Archive of Our Own

Shiro walked through the bay, inhaling the scent of petrichor wafting off the damp concrete. Dock loaders scurried past him hauling crates and squealing wagons near overflowing with fishing gear, racing to make their deadlines while the seas were ripe with fish. The noise of the crowded street, stretched thin between sprawling workshops and warehouses, was nearly overwhelming. He sped up his steps, eager to escape the monotony of grey disrupted by spatterings of ochre rust. 

All he had to do was make it to the Holt’s inn. 

Muscle memory led Shiro down an empty alley that somehow seemed foreign after only a decade or so away. It felt like a lifetime. The town of Anozira had been much smaller when Shiro was a child, but had since boomed as magic began to blend with industrial mechanics. Being one of few areas with both human, Altean and, eventually, Galran citizens ensured the speed with which Anozira’s people adapted to new technologies. 

The bustle of the bay faded as Shiro continued, allowing echoes of water droplets to subsume the soundscape. The narrow alley was crowded with staircases, overflowing bins and old tin lining that curled off of brick walls. Shiro exhaled heavily, allowing the familiar muted din and cramped features to settle over him, soothing the tension wrought by his first few minutes spent in the heart of the warehouse district. Then, a sudden boom shook the earth beneath him, and—

—smoke, billowing around him. Suffocating. Flashes of bodies, ground rendered unsteady by incessant mortar fire—

—Shiro’s breath, sharp in his tight chest, heartbeat thudding in his ears, drowning out any other noise. The sole outline of one monstrous figure hurling towards him and one choice before him; to fight, or to—

The sudden return to his body was jarring, then eased by a gentle vibration. He tried to catch his breath as he looked down, only to find himself sitting on the alley ground, a black cat nuzzling against his chest. He sunk back against the bare brick wall, panting. 

He lifted a hand—shaking in all its bionic glory—and stroked the tiny bridge of the cat’s nose. The cat tilted their head up, eyes closed and seeking out Shiro’s touch. 

“Hey there, kitty.”

He briefly registered the sheer dampness of the position, the wet ground meeting his sweat-soaked clothes. The trails of moisture down his cheeks. But the cat’s fur was dry, soft. It looked well-fed, and judging by its collar, wasn’t a stray. A small silver key hung from the metal ring woven into the black fabric. 

The cat’s purr revved like one of those new automobiles. Shiro felt his eyes water anew. 

“You caught me at a bad time—” Shiro choked, his throat tightening over his words. He swallowed, brought his flesh hand up over his eyes. “Sorry.”

A surprisingly forceful nudge at his forearm lifted Shiro’s hand, and he gasped at the bright violet eyes that peered up at him, gaze piercing. 

“Right.” Shiro cleared his throat. Careful not to disturb the small companion he’d acquired, he shook out his shoulders and head. Two deep breaths, then, “It’s no use dwelling over, huh?”

He scratched the cat’s head and was rewarded with another purr. The cat met his eyes again, and Shiro was once more taken aback by the presence they demanded. Whether after a mere second or a minute Shiro wasn’t sure, but they lithely hopped off his lap and trotted out of sight. Shiro took a moment longer to gather himself, then stood and heaved his duffle bag up with him. He waited to see if the cat would reappear. They didn’t. 

Shiro rolled his shoulders and sighed, before setting off to finish the last leg of his journey.

“Shiro!” 

A joyous whoop greeted him, followed by a near tackle from Matt. Shiro grabbed his friend tight. They stood in the near-empty tavern, only the occasional lonely drinker and one table of rowdy dockworkers in the place. Despite the typical grime layered over every surface—as expected after a busy night—Colleen’s plethora of plants made the tavern feel homelike and warm. 

“It’s good to see you, Matty.” Matt pulled back and narrowed his eyes at Shiro, eyes scanning up and down.

“Why do I get the feeling that you being here is going to have some serious consequences for me? You come back three sizes larger and your clothes are still nearly bursting at the seams?” Matt threw his head back and groaned. “Shiro, you can’t do this to me!” 

Shiro laughed. “I get the sense that my being here will have little to no impact on the number of people you manage to trick—I mean, woo.”

Matt squawked indignantly. “And here I thought that you would be grateful when you got here!”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “For… letting me book a room? At your inn? Which is intended to serve customers that need to book rooms?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “No, smart aleck. For arranging your new job at Marmora Metals.”

It took a second for Shiro to place the name: Marmora Metals. They were one of the most successful businesses in the area, family-owned and one of few companies in the world that employed human, Altean and Galran workers. Surely Matt hadn’t actually been able to secure Shiro a spot there.

“I’m— the Marmora Metals? To work?”

“The one and only! Pidge has been there for the past few years. She kept managing to break into their test shops and tinker with new designs.” Matt beckoned for Shiro to follow him behind the bar and into the non-public area. Shiro hesitated, as the entrance to the inn was across the room. But he edged past the lone figure slumped at the end of the bar when Matt continued talking as if expecting Shiro was right behind him. 

“It was the talk of the town for a while, until people figured out it was just a young girl. We thought for sure that Mom and Dad would be receiving a livid summons from Kolivan and Antok—the owners. Instead, Kolivan showed up here and offered Pidge a job. Apparently, she managed to improve everything she worked on, even fixing some issues that Kolivan himself hadn’t been able to solve.” 

Shiro gave a low whistle as they passed through the kitchen. “So, what you’re saying is, I really have Pidge to thank for the job, because you didn’t do anything at all.”

Matt let out an indignant noise as they entered a long, quiet hallway. “Yes I did! I’ll have you know that I, too , consult on designs every once in a while. I just… also happen to enjoy working here.” 

“Of course,” Shiro said, biting back a smile. “Who could resist the free-flowing booze and women?” 

Matt pulled into a stop at the end of the hall, turning to face Shiro with a somber expression. “Shiro, my longtime friend. You understand me.”

Shiro snorted and Matt gestured to the closed door on his right. “So, this is where you’ll be staying.” 

“What? No, I wrote ahead to request a room at the inn, not to take up space in your family quarters—”

Matt, who had already entered the room, cut off Shiro’s protest with a deadpan look. “You know my parents would never make you pay for a room, let alone one surrounded by strangers. Of course you’re staying here.” 

Shiro hesitated a moment longer, before letting his shoulders slump and giving his friend a grateful smile. He stepped into the small room adorned with little pieces of Holt family decoration. A series of small plants on the window sill and bedside table. A host of books on mathematics and astronomy. The shelves were lined with little metal figurines, no doubt childhood inventions courtesy of Matt and Pidge. He slung his duffle on the bed. Exhaustion from the day of traveling, not to mention another episode of panic, began to settle in his limbs. 

