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Occāssus
Sun-setting; Ruin; End; Death
Altea’s sunsets are not the kind that Shiro remembers from home. They are far more pigmented, streaks of orange and yellow and russet cavorting across the sky, bright enough to blind sometimes.
Today’s sunset is a pink one, powder puff clouds blending with the magenta horizon. Violet is already rising to meet where the colours join, the sun a near blinding white. Altea’s sunsets are especially beautiful—then again, the planet itself is especially beautiful, so it makes sense that only Altea would be worthy of sunsets like the one Shiro beholds.
The fading light falls upon Altea’s Castle of Lions, painting the pristine marble crimson gold. It’s probably Shiro’s favourite time of the day, seeing the sky set fire to the world, as if it can scour the last quintant to create a clean slate for its successor. It means he’s free to take a moment to sit and watch and breathe, and today, he needs it more than ever.
Tomorrow they are to welcome the Marmoran contingent.
Shiro knows the smaller planet well, as is expected of his station. As Admiral of Altea’s military, it’s his duty. And as the future husband of the prince of the universe’s strongest military, it’s a necessity.
They’ll be a strong political match.
A phoeb ago, Shiro’s Empress had requested his presence to explain his upcoming role.
“Why me?” he’d asked as they wandered the palatial gardens, because he could.
His Empress had been hanging onto his arm, but she had stopped and tilted her head curiously at him, as if she couldn’t fathom why he thought he wouldn’t be a worthy candidate. But he wasn’t. He still isn’t. He’s Admiral of Altea’s army, with no claim to the throne. Compared to a Marmoran Prince, he is hardly a match.
“Who else, Shiro?” she had answered. “You are my most trusted officer, you have proven your loyalty to Altea time and time again.”
“Allura…” he had said, before trailing off.
He’d lived on Altea for the majority of his life, had come to this planet with knobbly knees and a failing body, because Altea and its handle on quintessence therapy was like no other, and the amount of parents seeking a cure to whatever ailment their children had numbered in the thousands.
The terms were simple: Altea would heal them, and in return, they’d dedicate their lives to the kingdom.
Shiro’s parents had wanted him to live.
Allura had paused, searching his face. “You are like family to me, Shiro. This is why I’m asking you.”
Shiro wanted to protest, but it was true. From the first time he’d set foot on Altean soil, Allura had been there, greeting every child as they disembarked. Shiro isn’t sure what Allura saw in him, but they’ve been inseparable ever since.
When they were fourteen, he watched her decimate their training opponents with her whip, and when they were sixteen, she was holding court by herself. Their eighteenth year saw her accession to the throne, and during their twenty-second, Shiro watched Lotor become prince consort after years of being smitten with her.
In all aspects except law, she is his sister.
“There is no one else,” Allura had added, the proverbial nail in the coffin.
Really, as if he could ever say no.
And so it was done.
Shiro was to be wed to the Marmora crown prince within the next phoeb.
Sīdereus
Relating to stars; starry; heavenly; star-like
They arrive at midday without fanfare, as is customary of anything Marmoran.
The Alteans are a stark contrast in the way they pride themselves on their extravagance, something that Shiro is keenly aware of in the lead up to the wedding. Allura’s had been a whole movement, with two main ceremonies on the actual day due to Lotor’s Galra heritage.
Shiro’s wedding is only taking place over a quintant, thank the gods, but there are still two ceremonies: the flashier Altean one in the morning, and a smaller, intimate Marmoran one at sunset.
He hopes he’ll be able to get through the day alright. There’s only so many hours of the day that he can hide behind his Admiral façade.
It’s funny, how the marriage doesn’t scare him as much as the wedding day. The significance of their union isn’t lost on him, but if he and the prince do not get on, there are plenty of arrangements they can put in place to ensure they both have somewhat of a happy existence.
