone under the radar to investigate Sincline.”
Shiro’s eyes go wide. “Sincline as in the pharmaceutical company that was busted for experimenting on trafficked humans? That was you?”
Keith shrugs. “Mostly Allura. I just helped a little. Enough for her to keep me around, anyway. I help her team out from time to time. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make a living.”
“Wow,” Shiro says. “That’s amazing, Keith.”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Keith says.
“Well, it’s a lot more than I’ve done in the past eight years,” Shiro utters, looking away.
“You were fighting for your life,” Keith says. “And you won.”
“…I don’t know what to do after this,” Shiro admits. “I don’t know where to go. I hadn’t planned for any kind of future.”
Keith wants to know if he fits into this new future of his, but he can’t bring himself to ask. He hates how desperate he is, even after all these years.
“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Keith says.
“Yeah.” Shiro looks as if he’s about to say more, but stops himself.
Keith doesn’t say anything more either.
An awkward silence settles between them, and Keith relishes it.
…
The ground is hard, but exhaustion helps Keith find sleep as soon as his body hits the nylon tent floor.
He gets a few good hours in before he wakes to muffled whimpers.
He rolls over to find Shiro sitting up, his contours traced by moonlight. He’s clutching what remains of his right arm, teeth clenched tight.
“Shiro?” Keith whispers.
“Sorry,” Shiro says, voice strained. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Keith levers himself up to a seat. “Your arm hurts.”
“…Yeah.”
“Does this happen often?” Keith asks.
“Once in a while it… gets pretty bad,” Shiro says.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Keith asks.
Shiro hesitates.
“Tell me,” Keith says.
“I’ve— heard massage can help,” Shiro says.
He’s heard. Has he not had anyone to help him? Has he been as lonely as Keith?
Keith scoots in close. Shiro flinches as he wraps his hands around where his arm has been amputated. “This okay?” Keith asks.
Shiro nods.
He hisses through his teeth as Keith presses down.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Keith says, as he begins kneading the remaining muscle.
Shiro nods again, staring at the ground, seemingly focused on not crying out. He needs a distraction.
“So I’ve, uh, gotten into plants,” Keith offers, as he continues to massage Shiro’s arm.
“Yeah?” Shiro manages.
“Yeah. I’ve been documenting the ones I find. Just, you know, making notes, sketches. I’m hoping we’ll find some interesting plants as we get further out from Altea.”
Shiro’s lips lift a fraction. “You always were into nature. An artist, too. I’d like to see those sketches.”
“They’re nothing too special,” Keith says.
Shiro lets out a pained noise as Keith hits a sensitive bit of scar tissue.
“Sorry,” Keith says.
Shiro shakes his head. “It’s fine. I— I think it’s helping. Keep going. Please.”
“I brought my book. I can show you in the morning,” Keith says, continuing to knead the hard tissue. “They’re just sketches, though. Allura and Lance have my better drawings. Allura wanted some botanical illustrations of Altean plants to put on their walls.”
“I’d like to see those, too,” Shiro says.
“Have you talked to them at all?” Keith asks. “The others. Do they… know? About you?”
“I haven’t seen anyone from back then,” Shiro says. “As soon as my treatment was done and I was stable, you were the first person I reached out to. ...The only one, actually.”
Part of Keith thinks he should be sad that Shiro’s been so isolated. But another part of Keith flutters at the thought that he’s the one Shiro went to first. That he’s somehow special.
“You’d always talked about wanting to go on a road trip together,” Shiro says. “So that’s the first thing I wanted to do. Just— go.”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Keith says. He’d buried that dream long ago.
“I’m so glad you agreed to come,” Shiro says, quietly. “I didn’t know if you would.”
“…It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Keith says, with feigned nonchalance, as if hearing from Shiro hadn’t turned his entire world upside down.
“I missed you,” Shiro says.
Keith swallows back the wave of emotion that wells up. There are a thousand things he wants to say. He allows himself a quiet, “I missed you too,” and pretends that’s enough.
…
They ride for days and days and days. They find a rhythm, and it’s almost like before. Almost.