“I’ll leave you to it, Shiro. Let us know if you need anything. Get some rest, yeah?”

Shiro gave his friend a half-smile and nodded, decidedly not mentioning that restful sleep was hard to come by these days. Matt hesitated another moment as though he might say something else. But he simply nodded once and shut the door behind him, leaving Shiro alone.

Seeing no reason to delay, Shiro set off the next morning for Marmora Metals on one of the Holt’s palfrey horses. He stifled a yawn as he peered down at Matt’s near-indecipherable handwriting. Despite having spent summers here as a child, Shiro needed the directions. He was surprised when they took him away from the industrial area surrounding the bay, and instead out further towards the countryside on the edge of town.

The main workshop of Marmora Metals sat on the east side of the manor grounds that Kolivan’s family had lived on for two generations—ever since Galra had been allowed in this part of the country. It was a surprisingly unassuming building. Shiro figured it stretched further back than could be seen from the road. 

He caught sight of another Holt horse that Pidge must have ridden in. After dropping off his own mare, Shiro couldn’t tell whether the one plain door he saw was the main entrance. There was no signage, no windows to glance through. Unsure of what was next, he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. He might as well head in.

As he crossed the threshold, he was immediately consumed by a cloud of steam, the hot air wafting out until the door swung shut behind him. He stared open-mouthed at the sprawling room before him, if “room” was even the correct word for it. Furnaces were sprinkled between massive workbenches, brass and bronze gleaming in every direction. Boilers and various machinations littered the room, while tools, metal pieces, and light fixtures hung throughout the space. The sound of constant airflow rushed by, accompanied by clattering and banging of hammers on anvils, and whatever other tasks were taking place. Shiro could only spot a few figures buried in the haze, hard at work. His eyes caught on one figure working a pair of billows at a nearby furnace. They were turned away, but Shiro found himself entranced by the gentle swing of their long black braid, lean muscles contracting as they pumped air into the flame. 

“Shiro!” He jolted out of his reverie to see a grown Pidge, though still half his height, heading towards him. 

“Wow, Pidge! Look at you!” 

She rolled her eyes as she pulled to a stop in front of him. “Yeah yeah, ‘wow, you’re so grown yet so small!’ I’ve heard it all before.” Shiro bit back his grin. Pidge scowled at him for just a moment before smiling herself.

“It’s good to see you, big guy. Come on, let me show you around.” 

For all that Shiro had been nervous about seeing the Holts after so many years, he appreciated that not one of them had so much as mentioned his arm. Most people found the obvious magic and metallurgy off-putting, especially those who could identify the Galra-style design. Then again, they usually didn’t ask him anything about it at all, opting to avoid him instead. 

Shiro was fascinated by the work that he saw as Pidge gave him a tour. There was plenty of plain metalwork, which was where most of the human and Galra employees specialized. But where magic was combined with metallurgy and smithing, most of the smiths were Altean. The majority of Alteans were able to harness magic, but only some Galrans and the rare human shared the same ability. 

After meeting Hunk and Ulaz, who he would be working with for the time being, Pidge told him to wait while she fetched him some gear. As he stood and took in the various projects around him, he met a pair of piercing violet eyes. He felt swallowed in their hold, something familiar about them that he couldn’t place. After a moment, he realized that the man he was staring at—who was also staring back at him—was the same figure who had caught his eye earlier. the long black braid now slung over their shoulder. His face was all sharp angles, only interrupted by the gentle slope of his nose and the curves of his lips.

“Alright, Shiro. These should do for now. We have plenty more sizes what with the range of people we get in here, so let Hunk or Ulaz know if the fit is off.” Shiro scrambled to catch the pile of gear that Pidge dropped into his arms. 

He hastily donned the protective materials, bracing himself to settle in for the day. He found that he was actually looking forward to working with Hunk and Ulaz. When he was ready to get started, he turned back to catch another glimpse of the man from earlier, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

Shiro’s days rapidly settled into a comforting, if bland, routine. He went to work every day, using his off days to explore the beach and any areas he could find that weren’t crowded or loud. He was saving up for his own apartment, having accepted that the only living quarters he was likely to find in this town were the cramped workers’ buildings by the bay. It would be a loud and dingy set-up, but at least the rent was cheap. In the meantime, he bought his own groceries and avoided eating the Holts’ food as much as he could get away with, lest Colleen notice and scold him. But the marketplace was overwhelming, so Shiro mainly stocked up on nuts and jerkies that he could buy in bulk without worrying about their spoiling. 

He rapidly learned the ropes at Marmora Metals and found that he quite enjoyed it. There was always work to be done that was mostly physical in nature, which he always sought out when he preferred a zen pace with little socialization involved. When he wanted something more challenging to occupy his mind rather than his body, he was able to shadow Pidge, learning about the design process and helping with the engineering figures. He hadn’t been a student of mathematics since he was an adolescent, but he’d always enjoyed the subject. 

The pay, hours, and general atmosphere were astounding. The employees all took their mealtimes together up at the crew house, where a handful of his coworkers actually lived. While most were friendly and welcoming like Hunk, some tended to be quieter, blending in with the background. Shiro was grateful for the mixture—he was intimidated by the general comradery and not particularly driven to join in the fray of boisterous conversations. Ulaz and a blacksmith named Acxa were two such quiet figures, and while he was intimidated by them at first, Shiro found comfort in their silent but fortified presence. Only one figure remained consistently absent from the lunches, though Shiro occasionally spotted him around the workshop: the young man from that first day, whose silky braid never failed to catch Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro occasionally spent his midday breaks wandering around the forested grounds by the crew house. The rain had mostly cleared as summer drifted closer, and the afternoons were often lit by golden rays shattered by the canopy overhead. He found those moments to be the most peaceful, with fresh air and the gentle breeze shaping the landscape around him. Though Shiro was almost always tired—his nights remained tormented by nightmares—he felt recharged by the subtle but flowing energy of the forest. 

On one such walk, Shiro was startled when something brushed insistently against his shins. He jerked to a stop and looked down, only to find a small black cat walking away from him. The cat their head back to meet Shiro’s gaze, then turned towards him, body curling through the end of their tail in the graceful movement. His breath caught, because he recognized that cat—the same piercing eyes that had once pinned him down in an alley, a silver key ‘round their neck.

“Oh.” He breathed. “Hello there, kitty.”