Shiro is a soldier, he’s used to bowing to the tide of duty and obligations that come with his ranking, but he doubts his betrothed is pleased about being married off to a stranger. He has no illusions. The only requirement he has for his future husband is for the prince to be at his side when their joint presence is required.
If it’s to blossom into anything further, well. Shiro is a soldier, but he’s human, too.
The Marmoran Queen is taller than him, a rarity. Shiro is used to being the biggest person in the room, but she has a good few inches on him. Not that it would matter if she was short; the Queen’s presence demands attention without words.
“Empress,” Queen Krolia says, bowing at Allura, before she beckons towards the envoy of masked Mamora behind her. “My son, Keith.”
At her gesture, one of them steps forward, dissolving his mask and pushing his hood back.
“Your Highness,” Shiro says, getting to one knee immediately.
The Marmoran prince’s steps falter. “Um. That’s not necessary, you know.”
“It is.” Shiro says, because he’s bound by duty to his empire, and Marmora might not be as formal in terms of greetings, but Shiro is. Still, something about the prince’s tone warms Shiro, makes him feel a little less like the prince has demonised him already, and so he dares to look up.
And oh.
His betrothed is shorter than him, sloping muscles encased in a skin tight bodysuit with decorative sashes and a belt that draws attention to just how tapered his waist is. His long black hair is braided and falls over his shoulder, decorated with a simple band of luxite around the fastening. Shiro’s gaze keeps going, taking in his betrothed’s sharp jawline, the cut of his cheekbones, his smooth, full mouth.
And then Shiro gets to the prince’s eyes.
It’s like the ground erupts beneath him, exploding into more colours than Shiro has words for, and it leaves him reeling, wondering how it’s even possible to have eyes like that.
They remind Shiro of the cosmos.
“Hello,” his betrothed says, a small curve to the corner of his mouth that tells Shiro he is amused. “Admiral Shirogane.”
Were this a kinder universe, perhaps Shiro could say it only takes him a moment to regain his bearings. But it is not a kinder universe, and so it takes several moments for Shiro to gather his thoughts and get to his feet and find something to say that isn’t, you’re stunning.
“Prince Keith.”
The prince tilts his head. “I’m honored.”
God, his eyes are going to be the death of Shiro. They catch the light every time the prince moves, and though they’re violet at the core, Shiro swears he sees actual constellations in them.
He’s the most beautiful thing Shiro has ever seen.
“The honor is mine,” he says.
— S —
The afternoon sun is low in the sky when dinner is served.
Allura sweeps into the room on her husband’s arm, swathed in a mother of pearl gown that glimmers in the light. When it’s just the three of them at dinner, Lotor will sit on Allura’s right, Shiro on Allura’s left, and on some occasions he’ll allow himself to steadily get drunker on the prince consort’s favourite Olkarion wine.
Today though, like all official dinners, the royal couple take their places at the head and foot of the table. Shiro misses the closeness to Allura, as the Marmoran Queen takes his normal spot, but he doesn’t get to dwell on it for too long, as Prince Keith sits opposite him.
“Hello again, Admiral Shirogane,” the prince says.
Shiro dips his head. Gods, his eyes. “Your Highness.”
Shiro is a soldier, but with his rank comes some degree of diplomacy too. He’s used to putting his best foot forward in every situation and creating conversation out of thin air, and Allura always says he charms any room he enters, as if she herself doesn’t have entire planets fawning over her.
Sitting here now, opposite his betrothed, Shiro thinks it makes sense for him to be able to weave some kind of dialogue.
And yet, nothing comes.
He’s tongue tied.
All Shiro can think of is how effortlessly gorgeous the prince is, sitting in front of him.
If the prince has any complaints, he does not show it, choosing instead to listen to his mother make conversation with Allura. Even the way he holds his fork is attractive.
Shiro can’t really wrap his head around it.
The prince has been here for less than a quintant and already Shiro feels like a fool.
And he’s going to marry him.
