Chapter Text
“I specifically told you not to call me in the middle of the night.”
The darkness outside is thick, January is around the corner and it doesn’t feel like the days are getting longer yet. When Pidge’s phone indicated midnight, she dialed Allura Kouamé’s number. It seemed an appropriate time to talk about ghosts. Spirits. About Keith’s burning soul in her apartment, while his body lays dead-like in the hospital, miles away. She hasn’t seen it yet. She explained, or tried to. It took Shiro two days before he agreed to take her to his protégé’s body. Tomorrow.
“Yup.” She makes the last letter pop, a smile pushing the corners of her mouth. “You also kinda totally forgot to mention you were renting me a haunted apartment.”
It might be petty, but seeing Keith smile from his spot half-through the window would be worth it even without the kick she got from hearing her landlady’s tired and annoyed voice. “It is too late for this conversation, Ms. Holt. Call me again in the morning, you should–”
“Did you know that Keith is still alive?”
A silence. Not even a movement, not even a breath. “Excuse me?”
“So you didn’t know?”
“I, no, I had no idea. He is…? Oh, well. Right. Right. I can’t believe Lotor would– well, I guess I can believe that. Where is his body then?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
She glances at her soulmate. He shrugs. She’s free to say what she wants.
“Because if he is possessed by a… wandering soul, I can help you.”
“If he is– is that possible? Uh, okay, scary.”
“What?”
“She said she could have helped if your body was possessed. Which, nice, but scary, also useless for our situation.”
“Are you with him now?”
“What do you think? He can’t exactly— look, no, he isn’t being possessed. Or it’s some kind of sleep demon that just wants his body laying down alive.”
“No, most sleep demons feed on the consciousness it couldn’t be– anyway, I would like to see his body.”
“Uh… I have so many questions. Sleep demons?”
“Since you mentioned them first I assumed—”
“What the hell. I really want to ask you about that, but I have an early morning tomorrow. Meeting my ghost’s body, y’ know.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
She hangs up, and it is probably bad manners, but she feels a headache building and the sip of coffee she takes doesn’t make it fade even a bit. Keith’s form approaches, settling in front of her, where she can get lost in those too-black eyes. It’s like a door was forced open in her mind and through it a thousand thoughts are rushing in, too fast for her to catch one. She can’t process it, she just gasps, frowns when Keith’s hand brushes over her shoulder. It’s just warm. “Keith, do you believe in demons?”
“I didn’t know if I could touch you.”
It was so close. He was so pale. So much thinner than his ghost. A tattoo on his neck, that she had never noticed on the weird texture of his not-skin before.
When she came back from the hospital, Matt held her at the doorstep and she came home alone, and she felt sorry she didn’t have any words to express the mess in her head. She sat on her bed with a cup of coffee — Keith had warmed it up. Keith is in a hospital bed unable to wake up, Keith is stuck in this tiny apartment, Keith treats her like she is going through something too big for her. She can drink coffee, she can walk on the floor, she can touch the ones she loves and the light switch. She doesn’t have to be comforted.
“Your body, I mean. It didn’t feel… right. I didn’t think of asking you before.”
Keith’s skin had been so close to her. She still wonders what it would feel like under her hands. Against her. She wonders if he would feel it too. Feel her from here.
“You can touch me, if you want.”
The line stings in her chest as she looks at him. He looks composed, and how can he be so calm? He learnt that he was still alive not three days ago, and she yet has to see him let out all he must be feeling, apart from the very night she told him. Does he wait for her to be outside, to process everything? Does he resent her, for not sparing him from her outbursts? She can’t. She can’t hold it in. She’s not so good at hiding her feelings. It’s burning, when he says stuff like that.
“No, I can’t.”
He moves, a bit too fast, and she knows she touched something inside. She wants to touch it again.
“… I know that. I meant—”
“I know what you meant. You meant I can touch your body, the one that doesn’t have you inside it. This…”
Awful, empty, sad rag of a body, and she doesn’t know what was stronger, the urge to touch it or to get away from it. Its eyes were closed, and yes, Keith is monstrous. His eyes are liquid and dark, he can burn but not touch, he lurks sleepless in the shadows, his voice has an unnatural echo and he chuckles like a dead man, but this, this wasn’t Keith. Not even a shadow of him.
“Yes, that. Next time, you can touch… it, if it makes you feel better.”
And it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he is not-dead, not his fault his body is lifeless and truly gut-wrenching, not his fault she can’t process any of this properly, but she’s angry, and he’s here. She knows her voice is venom. Matt told her, more than once, that she could be cruel. She grimaces.
“I really don’t think it will.”
The apartment is burning hot in a second. She opens the window. She wonders if Keith jumped through it, two years ago.
“Oh my God, I didn’t meet them last night, right?”
She chuckles over the counter when Matt barges in. His face is serious but the effect is ruined by the obvious sleepiness in his eyes, the mess of his hair, his crumpled shirt. She didn’t think he would be up before need, but she guesses his subconscious still knew what today was. She puts two cubes of sugar in a cup before filling it with coffee and putting it on the counter, pushing it towards her brother.
“Don’t worry, I had you home by midnight, Cinderella.”