He crouched down slowly, unsure how easily the cat might spook. But they didn’t seem at all hesitant to meet his outstretched hand, their back curling up to meet his stroke. 

“I’m, uh…” Shiro swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The memory of their last meeting was playing on a loop in the back of his mind, distressing and embarrassing all at once. He cleared his throat. 

“I apologize for my state the last time we met. I was—well, you see, sometimes…” He trailed off, unsure what to say. How did he describe the way his mind became torn in those moments, no longer attached to the moment he was in, but somewhere far away instead? He didn’t have the words. 

His thoughts were interrupted by an insistent nudge against his hand. He smiled at the cat, their eyes now closed as he scratched between their ears. “Anyways, I wanted to thank you for your companionship. Even now, you seem to know exactly what to do, huh?” 

The cat peered up at him, and Shiro was once again unnerved by the intensity of their eyes. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite strange for a cat?” The cat’s ears flicked forward, and Shiro shook his head. “Not in a bad way! No judgment, anyhow. I mean, I’ve been told the same thing.”

He chuckled. “What am I saying? Wouldn’t want to offend a cat, naturally. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to talk to the crew. Clearly, I could use the practice.”

He sighed as he continued stroking the cat. Who, obviously, had no response for him. A sudden flash of light drew Shiro’s eyes to the key, dangling in sharp contrast against the cat’s midnight fur. A slight rush ran through him, edging out the details of the forest around. Without thinking, he reached out for the key. 

A sudden hiss broke Shiro from his daze, and before he could react, the cat was gone. Although he hadn’t known what to expect from his new companion, his heart still sank at their abrupt absence. Especially given the scant likelihood that he would ever meet them again. 

He spent a moment longer staring, unseeing, down the path in front of him. When he finally rose and turned to head back to the workshop, a line of gleaming silver and the feel of downy fur lingered on his mind. 

The easy monotony of Shiro’s days held few interruptions, and weeks turned into months. The interruptions, though, were not always unwelcome. 

The first was only a small moment, yet lived infinitely in Shiro’s mind. He’d been shaping a piece of crystal for one of Ulaz’s projects. The crystal was receptive to magic but extremely fragile. It required hours of dedicated focus and delicate touch for proper preparation. When he’d finally finished, he took the small stone in hand and turned to bring it to Ulaz. He hadn’t expected another large metal contraption—no doubt one of Lance’s projects, the man couldn’t seem to help leaving his work in the most random of places—and slammed his hip against a sharp corner. 

A curse escaped his mouth as the crystal slipped out of his grip. He reached to catch it but knew it was already too late. The hours of work flashed in his mind until a muscled yet graceful hand snatched the crystal from its fall. He glanced up to meet a familiar pair of violet eyes, the same ones that never failed to catch his attention. Despite never having talked to the man himself, Shiro had come to learn that his name was Keith. 

Keith rose an eyebrow, and Shiro would have been swept away from embarrassment were it not for the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Shiro’s heart missed a beat. Then a firm grasp encircled his wrist and something hard was deposited in his palm. Keith turned to walk away, and just as quickly as it had begun, the moment was over. When he looked down, the crystal was wholly intact. Though brief enough that Shiro couldn’t even be sure he had really seen it, there was a faint glow that pulsated from the center of the stone.

Shiro’s nights began to see the occasional dream between nightmares. He could hardly remember them after waking, but he knew they were rich in shades of violet, purple, and midnight black. 

Some interruptions to his routine were less pleasant. 

Many of his coworkers also frequented the Holt’s tavern, though Shiro rarely joined them. The noise and general rowdiness of the crowd were often a bit too much. On one such night that Shiro did partake in a drink with Hunk, Matt, Pidge, and a handful of others, the energy of the room seemed to be abuzz more than usual. Shiro merely shrugged it off and tried to enjoy the company of his friends. 

Until a sudden crash and a body knocking into Shiro’s slammed him forward off his stool and into the edge of the bar table. 

Shiro froze, tense and unmoving, grip white-knuckled where his hands clutched at the bar for balance. Shouts rang out around him, the sound of bar stools scraping and broken glass assaulting his ears. He could feel the rush of movement around him, although no other person made contact with him. The cacophony of chaos only increased his already rapid pulse. He took a deep breath and willed his muscles to unlock, before turning to view the scene unfolding on the other side of the tavern.

“Yer just pissed off ye didn’t think of it first, n’ ye know thach’ye haven’t got a chance otherwise!” 

A burly red-faced man from one of the bay crews shouted at one of his scrawnier coworkers with a scraggly beard, both being held back by their peers. Presumably, they must have started the initial tussle. Others were still shouting at each other across the fray. Shiro surveyed his exit options, given that the night seemed to have reached its breaking point. He didn’t want to stick around if it turned into an all-out brawl. 

He couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t lose his head and come to some hours later, only to find blood on his knuckles and new injuries whose origins he wouldn’t be able to name. 

“It’s a right dirty trick and you know it, ya bastard!” The scrawnier man shouted back. 

“He’ll end up killing the poor thing as it sits waitin’ in one of his little traps!” Another man chimed it from the crowd. 

“Alright, alright, enough!” Matt hollered over the din. “Settle down or take it outside, you all know the rules!”

The scrawny man gestured towards the other peace-breaker. “Kick this one out, then! The man’s only tryin’ tuh start a ruckus with the rest of us, chattin’ on and on about that damned cat!”

“Chat about whatever you want, but disturb any of the other fine people here this eve and I’ll have you both thrown out. And I’ll be adding any damages to your tab, Wilden!” 

The scrawny man cursed and waved Matt off before storming out. A handful of onlookers cheered at the apparent resolution, and Matt took a bow. Shiro willed his heart to calm down. 

“Someone ought to teach the big one a lesson.” 

Shiro turned in surprise at the sound of Hunk’s voice. The man had never shown a tendency towards violence. 

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. We all know that cat’s too smart to fall for some common trap.”

Shiro readjusted his stool and sat down, those this time keeping his side out towards the tavern. “Why are people breaking into brawls over trapping a cat? Why trap a cat at all?”

Hunk turned to him in surprise. “You haven’t heard?”

Shiro shook his head. 

Pidge leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Keith gave out an ultimatum. Basically, the most socially acceptable way to tell everyone to leave him the fuck alone, you know?” 

Hunk nodded. “That’s true. It was kind of genius. Still, I feel bad for the cat.”

“I don’t understand,” Shiro said, “What does any of this have to do with a cat?”