— S —
The sun is setting when dinner finishes, Allura inviting the guests to move to the drawing room. Lotor is at her side in an instant, and Shiro makes a move to join them when she puts a hand on his arm.
“I thought you and Prince Keith could take this time to get to know each other,” she says, glancing at Queen Krolia. “Would you agree?”
“A good idea,” the queen replies, eyes meeting Shiro’s.
They’re pretty, Shiro thinks, but looking into them doesn’t make Shiro feel suckerpunched like looking into Keith’s did. Still, Shiro recognises a warning when he sees one and he swallows, wishing that now wasn’t the time when his Admiral façade was so transparent.
“Join us later,” Allura tells him, gesturing towards the open doors leading onto the patio.
Shiro knows an order when he hears one, so he bows, and the rest of the room files out.
It’s a peach sunset this time, the bright sun melting into an orange-limned skyline. Shiro focuses on it to ground himself, keenly aware of the emptying room, until the sound of footfalls stops.
They’re alone.
“Admiral?” Prince Keith asks, blinking at him.
“Your Highness,” Shiro replies, bowing.
“Okay,” the prince says, walking up to Shiro. The hand under Shiro’s chin is a surprise, and he follows its command to lift his head. “If we’re to be married, we’re going to need some ground rules.”
“Anything,” Shiro says, wishing he didn’t sound as breathless as he does.
The prince hasn’t moved his hand, and like this, Shiro has nowhere to look apart from the prince’s face. “I want you to call me Keith.”
“Keith,” Shiro repeats, wondering why his face grows hot.
The prince’s face breaks out into a smile though, and of all the sunsets Shiro has beheld on this planet, none of them compare.
“Yeah. Um.” And his hand falls away. “What should I call you? Admiral Shirogane is a bit of a mouthful.”
He couples his last sentence with a smirk, and Shiro is definitely far too hot now, the collar of his uniform tight around his throat.
“Shiro is fine,” he rasps. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
“I’m not everyone,” Keith says stubbornly. “What should I call you?”
Well.
No one calls Shiro by his birth name, not since his second day on this planet when Allura deigned his full name to be too serious and asked if she could call him ‘Shiro’ instead. Shiro had said yes immediately to the pretty princess who wanted to be his friend, because she was kind and funny and made the days in the infirmary more bearable. Since then it’s been Shiro or, for official titles, Shirogane.
Keith is still gazing imploringly at him, waiting, and Shiro can’t stop the word falling from his mouth: “Takashi.”
Hearing it out loud makes Shiro feel like wincing, because it’s part of him that he’s avoided letting see the light of day. It connects to memories of his mother singing to him as she cooked, of him sitting with his parents eating dinner.
“Takashi,” Keith says slowly, ears flicking, before he smiles once more. Shiro was right: sunsets have nothing on Keith. “Thank you.”
Shiro ducks his head, pleased. “It’s alright.” He points to the courtyard. “I believe the Empress wanted us to take a walk.”
Keith snorts. “Yeah, because I’m really feeling like a walk after three days of travelling.”
Shiro frowns. “Did you not get some sleep this afternoon?”
Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine, Takashi—” and oh, this was a terrible idea, because Shiro already likes his name in Keith’s mouth far too much. “Let’s walk.”
The cold of winter has long left them, making way for Spring. Allura had said it was auspicious to have a wedding during the season of rebirth. Shiro doesn’t know how right she is, because he’s never been one for superstition, but the gardens are blooming blue and silver and at nighttime, the bioluminescence casts a beautiful glow over the entire planet. Even the sea joins in.
Keith wanders along with him, hand reaching out to touch leaves as they pass by. “What did you want to talk about?”
Shiro balks. Sure, he’s been tossing up ideas in his head, helped along by listening to the dinner conversation, but to be asked directly has him floundering all over again.
“I’m not sure,” he says truthfully, because Keith strikes him as someone who isn’t going to judge him solely based on his rank. “It’s a little overwhelming, if I’m honest.”
