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Crossing the desert is a struggle. Saturated reddish-yellow sand stretches for many miles, dry air stings nostrils and the unrelenting heat makes this place a living hell. But Keith doesn’t care at all. The wind whistles in his ears, giving him a sense of freedom and invincibility as he races along at nearly one hundred and twenty miles per hour on his hoverbike. The engine is running at its maximum capacity – Keith feels it vibrating and rumbling beneath him – and yet Shiro still outpaces him by a full three hundred meters. From a distance, Keith is able to see how Shiro expertly overcome a dangerous stretch of track and easily finish their race. He slows his hoverbike, jumps right into the thick cloud of dust kicked up by the blades, turns to face Keith and leans ostentatiously against the scarlet side of his bike.
Keith clutched the steering wheel tighter and instinctively clenched the seat with his thighs, preparing for the final push. Ahead are dunes with half a hundred short, jagged rocks, sharp and twisted; like sharks' teeth, ready to tear a helpless man apart. Keith feels Shiro's gaze on him and adrenaline roars through his veins; his muscles burn and his mind screams for him to duck aside, to safety, to the smooth sand, but Keith clenches his jaws and repeats a mantra in his mind:
"Patience yields focus."
He watches the first ridge of rocks carefully, gathers his strength, takes a breath, and when it looks like the tip is about to pierce the bottom of the hoverbike, Keith jerks the handlebars up, using his whole body to make the machine soar. The hoverbike cuts through the air freely, hangs weightless for a moment and lands exactly behind the last stump of rock, maintaining perfect balance. Keith can't hold back a victory roar - it was the perfect feint.
Keith lowers his hoverbike to the ground, stopping it on a surging mass of sand, switches off the engine and remains seated, savouring the moment of victory and the wild energy boiling in his blood. He is ecstatic at his success, at having anticipated every subtlety of the moment; his lungs burn with the smell of engine oil and of the desert, that harsh thrilling expanse of hot sand and dry wind.
With the edge of his vision, he sees Shiro separate from his hoverbike and come closer. Overwhelmed with pride, Keith jumps to the ground and doesn't even try to contain his emotions.
- Did you see that jump I did, old man? That was something!
- Much better than the last time you scratched the bottom,- Shiro says with a smirk, not missing the opportunity to tease Keith a little.
- Admit it, my jump was even better than yours! - Keith's chin jerks up.
He knows that Shiro is just joking and that he shouldn't take his words seriously - he's used to the friendly rivalry between them, and they both know that the success of one is the success of both.
But what Keith certainly doesn't expect is for Shiro to step forward, grab him by the lapel of his jumper and yank him towards him, enclosing him in a hug. There's a shiver in his voice as he speaks:
- Yes, Keith. Your jump was perfect.
They have never hugged each other before.
No one hugs Keith, the "difficult child" whom everyone thinks is too wild to even be close to; Keith is not hugged and no kind words are said to him, only snapped at and turned away from his answering sharp gaze; Keith is not hugged, and when he appears in the room everyone tenses their shoulders and exhales relaxedly as he leaves.
No one hugs Keith because he is who he is, but Takashi Shirogane seems to have disregarded that rule, and now Keith's cheek is pressed against a strong chest, where a mighty and kind heart is rattling.
Keith is shocked and confused; he tenses up against his own will, simply because he's not used to being treated like this and feels too thin and ungainly and doesn't even know where to put his hands. Does it even feel good for Shiro to hold him this way?
But even before Shiro lets him go, smiling and ruffling his hair, Keith is acutely aware that he wants more. He snorts and jerks his head, trying to hide his embarrassment behind feigned displeasure, but deep inside he regrets that the hug is over and he's so awkwardly not even hugged Shiro back. Keith could have made this moment last longer, stolen a little more warmth and stored it in his head so he could dive into the memories later in the silence of his room. But now Shiro would probably decide that he shouldn't have touched Keith at all.
And yet Keith wants, desperately wants Shiro to do it again, but it seems humiliating to ask. Keith isn't some petting-hungry puppy.
But Shiro notices everything. Shiro understands, and the next hug is as warm and soft and firm as Shiro himself, with his hot, rough hands, his broad shoulders, the slight smell of sweat, sun-warmed sand and cologne that makes Keith's senses tickle. Shiro's height forces him to bend over so he can cradle Keith's tiny body against him - and it feels nice, safe, grounding. Keith finally finds room for his silly hands and places them on Shiro's shoulder blades; in return, Shiro presses him even tighter, and Keith suddenly realises that home isn't a place, it's a feeling inside his chest: warmth, gratitude, affection, love. And for the first time in all these long years of loneliness and bitterness, Keith is home.
Shiro holds him a little longer, and finally slowly lets him go. Calmly, he looks at Keith and pretends not to notice how is he trying to hide his burning face behind his fringe.
- You did great, buddy,- he praises last, and Keith mumbles back:
- Yeah.
Shiro laughs, squeezing him lightly by the shoulder before stepping back and getting on his hoverbike.
- What do you say we race back? - he suggests cheerfully, adjusting his aviator goggles and starting the turbines. - The loser will clean the sand off the flaps.
Keith hurriedly saddles his own hovercraft, catching up to Shiro and cursing at him. Shiro replies with a loud laugh that drowns out even the noise of their motors. Keith smirks and picks up speed, definitely not going to brush the sand off the flaps today.