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“Keith, are you okay?”
Keith folds further into himself. He’d almost given it away with the team’s speculation about Zarkon following them, and now, this. He tries not to look at Shiro, but knows even without eye contact, Shiro can see something is bothering him.
That’s one thing he hates and loves: He can never hide from Shiro. “Yeah, why?”
“You seem a little anxious.”
Keith swallows, and tries his best to smile. "I’m fine. Just tired. Like I said, I should just get some sleep.”
Behind the safety of his door, he lifts up his pillow and unwraps his knife, metal cool to the touch. The insignia, the same as Ulaz’s, glows faintly in the dark.
Keith cradles it, slowly coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Who is he? Where did this come from? Could it be that the Galra were on Earth? Was it all a conspiracy? Was he—
"Keith? Can I come in?"
Keith sits up with a jolt, sliding his knife back under his pillow and standing up, spine rigid and heart in his throat. "Sure," he says, trying to sound casual.
The door slides open, and Shiro strides in. “Hey. I just… want to check up on you.”
"I'm fine," Keith says, too quickly. "It's been a lot lately." He looks down at his feet, thinking of Ulaz, how suspicion melted from doubt to fear to grief. Grief for an ally who would have been helpful and easy to get along with, but also grief for answers he hadn't pressed.
Shiro seems to read his face. "We're pushing closer to winning this war by finding the Blades."
"But Zarkon…" Keith hesitates. "Look, I was in the lion and had my blasters straight for him, and he treated it like it was a toy. Even with these powerful space weapons…"
Shiro shakes his head. "I wish you didn't put yourself in danger, but at least we have more intelligence about what Zarkon can do outside commanding troops."
Like track us. Keith swallows. "I just… it's dangerous out there." I'm dangerous.
"Keith." Shiro drops to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad you're talking about this with me. To be a leader—"
"No," Keith says, sitting down next to Shiro. "We are not talking about this."
"We have to sometime. You're already my second-in-command, you're the best at combat, and you're—you have amazing potential, Keith. More than being a Garrison pilot."
I'm Galra, Keith thinks, trying the shape of it for the first time. I am your enemy, I might be your undoing, and you're putting me in a place where I can hurt you so much. And you don't deserve that.
"No," Keith repeats. "That's not...I—"
Then he freezes as Shiro leans forward to grasp his shoulder.
Shiro's sitting on his bed. Close to the pillow. Too close.
Keith grabs his arm. "I…" Then all words seem to leave him. He can't let Shiro know, not yet, but that might have gone away by gripping him like a runaway puppy. "I'm just…"
Tell him.
Shiro's eyes fall to his neck, to the gap in his collar, and Keith knows what he sees: a silver chain, with a familiar clink underneath.
"You kept these," Shiro says softly.
"Yes," Keith breathes. He feels as if he's been stripped naked under Shiro's gaze, as hot as standing in a burning room. He wonders if Shiro can read on his face that lonely year with only stars for company, the wretched howl that tore from his throat when he saw the newscast, the elation that made his hands tremble as he pulled his dad's old clothes from the trunk.
Now, he reaches out and holds them up to the light, up to scrutiny.
Shiro's hand comes forward, catching the dog tags in his fist, and runs a thumb along the edge. Keith can feel it zipping up his spine, and he holds still, hardly daring to breathe. "All this time?"
"Yes," Keith repeats, more firmly. They're so close now that he can feel Shiro's breath along his nose.
But to his disappointment, Shiro startles at the sound of his voice and drops the dog tags. He then folds his hands quickly in his lap, clenched tight, and looks at Keith.
"Keith, no matter what happens, I'm with you. You know that, right?"
The blade flashes in his mind, but he looks up and nods. "I know."