Keith nods, reaching up to brush his hair from his face. Shiro keeps looking forward.
“Fair,” Keith says. “I’m not really good at talking, anyway.”
“No?” Shiro asks, because Keith held his own fairly well at the dinner table.
Keith chuckles a little. “No. I hate talking.”
“Then what are we doing here?” Shiro teases.
“Getting to know each other,” Keith says emphatically, eyes sparkling.
Shiro pauses, caught looking down at Keith as he smiles back. Gods, he really does like Keith already.
“Right,” he coughs. “Of course. What did you want to know?”
Keith rolls his shoulders. “I already asked what to call you. Your turn, Takashi.”
“Okay. If we’re to be married—” Shiro tries not to think too hard about how much he doesn’t mind being wed to Keith anymore. “—then what of the throne of Marmora? Will you still become king?”
“No. Our highest general will take it,” Keith answers. “Us Marmorans do not go by bloodline. It is a test of leadership.”
“Like the Kral Zera?”
“A little less about displays of physical strength and prowess,” Keith snorts.
Humour looks good on Keith’s face; eases the crease of his brow, softens the pout of his full mouth. He’s gorgeous, regardless, but the change reminds Shiro of the sun peeking through the clouds after the rain, and Shiro finds himself smiling at him.
“It’s more about tactical strength, good judgement skills. All the qualities that comprise a good leader.” He comes to a stop, looking at one of the bushes. Its flowers are bright blue fading into white around the edges. “General Acxa is a strong candidate. She’ll be a good leader.”
“What will you do, then?”
“You’re an Admiral, Takashi,” Keith reminds him. “My planet has the most powerful military in the universe. I’m sure we can teach each other a few things.”
He couples the last sentence with that same smirk from when they first met, and Shiro stumbles. “Do you resent it?” he asks. “Being here?”
It’s not the most lighthearted conversation topic to follow up with, and probably not appropriate, either, considering Keith only touched down half a quintant ago, but the sentence is out in the open before Shiro can stop it.
“It’s pretty bright,” Keith says, in a completely different direction than the question suggested. “Marmora is dark, so.” He gestures to his eyes. “They’re usually yellow.”
Shiro can’t imagine it, Keith’s sclerae golden. “Oh.” He fiddles with his sleeve cuff. “That’s... I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“It’s okay,” Keith assures him. “I guess you expected a different answer though, huh?”
Shiro nods. “Yeah.”
Keith continues walking instead of answering, cupping one of the flowers they pass. “I don’t, though,” he says eventually. “I don’t resent it.”
“No?” Shiro says, trying for humour when he says, “You’re not even slightly bitter about being shipped off to another planet to marry a stranger?”
Keith stops at that, turning to face him fully, and Shiro’s gut clenches, wondering if maybe he said too much and offended the prince. But Keith surprises him, reaching out to touch Shiro’s chest, right over his heart.
Stars above, he’s beautiful.
“Why would I be bitter,” Keith says softly, “when I’m marrying you?”
— S —
The next day passes slowly, like treacle pouring off the edge of a spoon. Shiro is used to having time pass too quickly to keep up with, so the change is enough to threaten whiplash. It’s vargas of watching the clocks tick by before he’s finally free to make his way outside to wait for the sunset.
He has a favourite spot against the side of the castle that overlooks the sea, a place he’s always been somewhat covetous about, so it surprises him when he finds Keith there, practicing forms with his Blade.
Keith notices his presence immediately, straightening up and letting his Blade return to its knife form. “Hello, Takashi.”
“Keith,” Shiro returns. “Hi.”
“Took your time,” Keith says.
Shiro wonders how long he kept Keith waiting. “How did you know I’d come?”
Keith ducks his head, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I picked up your scent,” he admits. “It’s the only one here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Keith says, mouth curved up in a grin. He sheathes his Blade, and then gestures to the lawn below them. “Spar with me.”