“Well, I don’t know how much you know about the Marmora family,” Pidge continued, ”But Keith’s kind of a recent enigma. He only arrived in town a few years ago and turned out to be the estranged nephew of Kolivan. Which was convenient for Kolivan, because he doesn’t have an heir to the Marmora estate of his own.” 

Shiro nodded, digesting this new information. He’d known that Keith was related to the family, somehow, but hadn’t realized that Keith was Kolivan’s actual heir. 

“As you can imagine, people went pretty ravenous when Keith became of age last year.” 

“Ravenous is an understatement,” Hunk added, shaking his head. “The efforts to court him have ranged from somewhat tame to downright illegal.” 

Shiro let out a questioning sound. “How does one court another illegally?”

“Someone tried to blackmail him,” Pidge said. “It didn’t pan out, of course, the man was an idiot. But, still, it’s been hard on Keith. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, but he’s not very sociable. No one really knows much about where he’s been all these years. All we know is that his mother, Kolivan’s sister, passed away when Keith was young.” 

“That’s… Horrible.” Shiro said. 

“So the cat!” Hunk continued, “The cat belongs to Keith. Just about as mysterious as he is. You might see it around town sometime, you’ll be able to spot it by the key around its neck. Keith announced that the only person who will be eligible to marry him is the one who can get that key and return it to Keith.”

Pidge shrugged and motioned towards where the fiasco had happened only moments earlier. “It’s definitely an uncustomary approach to the process. But you have to hand it to him, at least the chaos is somewhat limited to those who wreak it, rather than constantly bombarding Keith himself.”

Shiro hummed in agreement, though his mind was somewhat far away, thinking back to a little black cat with piercing eyes and a key around its neck. 

It sounded like a needed reprieve for Keith, yes. But what about the cat itself?

Sweat dripped down Shiro’s forehead as he sat down the last of the crystals he had shaped for Ulaz. Over the aisle on the other side of his station, Keith was scowling at a piece of crystalline pyrite, a deep line between his brows and frustration writ across his shoulders. Shiro had watched him struggle with it for the past half hour. 

Shiro leaned back from where he’d been hunched over, wiping his forehead with a nearby rag. He almost laughed to himself watching Keith’s struggle. Crystalline pyrite was a more common material far north of Anozira, but was relatively new to Marmora Metals, who had only recently begun working with it. But Shiro remembered the smithy’s forging it in the military barracks as they repaired a plethora of weapons for whatever battle awaited their forces next. 

He strode around his station and approached Keith. The man was almost as hypervigilant as Shiro—no one could ever catch the sneak on him. But he didn’t notice as Shiro came up behind him, too absorbed into his struggle with the pyrite. 

“You know,” Shiro began, smirking when Keith nearly leapt out of his skin. “It’s incredibly easy to shape if you only heat it up first.”

Keith stared at him for a moment open-mouthed, either in shock at Shiro’s success in startling him, or at the apparent audacity it took for anyone in the workshop to try to give Keith advice. Keith snapped his jaw closed and glared at Shiro.

It made sense why no one ever bossed Keith around, even the higher-ups of the crew who were far older and far more experienced. The intensity of Keith’s eyes even made some part of Shiro want to cower away. 

But a far greater part of him reared up in excitement at the challenge.

“Obviously. Any metallurgist including myself would know that even if they’d only a week of experience to their name.” Keith said, then turned his nose up, to which Shiro raised a brow. “Unfortunately, with this specific type of pyrite, the heat will melt the internal crystal formations, jeopardizing the integrity of the material. It would be rendered no stronger than graphite.”

Keith turned back to his work. Shiro leaned an elbow down on the table next to Keith and smiled at him, smug. 

“I suppose everyone’s been afraid to tell you that you’re heating it at too hot a temperature, then.”

Keith’s jaw dropped again, this time in indignation. 

“For your apparently all-knowing record, no one here has any expertise in crystalline pyrite! And I’ve already tried heating it at the lowest possible flame, with no coals in the chamber, and—” Keith began gesturing broadly, and Shiro felt impossibly amused as he watched Keith’s cheeks turn pinker and pinker. He was flustered . 

Unable to hold back any longer, Shiro threw back his head and laughed, interrupting Keith’s tirade, who instead stared silently at Shiro with wide eyes. Shiro shook his head, still grinning, and grabbed an empty iron pot from a nearby station. He took the pot to the closest furnace, and carefully scooped enough of the finer ashes into the pot to create a thick layer in the bottom. Then, he took a pair of clamps and held them in hand as he observed the coals. After a moment of speculation, he grabbed two from the outer edges of the furnace and placed them in two tips of a triangle formation on the ash layer. Then, he brought the iron pot back to Keith’s station, set it down, and carefully placed the crystalline pyrite into the third point of the triangle. 

Keith observed this silently, absorbing every detail of Shiro’s process. 

Shiro grabbed the iron lid from the same station as before, placed it on the pot, and turned to Keith. “Let it sit for an hour, then try shaping it again. If the crystal formations have melted, or if it is still just as difficult to shape, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Keith’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of rose. Shiro winked at him, then went back to his own station. He restrained himself from looking at Keith’s worktable for the rest of his shift. 

Luckily, at the end of the day, and just when Shiro was finally about to give in and go ask how it went, Keith slid into the only open area remaining amidst the projects now towering around Shiro’s work area. He crossed his arms, pointedly looking down at Shiro’s table. Shiro held back a smile.

Only a moment later, Keith sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay!” He huffed. “Your stupid trick worked.” 

Shiro finally allowed his smile through but withheld any snark of his own. Keith was skitterish like a cat; he might jump away at any moment. So Shiro simply nodded and said, “Glad to hear it.” He slipped past Keith and away from his station to go return his protective gear for the day. 

“Wait!” 

Shiro stopped and turned back to where Keith was still standing at his station, surprised. 

Keith looked off to the side and frowned as though he’d swallowed something bitter. But Shiro noticed that his cheeks were red once again. Finally, Keith threw up his arms and said, “I guess I’ll buy you a drink, then.” 

Shiro’s heart thudded in his chest. What was it about this man? That had his own pulse picking up and half the town breaking out into fights in taverns? 

“You don’t have to do that. I only said I’d owe you a drink if I wasted your material.” 

Keith shook his head. “But that’s not fair! You saved me hours of work today, and, and-” He paused and gestured helplessly. 

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“No one else here has any experience with crystalline pyrite, and certainly no one has ever used as specific a method of heating as that. I want to know where you learned it.” Keith shrugged. “I want to know what else you know.” 