“You’re an Angel, sis’.”
“I resisted the urge to draw a dick on your forehead while you were asleep so yes, I guess you could say that.”
He squints at her, and rushes to the bathroom. When he comes back, his eyes are still suspicious. He still accepts the coffee this time, relishing the familiar taste. She knows how he likes his coffee.
When he called last night, she was already on her way to his place. The night before one’s Date is always stressful, and with the Keith-business going on, Matt didn’t have as much time as he could have to mentally prepare. Of course he couldn’t sleep. Of course she would drink with him until his worries were gone and make sure he got home fine. She owed him that.
And when he crashed on his bed, a few minutes before midnight, whispering about love and family and stars, she almost cried.
How many times did she wake up in the middle of the night when he resurfaced, walking silently to his room to watch him sleep? How many times did she stay there, sitting on his carpet, her back against his bed, neck twisted so he wouldn’t leave her sight? And she would see him wake up, and she would go downstairs to make him coffee. Sometimes, she would fall asleep on his carpet and he would put a cover on her shoulders, careful not to wake her up. More than once, he failed and she jumped into consciousness, grabbing him and he held her back, putting her in his bed and kissing her forehead before leaving the room, coming back with two cups of coffee.
Of course she knows how he takes his coffee. Of course he knows how she likes hers.
It goes without saying when she sits in his kitchen, steady and calm while he takes a shower, frantically tries on his favorite clothes, and the way she makes fun of him is familiar, too, familiar and still a bit desperate.
Two years have passed, and sometimes she still feels like he will slip through her fingers, if she stops looking at him for so long.
“How do I look?”
“Like the dork you are.”
He looks down at his T-shirt. It’s not his prettiest one. But he is comfortable in it. The fabric has been softened and thinned by hundreds of washings. The logo of the Nasa is still visible, just faded.
“I can’t wear that, can I?”
“Matt, that’s your soulmate. If they don’t like that shirt, the strings fucked up somewhere.”
He takes a deep breath. Looks at the mirror. He braided his hair. It looks nice, like that. It looks exactly as soft as it is, and she stands up to come and punch his shoulder. “It’s gonna be great.”
“I know that. I’m not stressed.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m excited.”
She snorts. “Yeah, want pads for all the excitement sweating?”
“Oh do you think I should take another shirt? I packed deodorant but if I meet them too late I’ll be sweaty as fuck and– yeah, I’m taking a change with me.”
He carefully packs a T-shirt he had hesitated with, and she holds him close, before he is out the door.
“Will you be there when I get back?”
She plays with her keys in her jeans’ pocket. “Dunno. I’m going to the hospital but no plans for later. Want me here?”
“Don’t know. Maybe?”
“Kay. Text me, then.”
He nods, a bit too many times, and she pushes him further into the corridor. “Off you go, now.”
He throws a fist in the air, conquering and just a bit over-the-top. Fuck, she loves him, she thinks when she closes the door.
“Are you okay? I know it’s a lot.”
She breathes, in and out. Shiro’s presence is strong and steady. Keith takes from him, she thinks and he digs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as they exit the hospital. He lights one, a deep sigh when he exhales. “Don’t tell Adam, right?”
She snickers. “I won’t.”
She still doesn’t like it. Seeing Keith’s body. She doesn’t like that Shiro talks to it. Because she knows Keith is not here. It feels wrong, in so many ways. “I’ve been thinking… We can try to bring… him home?”
“What do you mean?”
“Keith can’t exit the apartment. But Keith’s body… We could figure out how to move it from the hospital to my place. Rent a hospital bed or something.”
Shiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. She waits, and it’s heart when energy bubbles in her chest. She thinks it is the right thing. She has no other idea, and when Allura came to see the body, she assured her that nothing supernatural was preventing Keith from coming back. His soul isn’t artificially sealed to the apartment, either. If they could just be in the same room. If Shiro says no, she won’t take it well, she knows it. But he has jurisdiction over Keith’s body, and he… wants what is best, too. He has been dealing with this for longer than she has.
“I thought about it. But I don’t have that kind of money. And… that would be too much on you.”
“You don’t decide of that.”
She bites her tongue to not be harsher. Shiro could have a thousand reasons to refuse to move Keith’s body. This?
“This is bullshit. I mean, the money, yeah, my family can manage but I get why you might not want it: how much I can take, that’s none of your business, and I advise you to not underestimate me. I’m not— why are you smiling?”
“I, ah, nothing. Nothing.” He shakes his head, and she squints at him like it will show her the truth miraculously. It doesn’t, and she tries:
“Might be a long conversation. Wanna come over?”
He gasps. He never mentioned it before. Adam did, and Matt, too, but Shiro, polite Shiro, would never invite himself in someone’s home. Again, Pidge thinks, bullshit.
“Yes.”
“Great. Also, while I got you here, I read the paper you published last year with Dr. Vitrani and Pr. Maure, and I had a few questions.”
“A few?”
She pulls out her phone, easily finding the annotated paper in question. Red is easiest to spot. “Well, eight to begin with, the others depend on the answers you provide.”
He makes his car keys jingle with a sigh, opening the passenger door for her. “Go ahead, then.” She beams.