Shiro couldn’t say no if he tried. “Sure.”
The afternoon is steadily fading behind them, and it’s Keith’s dark hair that Shiro is looking at as he follows him down the lookout steps onto the lawn. It’ll be another gorgeous sunset that will greet them in an hour or so, and Keith looks stunning in his Marmoran suit, limned in light.
“I watched you training earlier,” Keith says conversationally as Shiro strips off his sabatons and greaves. “I wanted to see you in action.”
“Oh?” Shiro says, also trying to keep his tone casual as he works on his cuisses. “Did I live up to expectations?”
“Well,” Keith says, and yes, humour does look lovely on his pretty face. “Marmorans always value strong mates.”
Shiro’s face grows hot at the word ‘mate’, but he manages to take his breastplate off without too much fumbling. “Am I strong enough then?”
“Yes,” Keith says, stepping forward to help Shiro with his vambraces and gauntlets.
He’s so close Shiro could press his nose to Keith’s hair, but the sound of his armour falling to the ground is enough to slap some sense into him. It’s silly, he tells himself, to be so captivated this early.
“You’re very strong,” Keith says, “stronger than all the others.” And then he looks up into Shiro’s eyes, and completely unravels Shiro all over again when he says, “But I’m stronger.”
Apricus
Exposed to the sun. Sunny; warmed by the sunshine
For a week, the evenings are the same. Keith will meet Shiro at sundown and they will spar together, and when the moon is on its way into the sky, they will dust off and make themselves presentable for dinner. Shiro will try and fail at not watching Keith, and Keith in turn will smile at him knowingly, like he too is thinking of how easily he bested Shiro earlier.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he was stronger. Shiro is a big person, and more powerful than most, but Keith is something entirely different, the push and pull of their sparring reminding Shiro of the way the moon shifts the tide.
More often than not Shiro will find himself with Keith above him, folded over his back and arms tight around his throat, voice low and breathless as he demands Shiro to yield. Shiro never denies him.
Today is no different. They’ve been sparring for ten minutes and already Shiro wants to flop to the grass.
He doesn’t have to wait long anyway.
Keith twists, getting his thighs around Shiro’s neck and using that grip to wrestle Shiro onto his back, leaving Shiro stunned underneath him, staring up.
“Yield.”
“Your braid is coming loose,” Shiro says dumbly.
It is, strands falling into Keith’s eyes, so pretty in the afternoon sun, purples and blues and flecks of silver in them. Keith shifts on top of him, thighs squeezing, and Shiro is curling a hand over one before he can think too hard about it. He almost wants to kiss the spot underneath his thumb, wants to know how Keith would react.
“Does it matter?” Keith huffs, out of breath.
“No,” Shiro says, because Keith could probably wear a blindfold and still hold his own against Shiro, which—well that’s a dangerous thought, isn’t it, because now Shiro is thinking of himself wearing a blindfold and being completely at the mercy of Keith.
Keith chuckles, low and tempting as he climbs off Shiro’s chest and sits in the grass with him. “I’ll redo it then,” he teases. “Will that make you happy?”
“Maybe,” Shiro says.
Anything Keith does makes Shiro happy, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He’s used to duty being the main emotion driving his day, fondness whenever he takes his meals with Allura and lets Prince Lotor educate them about the latest constellation.
He hasn’t felt this, though, this easy sensation bubbling up in his chest like champagne. If Shiro were the bottle, he knows by now the cork would have flown off spontaneously.
He turns his head to watch Keith pull the luxite band from the end of his braid, wanting to reach out and touch.
“You always wear that,” he comments. “At first I thought it was only for occasions.”
“What, this?” Keith says, holding up the band.
“Yeah.”
He smiles, fingers pulling the braid apart and combing through it. His hands are lovely too, slender and strong.
“It’s my Pop’s,” he explains. “My mama gave it to him when she asked him to marry her.”
That’s romantic.