Shiro nodded. “Alright, then.” 

The corners of Keith’s mouth turned up into a pleased little smile, seemingly unbeknownst to him. Shiro smiled back, and Keith started towards the gear storeroom as well. 

“Oh! Um, maybe…” Shiro hesitated, remembering the curfuffle of a few nights before at the Holt’s tavern. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out on the town. People have been… rowdy, as of late.” 

Now it was Keith’s turn to smirk. “I think it’s the perfect time to go out on the town. Ever since my little announcement, I’ve experienced considerably less harassment. It should be fun for once.”

Shiro frowned, but before he could respond, Keith was striding towards the storeroom, a considerable perk to his gait. 

They found themselves at the Holt’s tavern on what had turned out to be quite the busy night. But, true to Keith’s word, they were mostly left alone. 

They sat at the bar and the conversation flowed effortlessly on the topic of various metals and methods. Keith was clearly passionate about metallurgy, and fascinated by its combination of magic. 

Eventually, Shiro felt relaxed enough (and perhaps tipsy enough) to finally ask the question that had been on his mind for weeks. 

“Aren’t you worried about your cat?”

Keith looked at him in surprise. “What?” 

“Your cat? You know people are plotting to capture it, now.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.” He shrugged. “But they won’t succeed.”

That raised Shiro’s own eyebrows. “Oh? Are you sure about that?

“Are you doubting my cat’s intelligence?”

“No, but one cat versus swathes of greedy suitors doesn’t amount to very reassuring odds.” 

Keith stared at him for a moment before taking another swig of his drink. “Well. I’ll have you know that I got my cat’s permission first, so I’d suggest you don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Shiro almost took offense before totally comprehending what all Keith had said. He leaned forward on the bar and looked at Keith with a smirk. “You think my head is pretty?” 

Keith choked on the drink he had just taken, his face rapidly turning red. But before Shiro could tease him more, another voice chimed in. 

“Mr. Kogane! I’d hate to see you take yourself out of the game before I can hand you that key. Besides, drinking such common beer is beneath a man of your stature, no?” 

Shiro watched as Keith’s posture completely altered, tension radiating off the man. He turned to look for the source of the voice and saw a man with long white hair, dressed in the finest of materials and donning a smirk of his own. 

Shiro didn’t appreciate it at all. 

“If it’s so far beneath me, I can’t imagine what brought you to a slum such as this tonight, Lotor.” Keith said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I merely thought to stop in. I’d heard that Marmora has a new employee in their midsts!” The man—Lotor—turned to Shiro and held out a hand. “Lotor Sinclair.”

Shiro eyed the hand but didn’t reach out. “Well, I’d introduce myself, but I’m afraid my hands are quite common.”

Keith snorted and darted a hand over his mouth as if to catch himself. He looked gleefully surprised. 

“His name is Shirogane. And I quite enjoy spending my days with him discussing our newest projects.” 

Shiro felt his cheeks turn pink at Keith’s words, but said nothing as he quickly picked up on the jest—after all, he and Keith had never spoken before the crystalline pyrite.

“I’d invite you to join us here or some time at the workshop, Lotor, but Shiro raised a good point—it’s far too common for you.”

Lotor smiled at the clear dismissal, though it looked strained as if around a bitter taste in his mouth. “Right. Then I shall leave you to it, Mr. Kogane.” He nodded at Shiro. “Mr. Shirogane.” 

Shiro nodded back, and Lotor turned stiffly and strode off. 

Keith smirked at Shiro, and Shiro couldn’t help but smile at the mischievous glint in Keith’s eyes. 

“My cat hates Lotor.” 

Shiro’s jaw dropped in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of him. Keith gleefully joined it, and the surrounding sounds of bells and laughter enveloped Shiro, filled with joy and freedom. 

Keith was occasionally absent from the workshop, but his days off seemed to coincide with Shiro’s. Although, Shiro suspected that perhaps Keith just didn’t take as many rest days as everyone else. The younger man was fascinated by the combination of metallurgy and magic, as well as the engineering aspects of design. Shiro could easily tell by the way his face lit up every time they talked about a new project or geological theorem. 

Their conversation often spilled over into walks through the nearby forest during lunches, or into drinks at the Holt’s tavern.

On one particular day, though, Shiro couldn’t spot that familiar swing of a silken black braid. He had become particularly fond of working alongside Keith and so was slightly disappointed, but he shrugged it off and settled into his work. 

A mere two hours into his shift, Ulaz approached him with a package.

“This needs to go to Kolivan for inspection. Can you bring it up to him at the main house? Usually Regris or I would do it, but he’s off today and I’m behind on revisions for one of Pidge’s designs.” 

Shiro nodded. “Of course.”

He’d never been inside the main manor before, but he took the package and headed out towards the building that loomed large a relatively short distance away from the workshop. It sat further than the crew house in the opposite direction and was the main building visible from the road. This was made further obvious, Shiro observed, by the stark contrast in attention to detail on the manor gardens. 

As he approached the front entrance up a flight of stone steps, no one came to greet Shiro. He hesitated outside the large doors but eventually shrugged and let himself in. The appearance of the entrance hall reassured him that he hadn’t committed a grave social faux pas. He’d been in the manors of rich military elites, their homes decorated with the most lavish and ornate materials and rare art pieces available. The Marmora manor was almost humble, its entry hall lacking the typical obnoxious displays of wealth. Large windows bathed Shiro in the bright early afternoon sunlight amid the warm tones of wood, stone, and marble around him. 

There still weren’t any staff to greet him, but Shiro got the impression that this was typical. Kolivan and Antok seemed to brush off the more intensive requirements of high society, though Shiro wasn’t sure if it was in response to or in protest of the way they were often ostracized for being Galran. It was rarely outright, but remained in the subtleties of everyday life and the general structure of human societies. 

As he’d only experienced a small sum of the same scrutiny given his Galran arm, Shiro couldn’t imagine the full depth of struggle that the Galran members of their community experienced. 

He shrugged off his wandering thoughts and headed off down a hallway. He might as well try to deliver the package as quickly as possible and get back to the workshop—he was soon to start his first project as the lead blacksmith on a design he had collaborated with Pidge to create. 

He only wandered for a few minutes before the sound of raised voices led him down a windowless corridor. As he approached the door that stood slightly ajar, he began to make out what the voices were saying.

“—removed any option for us to protect you, not to mention putting our whole family at risk!” 

“Protect me? You were already failing to do that! I guess it’s better if I’m at risk, rather than your precious family !” 