Shiro is trying. He’s trying to make small talk, to tell stories and make small jokes. He’s trying to fall back into what they had before. Maybe something more.
Keith is trying, too; trying not to let Shiro in again so easily. It’s hard, though, when Shiro is still Shiro . He’s still Shiro, still sweet and warm and irresistible.
Keith can’t help but smile when Shiro smiles. He can’t help the way his lips twitch at his stupid, awful jokes. He doesn’t shy away when Shiro’s hand meets his shoulder, meets his knee, meets his own hand.
More often than not, their bodies find each other in sleep, and they wake with their limbs entangled. Keith tells himself he can’t help it. He pretends he doesn’t like the way Shiro’s body feels pressed up against him.
Keith has never been a good liar.
…
There’s a storm coming. It’s already started, rain coming down in sheets. They can’t cycle in this weather, and their flimsy tent won’t hold. They race to the nearest inn to wait it out.
There are two rooms left. They only take one. Keith is beyond pretending they’re doing it to save money.
They share a bottle of wine, taking sips straight from the bottle until the liquid’s warmth drowns out the cold from the rain.
Shiro’s lips are stained with sweet merlot, and he’s close, so close. His breath is hot, his eyes like mercury.
“Can I kiss you?” Shiro asks, voice low.
Most of Keith is screaming at him to say yes. But one stubborn, sober part of him wins out and pulls back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Shiro flinches. “I-I’m sorry. I thought…” he shakes his head. “I misread. I’m sorry.”
Keith bites his lip. “You didn’t misread. I want to, but I…” He keeps his gaze averted as he lets the truth spill forth. “I’m in love with you.”
Shiro blinks. “Then—“
“I’m still in love with you,” Keith says. “I loved you back then, too.”
Shiro’s eyes widen. “Keith, I—“
“You broke my heart,” Keith whispers. His vision blurs. “And now, when you leave again, I— I don’t know if I can—“
“Keith,” Shiro says. Gently, he cups Keith’s cheek with his palm. “I’m not going anywhere this time. I’m here to stay. I’m cured.”
“And if you weren’t?” Keith asks. “Would you do it all over again?”
Shiro falters. “I... I thought at the time it was the right thing to do. That it would hurt you less in the long run. But…” He wipes a loose tear from Keith’s cheek as it falls.
“That wasn’t what I wanted,” Keith says, trembling. “You never gave me a choice.”
“You’re right,” Shiro says. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how many times I tried to call you?” Keith asks.
“Thirty-five,” Shiro says, quietly.
“Did you ever want to pick up? Did you ever regret pushing me away?”
“Of course I did,” Shiro says. “I loved you. Love you.”
“Fuck,” Keith utters.
“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro says. “I— I understand if you can’t forgive me. If you don’t trust me anymore. But I want to be a part of your life again. I want to be with you, if you’ll let me.”
Keith shudders and folds into Shiro’s embrace. His arms wrap around Shiro’s broad frame, and he clings tight.
“I wanted to be there for you,” Keith says, into Shiro’s shoulder. “I wanted to be there until the end.”
“And then what?” Shiro asks.
“And then it wouldn’t matter what happened after that,” Keith says. “I’d have had the life I wanted.”
“I really meant that much to you,” Shiro says, like it’s some kind of surprise.
“You were everything to me,” Keith says. “Even if you didn’t feel the same way.”
“After my diagnosis, after Adam… I was a wreck,” Shiro acknowledges, pressing his nose to Keith’s temple. “But now… I don’t know what I want to do with my life after this, but I do know who I want to spend it with. I want to stay, if you’ll have me.”
Keith lets out a shaky exhale. “Promise me you won’t ever give up again. Not on me. Not on yourself.”
Shiro nods against him, their cheeks pressed against one another. “I won’t.”
“Then stay,” Keith breathes.
Their mouths are so close. If he shifted, their lips would brush.
It won’t happen, not tonight. But they’ve got twelve hundred miles to go, and all the time in the world after that. For now, there’s a promise, and for now, that’s enough.