Keith smiles, like he knows what Shiro is thinking and agrees with him. The story of Queen Krolia marrying the human who rescued her after accidentally crashing on Earth is well known, but the finer details—like the one Keith just divulged—remain a mystery.
The Marmora are a private race, and so Shiro doesn’t know why, but Keith telling him that story about his parents feels like a gift, of sorts.
Light winks off the luxite band, catching Shiro across the face. “When did you get it?”
“When I was born,” Keith says, mouth curved up as he remembers. “Pop gave it to me. Said I was their greatest love or whatever.”
The way Keith says it is meant to detract from the emotional topic, but instead warmth fills Shiro, rich and buttery around the edges. “They must be very proud of you.”
Keith nods, smile still on his face. “Yeah. They are. They’re really good parents.” He looks at Shiro. “Yours were, too.”
Even all these years later, any mention of his parents make Shiro feel as though he is a piece of paper held over a naked flame, each corner of him catching fire and going up in smoke.
“Yeah,” he says, as steadily as he can manage. “They were.”
Keith’s hand touches his carefully. “I’m so sorry, Takashi.”
Shiro shuts his eyes, wishing he could blow out the burning candle inside him. “It’s okay. They died a long time ago.”
Keith’s hand squeezes gently, and Shiro thinks about twining their fingers together and bringing it up to kiss.
“I’m still sorry,” Keith says, and then he pulls Shiro’s hand up to his cheek, pressing it there.
Shiro doesn’t know the significance of the gesture, but the reverence with which Keith does it makes Shiro forget about being paper, because that gentle warmth from before returns, steady and calming until Shiro feels golden brown around the edges.
“Thanks,” he says.
He’s often thought about what might have happened if his parents didn’t ship him off to Altea. He would have lasted to maybe twenty, lived out of a bag because of how often he would have been in hospital, and spent most of his time being poked and prodded and tested on while his parents hovered in the background.
He would never have come to this dreamscape planet, never have gotten his new arm, commanded an army or watched Allura walk down the aisle. He would never have seen the stars as he has now, nor would he have been sitting here on the palatial lawns with the most beautiful person in the universe.
Keith has fallen silent beside him, returning to his previous mission to rebraid his hair. It’s one of the things Shiro has appreciated ever since meeting Keith: the way he never demands conversation to fill the gaps, and is happy to sit quietly with the day as it ticks by.
“Will you teach me?” Shiro asks softly, entranced with Keith brushing his hair with his fingers.
Keith pauses, eyes boring into Shiro’s. “It’s…” he says haltingly. “It’s not something we generally do with people who are not kin.”
Shiro doesn’t know where he gets the surge of confidence, but he lets it pick him up. “Well, you and I are betrothed,” he murmurs. “And it means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”
Keith’s cheeks flare red. “They’re special, yeah.”
Shiro reaches out and touches a strand, far enough away to let Keith know he can back out whenever he wants. “You don’t have to teach me,” he says. “But I’d like to learn. And I’d like to make you happy.”
Keith sucks in a breath, mulling over Shiro’s words, before he nods. “You do make me happy. But it’d be an honour.”
He shuffles closer, and he looks sweet like this, smiling shyly. Shiro thought maybe Keith would turn his back to him, but he doesn’t, instead sweeping his hair to one side and holding out the edges for Shiro to take in his unskilled hands.
“I’ll show you like this,” Keith says, an amused smile on his lips as he parts his hair into three sections. “Until you’re ready for proper braids.”
Shiro chuckles at that. “I’m a quick learner.”
Keith’s eyes are still on him, and Shiro flushes when he makes contact, looking away. “Good,” Keith says. “The Marmoran ceremony—before it, there’s a hair braiding tradition.”
He doesn’t say anything further, but Shiro guesses the implication, and, well, he’s always strived for excellence. He’s going to make the best braids ever.