The door burst open and out stormed a red-faced Keith. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Shiro, eyes widening for a moment in surprise before he turned on his heel, ducked his head and hurriedly walked away. 

Shiro’s heart was now beating quite rapidly in his chest, the leftover tension from the room palpable before he had even entered. 

“Come in, Shirogane.”

“Ah, right!” He pulled his gaze away from where he had watched Keith disappear in a flurry down the hallway and walked into the room, which he assumed was Kolivan’s office. Antok was leaning against a large mahogany desk, while Kolivan stood in the center of a room on an artfully patterned carpet. “Just Shiro is fine, sir.” 

Kolivan nodded and held out a hand for the package. The man’s jaw was clenched, tension clear in the lines of his body. Antok seemed more at ease, though his expression was grim. 

Kolivan took the package and said nothing, eyes on the door where Keith had just exited. Shiro cleared his throat. “Well, uh, sirs. Ulaz said that design needs your approval. I’ll just be heading back to the workshop then.”

Kolivan didn’t respond. 

“Thank you, Shiro.” Antok offered after a moment. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Shiro nodded and swiftly left, eager to escape the atmosphere in the room.

He was eager to get back to work, but he was also turning over and over the memory of what he had just witnessed, worry about Keith clogging his thoughts. Keith had only sparsely told Shiro about his past, mostly to explain his current situation: that he felt alienated from the Marmora community, especially those who were considered part of the family. As if he would always be an outsider only included by mere technicality and convenience. 

On a hunch, Shiro decided to deviate towards the forest and visit a spot he’d found with Keith just the other day.

Sure enough, Keith was sitting on a trunk near a slow-moving creek. The perfect spot to sit and soak in the sounds of the forest, they’d discovered.

Shiro sat next to Keith on the trunk, though left him his space. He tilted his face up toward the fractured rays of sunlight breaking through the leaves and let out a heavy breath, leaning back on his hands against the wood. When Keith still didn’t say anything, Shiro closed his eyes and let the silence permeate for a while. 

Eventually, he leaned forward and brought his elbows to his knees. He took another deep breath.

“When I was very young, I became quite ill.” 

Silence.

“The doctor told my parents it was unlikely that I would survive into adulthood. And… well, I was sick. And I believed them, that I would die before I’d ever really lived. But then I kept on surviving, year after year. My worst episodes became less frequent. Eventually, I did become an adult.”

Shiro sighed. “And I’d been so used to this idea that I wouldn’t make it, that when I did, I was incredibly grateful. My parents and family had been so supportive over the years. I wanted to give back. I wanted to help ensure that other people would have the chance to survive, too. So I enlisted.” 

Shiro stretched his Galran arm out in front of himself and watched the scattered light reflect off the metal plates, the dips, the curves. 

“But… when I saw what we were doing? It was different from what I’d been told. The fights that we were fighting… they weren’t for the people, the civilians. On either side. We’d been convinced that those wars had everything to do with us, when really they only concerned the problems of those in power. But I couldn’t just leave, I couldn’t bring the shame of being a ‘deserter’ down on my family.” Shiro spat out the word deserter, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

“As if anyone who wasn’t there, who didn’t see what we saw—who didn’t have to do what we had to do. As if they would understand what, exactly, we were deserting.” Shiro shook his head and stared up at the leaves that swayed above them. Keith still hadn’t uttered a sound. 

“So I stayed. Fought in battles I didn’t believe in. And then I got captured.” 

Keith looked at him from the corner of his eyes. Shiro gave him a grim smile and motioned with his prosthetic. 

“That’s when I got this.” 

Shiro closed his eyes and shook off the memories that tried to bubble their way to the forefront of his mind. 

“Anyway, eventually I made it back over to one of our encampments. I wasn’t willing to fight anymore, not for anything, but it didn’t matter. They gave me an ‘honorable’ discharge anyway. They didn’t say it, but I could tell they just didn’t trust me anymore. They were right not to, but not because I was working for the other side. I didn’t want to work for any of them. I wasn’t going to fight their pointless battles anymore.”

A gentle touch on his arm—his prosthetic—startled him. Keith’s hand was hovering over his wrist, fingertips resting gently over the metal. Shiro turned his palm up, and Keith brought his other hand to lift the arm, turning it slowly, examining it. Like it was something fascinating, something precious. Shiro swallowed over his caught breath. 

“When I got home, it was… it was difficult. Everyone in our town knew about the man with the Galran arm. They looked at me like an enemy. Treated me like an outsider.” He shrugged. “I guess I was, in a way. Even my family tip-toed around me. I couldn’t stand it, but I felt obligated to stay there with them, to help out and work whatever odd jobs I could come up with, contribute to the household.” 

Keith lowered Shiro’s arm, but let his hand linger. He slid it down the smooth metallic wrist until his palm sat over Shiro’s. Not grasping, just… resting. He met Shiro’s gaze, but not with pity—with a deep understanding.  

“Eventually I decided that I would no longer live a life in service to anyone’s beliefs but my own—not even the beliefs of my past self. I guess I didn’t really know where that left me. So I reached out to an old friend, Matthew Holt, and he told me to come out here.” Shiro smiled. “It was the hardest and greatest decision I ever made.” 

Keith averted his gaze to the creek. A small furrow appeared between his brows. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Shiro closed his fingers around Keith’s hand, gentle but firm. 

“Because you are living your life according to no one else’s beliefs but your own. You alone know what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen. What you experienced when you came here and learned of your inheritance, and when people started treating you like a prize to be owned. But you refused it and opted for the best alternative you could think of.” Shiro squeezed his hand, “And I think that’s brave. I think it’s beautiful. A life lived in service to no one else, beholden to the standards of no other.” 

Keith looked at him with wide eyes, lips parted, stunned. Shiro watched the violet melding with the light, entranced. He watched as Keith’s gaze darted down to Shiro’s lips. Shiro’s own gaze couldn’t help but follow, looking down at the soft pink of Keith’s lips, full and supple—

Keith abruptly stood up, tense, and broke from Shiro’s grasp. Shiro sat up straight, frowning. “Keith? What’s—“

“I—“ Keith began, eyes darting around before landing briefly back on Shiro. “I have to go.” 

And before Shiro could protest, Keith had run off in the direction of the manner. Shiro’s heart pounded in his chest. 

Shiro hadn’t seen or heard from Keith in five days, since their talk in the woods. Keith’s absence from the workshop made him nervous—it was obvious that Shiro was being avoided. Keith never missed so many days from work. 