Caleo
Be warm or hot; be in love; be excited
The next movement passes rapidly, and Shiro feels a little like a salmon fish fighting against the rush of a waterfall in his quest to stay on top of all his duties and make time for Allura’s entertainment schedule. There are dinners and luncheons to attend, several outings around the planet, and at the end of each quintant, Keith, waiting for him.
Shiro’s getting better at versing him, he thinks, but in spite of his best efforts, Keith still finishes on top. He always does. Shiro blames his inhuman flexibility and not the fact that every move Keith makes pushes all the air from Shiro’s lungs.
None of Altea’s sunsets could ever make Shiro as breathless as Keith does.
It’s later than usual when Shiro finally leaves the office. The setting sun is coral today, stretching across the ocean languidly.
It’s still Shiro’s favourite time of day, and the idea of Keith waiting for him only makes his fondness for the sunset increase tenfold. After the rush of swimming, he can’t wait to sit with Keith and watch the day die.
Tomorrow morning, Keith is returning to Marmora until their wedding. It had always been on the cards from the moment Shiro had heard they were coming, but anxiety still gnaws at him, because Keith hasn’t been in Shiro’s life for long and yet Shiro already feels like part of him is missing.
“Do you have to go?” Shiro had asked somewhat petulantly yesterday afternoon.
“Yes,” Keith had said. “It’s only for a movement. And you’ll get to meet Pop and Romi when I return.”
“You’re right,” Shiro had said, and then berated himself for being so selfish.
Such behaviour was childish of him, and so prior to meeting with Keith again, Shiro scours the palatial gardens for flowers. There’s a particular type that remind him of Keith in the way they catch the light, and Shiro plucks them before heading to their spot.
Keith isn’t training, instead sitting with his legs folded underneath him. He’s ethereal like that, and for a moment Shiro pauses, drinking in the sight like a sponge.
Keith knows he’s there, though, thanks to his inhuman hearing, and he tilts his head towards him. “Takashi.”
“Hi,” Shiro says as he sits. “I brought you these,” he adds, a little roughly, feeling like he’s too big for the room despite being outside.
Keith’s eyes soften as Shiro lays the flowers in front of him, and Shiro is both surprised and not when Keith takes his hand and presses it to his cheek. “Thank you, Takashi.”
“It’s okay,” Shiro says, even if he feels like puffing up like a bird at the approval in Keith’s gaze. He beckons Keith closer, saying, “Come here. I want to put them in your hair.”
“To practice for the wedding?”
“No,” Shiro says honestly. “Because I want to.”
He parts Keith’s hair dutifully, weaving it together loosely. Keith doesn’t need to know he’s already been braiding everything he can get his hands on these days.
Keith sits still for him, the only time he would ever yield to Shiro, and Shiro marvels at the notion of how easily they’ve fallen into each other as he works. Before all of this, he was so sure that the marriage was only a political match, and he’d been happy enough to give Allura the union she wanted.
He never could have imagined this.
“Did you know why my parents got married so soon after they met?” Keith says, always one to catch Shiro off guard with his conversation starters.
Shiro knows it had been a point of interest that the Queen married someone she barely knew not for a political alliance, but for love. “No.”
“Marmorans,” Keith says, quietly, like he’s uttering something sacred. “We mate for life.”
Shiro falters, fingers pausing where they’re tucking a flower into Keith’s hair. “Oh.”
“Sometimes when we meet our mates,” Keith continues, still in that tone that reminds Shiro of testing frozen lakes in the winter, “our hearts know they’re the one. It can take weeks, months, years. Depends on the person.” He turns his head slightly, saying, “Mama knew the moment she saw Pop that he was hers.”
Shiro’s heart is beating too fast, and the sun is suddenly too warm on the back of his neck.
Keith senses the pause, ears twitching, and he turns to face Shiro fully. “It doesn’t always happen though, so I never really believed the stories when I heard them. And yet... ”
He trails off. In all their time together, Keith has always been the one to reach for Shiro first. He’s never been one to hesitate, but now he pauses in lifting his hand. At the aborted movement, an unknown ache blooms within Shiro, and he’s stretching out his hand to complete it, folding his fingers over Keith’s.