Matt noticed how tense Shiro was and convinced him to join the crew for a drink at the tavern. He enjoyed that company, but his mind was only half focused on the conversation. When the topic of Keith inevitably came up, Shiro felt his heart rate pick up and tried not to let his muscles visibly clench. 

“Has anyone even heard from him? It’s unusual that he ever misses a day in the workshop. We usually have to force him to take a day off.” Hunk said. 

Lance set his mug down on the table with more force than was necessary, part-way to drunk already. “Who knows! That guy is such a loner. He never tells anyone about anything. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s missing. Maybe he found something more interesting to do with his time. It’s not like he can get fired.” 

“Oh, knock off, Lance.” Pidge said. “You’re just jealous that Keith picked up metallurgy quicker than you ever did. He’s a good employee. He’d never just miss work for no reason.” 

Shiro stood abruptly, his chair squealing against the floor. The handful of faces from around the table stared at him in surprise. Pidge had a suspicious look on her face that Shiro definitely wanted to avoid. 

“Um.” He said, intelligently. He cleared his throat. “I just need some air.” 

He turned and briskly walked out of the tavern. He didn’t want to ruminate on why Keith might be gone. Unusual was an understatement—that Keith would be gone without having given a reason for his absence. Which only supported Shiro’s theory that he, himself, was the cause of Keith’s disappearing act. 

He shouldn’t have said what he said. He just… Keith’s eyes had been lit so wondrously by the afternoon light, and gazing so widely up at Shiro, and the irresistible slope of his nose… He was beautiful. And Shiro had been so, so stupid to say so. Keith hated people hitting on him. It was the whole reason behind his drastic choice to avoid the courtship traditions expected of him. 

He turned down an alley off the busier street that held most of this part of town’s evening entertainment. He sucked in a breath of the crisp night air, imagining each particle attaching to the stress in his muscles and carrying it back out through his exhale. 

Breathe, attach, exhale, repeat. Focus yields patience. Patience yields peace. 

A yowl broke Shiro from his grounding routine. He frowned, unnerved by the sharp sound. He came to an intersection between alleyways, dark and damp between a sprawl of different buildings. He turned down the path where he estimated the noise had come from. 

He heard scuffling and the clang of objects being knocked around, the screech of metal scraping concrete. As he got closer, he caught hushed shouting and hissed curses. As he neared another corner, sure that the source of the racket was just around the corner, he pressed himself flat against the wall, then peered around the edge. 

Three bulky figures stood amongst scattered rubbage, bins, and tin lids rolling as if recently unsettled. One was cursing and holding a hand over his eye. The other two were struggling with a writhing burlap sack, from within which came a series of hissing and growls. Shiro watched as they squeezed and hit the sack, obviously tormenting whatever creature they had caught inside. His stomach rolled. 

Then he heard what they were muttering to each other.

“Just reach in and grab the damn thing!”

“You reach in there! I’m not sticking my hand near that beast!” 

The man who was still clutching at his eye hissed, “One of you just get the goddamned key already!”

And the nausea in Shiro’s stomach turned to anger rising through his chest. Because he knew exactly what key they were referring to. 

Without a moment’s thought, Shiro turned the corner and charged the men. He took out the one standing aside first, an easy target that didn’t see him coming. One quick fist to the face took the bastard out. 

Though the other two certainly had the advantage in sheer size, they had nothing on Shiro’s trained skills, honed through years of life-and-death battles.

He easily dodged their advances, throwing one off balance and then over his shoulder quickly thereafter. He ducked under the other’s punch and gave him a metal punch to the abdomen, followed up by a swift kick. They may have still been conscious, Shiro could hear them groaning, but he wouldn’t wait around to find out. 

A quick glance revealed the burlap where it must have been thrown to the ground. It was still.

Shiro’s stomach dropped. 

He rushed over and frantically dug for the opening of the bag, gentling his touch all the while. When he finally peeled back the opening, a tuft of midnight black fur greeted him. 

“Oh no, no no no no— “

He picked up the unconscious cat and it lay limp in his arms. The burlap sack caught on the cat’s foot, and a piece of silver fell out and chimed as it hit the concrete. Shiro snatched it with his free hand and ran. 

By the time he was approaching the manor on one of the Holt’s mares (that he had grabbed without permission—he had been too far gone in a state of adrenaline to notify anyone where he was going), the cat was still unconscious. Shiro tried to hold it as gently as possible. Their tiny body was wrapped in his cloak, and he could hear their ragged breathing. Fear coursed through him. There were likely internal injuries, at which point, there would be nothing that anyone could do. 

Once again, no staff greeted him at the manor entrance. He burst through the doors and called out for Keith. Antok came hurtling around the corner, shock rippling across his face as he took in the sight of Shiro and the bundled cat. 

“What—”

“A bunch of goons in town—I stopped them, they were after the key. Where is Keith?”

Antok stared at that cat, his face pale. Then he nodded, turned on his heel, and said, “Follow me.” 

They walked down a short series of corridors. Antok knocked on a door, peered his head and said, “Get Kolivan. Run.” 

Axca emerged from the door and stopped dead when she saw Shiro, the color draining out of her face when she saw Keith’s cat. 

“Oh gods.” She breathed. 

“Go!” Antok barked before she could question it. She nodded and ran off, then Shiro and Antok continued. Minutes later, they came to a small room with a high table. There were shelves stocked with jars and containers all filled to the brim with various herbs and concoctions. Antok pulled a blanket from a chest and laid it out on the table. 

“Set him here.” 

Shiro nodded and gently placed the cat, cloak and all, onto the blanket. The cat didn’t make a sound, and their—his—breathing held that same wet rattle. Shiro swallowed down the knot in his throat, overwhelmed by the matted fur in various patches around the cat’s body, probably coated in blood. Shiro gently stroked him, following the gentle slant from the tip of his pink nose to his forehead. Antok busied himself gathering various supplies.

A few moments after settling there, Shiro became aware of something poking at him from his pocket. 

“Oh.” 

He reached for the little silver key and held it up in the light. It had a spot of blood on its tip, gone brown from the air. Shiro cleaned it off with his shirt and gently looped the key back onto the ring of the cat’s little black collar. He knew the collar would need to come off, but something settled in him at seeing the key where it belonged. 

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to Antok, the man offering him a grim expression. 

“You need to go, Shiro. We’ll take care of him.”