“And yet?” Shiro says, wishing his voice was more steady.
Keith’s eyes are so, so pretty, almost glittering now. “Then I saw you.”
When Allura became Empress, her coronation ended with bells tolling throughout the city. Each strike had echoed through Shiro’s entire body like a shockwave, a death knell to the old era, a harbinger of the new beginning.
Keith’s words feel like that.
“Me?” Shiro says, voice hoarse.
“You,” Keith says, and he laughs quietly, as if he can’t believe what he just said. Shiro can’t believe it. “Is that okay?”
“Is it—of course it’s—” Shiro stutters, eventually settling on saying the first word that springs to mind: “Keith.”
“Takashi,” Keith says, still smiling, still laughing, still beautiful. “It’s okay, right?”
Shiro nearly cries with the relief bursting inside him like a fountain. “I thought—gods, I thought I was being stupid,” he confesses, twining their fingers together and pulling them to his cheek, copying the gesture Keith always does for him. “You came here and... it was like everything I’d ever do afterwards wouldn’t matter anymore, unless you were with me.”
“Oh,” Keith says, his voice watery. “Takashi.”
He doesn’t say more, doesn’t need to.
“It’s okay,” Shiro answers, pressing a kiss to Keith’s fingers. “It’s more than okay.”
Keith eyes are too shiny, but he grins, and that’s all the warning Shiro gets before Keith’s legs are around his waist and he’s flipping Shiro onto his back. “Even if I’m stronger?” he teases.
“Especially,” Shiro says, before he touches the spot behind Keith’s knees that he knows is ticklish from all their sparring, and uses Keith’s resultant shock to roll them again.
“You cheated,” Keith says, looking as dazed as Shiro feels.
“I did,” Shiro says, not sorry in the slightest. “Keith,” he repeats, staring at his firebird prince with flowers in his hair. “Keith.”
“Takashi,” Keith whispers back.
He’s all muscle under Shiro, and Shiro doesn’t think twice about gathering Keith up into his arms. “I—I want— Keith, can I—”
But Keith has already met him. His mouth is soft, softer than Shiro thought it would be, his hands gripping Shiro’s collar. When he pulls away, his lips are shiny, eyes bright, and Shiro stares down at him, heart pounding loud enough for the next planet over to hear, surely.
“That?” Keith asks softly.
“Yeah,” Shiro murmurs, nodding, feeling stupid—stupidly happy. “Yeah, Keith.”
Keith laughs, knocking his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro buries his nose in Keith’s hair in turn, the golden river of light inside him bursting its banks, and they laugh together amongst the flood as the sun sinks down.
“Husband,” Keith says after, when moonrise is upon them. He says it like he’s testing out a new blade, working the word around in his mouth. Shiro loves how good it sounds. Keith’s eyes scan his face, and whatever he finds makes him say, “Do you like that? Me calling you ‘husband’?”
They’re still slotted together upon the grass. Keith’s eyes are violet and reflect all the constellations that are slowly blinking into view above them, and as the sky darkens further, Shiro can see the yellow bleeding into his sclerae.
He’s beautiful.
“Do I really need to answer that?”
“No,” Keith says. “I guess not.”
Keith’s fingers on Shiro’s cheekbone is a surprise, as is the way he shifts under Shiro, spreading his legs further. Like this, there is no denying the hard telling line of heat against Keith’s hip. Like this, there is no hiding the blush that blooms across Shiro’s face when Keith pushes up against it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
Keith chuckles softly. “Don’t be.”
Shiro brushes his nose against the smooth skin of Keith’s cheek, then presses a kiss there. “Husband,” he murmurs back, hand squeezing Keith’s hip lightly.
The smile Keith gives him is blinding.
— end —