“But Keith—”

“Shiro.” Antok interrupted him, voice firm. Shiro wanted to protest further, but he’d never witnessed Antok assert himself so forcefully. So he merely nodded, and stepped back. With one last look at the cat, still unconscious, Shiro turned and left. 

***

The next morning, Shiro awoke to a knock at his door. Colleen greeted him with a warm smile, a steaming bun and a thermos of tea. 

“Someone is here for you, dear. Best not keep them waiting.”

Shiro nodded and quickly gathered himself to leave. Once outside, he saw Axca astride a stallion, another horse from the Marmora grounds saddled beside her. She nodded to him. 

“Let’s go. Keith is waiting for you.” 

Shiro’s heart picked up, remembering the weight of the vulnerable little creature in his arms, injured and covered in blood. 

“How is—”

“He’s alright.” Axca said. She fixed Shiro with a scrutinizing look, then nodded. “You did good, Shirogane.” 

When they arrived at the manor, Axca led him up to the second floor. Shiro clenched and unclenched his fist, unsure of where they were headed. She brought him to a plain door, knocked twice, then stepped back. She looked at Shiro expectantly, nodding at the door when he failed to move. 

Shiro stepped in. 

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright morning light filtering in from a window, and he looked around at what appeared to be a bedroom. Then, his gaze settled on the bed in the middle of the room. More so on the figure laid up in the bed. 

“Keith.” He breathed, and followed the almost gravitational pull closer.

Keith was sitting up against a stack of pillows, his posture and the bags under his eyes revealing his exhaustion. His lip was split and his left cheekbone was adorned with shades of black and purple. But the most distressing features were the bandages, one around his right hand, one on the bottom right half of his face, and more underneath his nightshirt if the bulk there was any indication. 

“What… What happened to you?” Shiro asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Keith. His hand unconsciously lifted, his fingertips coming to gently rest just outside of the bruised area on Keith’s cheek. 

Keith sighed and lifted his own hand to cup Shiro’s, head tilting into the touch. 

“Shiro…”

“Keith. What happened?” 

Keith looked up at Shiro, eyes swimming with guilt and apprehension. Shiro frowned but held back his questions. 

Keith cleared his throat and let his hand drop, Shiro following in suit. 

“Shiro, I wanted to tell you… I was going to. I just—I panicked, that day. In the woods, I mean. I was afraid. I’ve been forced to hide it most of my life, and even now, even though things are better… People don’t trust us. They don’t trust people like me.” Keith looked down at his hands.

“Galran people, you mean?” 

Keith let out a bitter laugh. “Well, yes, there’s always that, of course. But, more than that…”

He looked up at Shiro. “Galran shifters, Shiro.”

Silence followed while Shiro struggled to process Keith’s words. Keith’s chest lifted heavily on each breath. 

He’d heard of them, of course. Everyone did, growing up. But he’d only seen the brutal reality of shifters on the battleground. Gargantuan monsters, viscous and intent to kill. 

“I don’t—” He swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

Shiro ran his hands over his face. “So, wait. What does that—are you saying that’s what happened? I mean, that someone found out? And hurt you? Or, you, or that you—”

Keith cut him off with a shake of his head. “Shiro, no. It was—you were there. You saw.” 

Shiro looked at him blankly. 

“Last night?” Keith prompted. “In the alley?”

Last night. In the alley. A cat whose name he’d never heard, not even from Keith’s own mouth. A cat who he’d never seen in the same place as Keith. 

A cat who seemed to know what he was saying, even though that was impossible. 

A cat who had comforted him. Who had lain, hurt and limp, in his arms last night. 

“That’s…” Shiro breathed. His hands shot out, only to hover over Keith’s chest. “But that’s—you were—Gods, Keith . Are you okay? Are you, your injuries, are they—”

A gush of breath wooshed out of Keith, the tension in his body seeming to follow. He slumped forward, causing Shiro’s hands to meet his chest. Keith raised his own hands to hold Shiro’s in place and let out a laugh. 

“Oh, that’s. That’s good, then, I guess. I tell you that I’m a shifter—you, the jaded veteran—and you ask if I’m okay .” He shook his head and smiled up at Shiro, relief written all over his face. “Always the unexpected with you.” 

Shiro couldn’t help but smile back, though small. “So you’ll be alright, then?”

Keith nodded. “Yes. I’ll recover just fine. Kolivan’s already made it clear I won’t be allowed to step foot in the workshop anytime soon.” 

Shiro laughed and shook his head. “Makes you wish you hadn’t spent the past few days avoiding me, huh?”

Keith grimaced. “Ah. Yeah, I suppose it does.” 

Shiro stroked his thumb where it lay against Keith’s chest. “I’m, ah… Surprised, I suppose. The only Galran shifters I’ve ever seen have been…”

“Nightmares?” Keith asked, eyebrows raised. Shiro shrugged guiltily. 

“I figured as much. I understand why there’s a fear of us—because the empire has absolutely utilized the magic of horrible, horrible people who have this power. But more than that, they’ve blackmailed and tortured many of our kind for their own cruel purposes. Some of us, though, like me… we wouldn’t have much use as warriors.”

Keith looked down where Shiro’s hands lay against him. “Shiro, no one can know about this. There are few who do in the Marmora family and beyond, a clan of sorts, but beyond that…” He shook his head. “It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous for human people to know, various factions of Alteans or even those Galrans who are still loyal to the empire. They all may fear or desire our power for different reasons, but they would all bring us harm.” 

Shiro flipped his hands around to grasp Keith’s. “Of course.” He squeezed. “You have my word.” 

It was then that Shiro noticed a hint of black thread just above Keith’s collar, almost hidden beneath his hair. And something else clicked into place. He let go of Keith with one of his hands and slowly, gently, pushed aside Keiths hair to reveal the line of a necklace. He hooked one finger underneath and pulled until the necklace fell over Keith’s shirt line, thick black threat complete with a metal hook and one small, silver key. 

“This is…”

“The key that you returned to me.” 

Shiro looked up to see the uncertainty that had returned to Keith’s eyes. 

“Shiro, it doesn’t have to… If you don’t want it to mean—”

“No.” Shiro cut him off, fist tightening over the key. “I returned it to you, didn’t I?” 

The corner of Keith’s mouth pulled up, a glimmer of hope sparking in the violet haze of his irises. “Yes, I suppose you did.” 

Shiro smirked and felt his heart soar, his stomach swoop, at the familiar pink tint that began to spread across Keith’s cheeks. 

“Well, then that settles the matter.”

Keith grinned and Shiro’s smile grew to match.

“I suppose it does.”