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The whiskey hit different when it was just the two of them.
Keith had thrown himself across the couch, legs stretched out, sketchbook tossed aside after two abandoned pages of jagged, restless lines. Allura had perched on the rug with the bottle between them, hair already undone from its neat braid. She had started tugging strands into small braids again, but this time with his hair, pulling it with enough determination that Keith groaned but let her.
“You’re terrible at this,” he muttered, words a little slurred, leaning forward just enough for her to finish the uneven plait.
“I’m perfect at everything,” she shot back with mock dignity, though she laughed so hard the braid slipped apart in her hands. “You just move around too much.”
Keith tilted his head, eyes narrowing, though the smile tugging at his mouth ruined any attempt at seriousness. “You’re making me look like one of those… dolls.”
“You’d make a very handsome doll.” She giggled, leaning forward to pinch his cheek. “A very angry, broody little doll. You could be the limited-edition type. A Collectible.”
“Yeah, the kind no one buys,” he muttered, but he was laughing too, grabbing the bottle and taking a long pull before handing it back.
The air was warm with the liquor and with the way they egged each other on, each sip loosening something in both of them. It was rare they got to be like this, just reckless, no titles, no walls.
No Shiro to keep them in check.
Allura leaned back against the couch with the bottle in her lap. “Sometimes I think you’re too serious.”
Keith arched a brow, flopping onto his side to look at her. “Says the princess who can’t even sneeze without wondering if it’s dignified enough.”
Her laugh turned into a sharp snort before she could stop it, and Keith grinned, victorious.
But then the laughter thinned, and the jokes grew teeth, the way they always did when they spiraled. He asked it so suddenly that it hit her like a blade sliding between her ribs.
“You ever think about running away?”
She went still, fingers tightening on the bottle. “From what?”
“From all of it,” he said. His voice wasn’t slurred this time. It was too clear. Too raw. “The company. The people. Expectations. All of it.”
Allura’s throat went dry. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound cracked halfway through. “I did. Once.”
Keith froze. “What?”
“Years ago,” she admitted, staring at the rug so she didn’t have to see his face. “I told my father I was taking a vacation. I almost didn’t come back. I could’ve disappeared. I had everything ready. But… I couldn’t disappoint him. So I came home, and I never told him. I never told anyone.”
Keith’s breath caught. For a second, she thought he might laugh at her. But when she looked up, the look in his eyes nearly broke her.
“I’ve seen that look before,” he said quietly. “Back when I was a kid. Right before someone left me. They all wore it. Like… they’d already gone, even if their body was still there.”
Her chest ached. “Keith, I…”
“I’ve got abandonment issues,” he cut her off, leaning back against the couch, dragging his hands over his face. “Severe ones. You probably figured that out.”
She reached for the bottle again, but he caught her wrist, pulling it out of her reach. “You’re too guarded,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re not?”
“You’re worse than me.” His laugh was bitter. “At least people know I’m a mess. But you?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You hide it until you crack. Until you’re choking on it. Until no one can do a damn thing.”
Her pride bristled like a whip. “At least I manage it. You, Keith, you wear your issues like a badge.”
His jaw clenched. “Better than pretending they don’t exist.”
“Better than drowning everyone else in them.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Her breath came fast. His eyes burned.
Finally, Keith’s voice broke through, ragged. “Do you know what it’s like? Never knowing what’s wrong with you until it’s too late? Until you’re on the floor because your body just…” He broke off, shaking his head hard. “That’s what it’s like with you. I never know when you’re about to break until you’re already there.”
Her throat worked, but no words came out.
They burned too hot. Always. Jokes turned knives. Affection turned accusation.
By the time Shiro walked through the door, the living room smelled like spilled whiskey and smoke that didn’t exist. He stopped in the entryway, eyes narrowing at the sight.
Keith sat slumped against the far wall, bottle at his side, his eyes blazing even through the haze of alcohol. Allura was curled on the couch opposite, legs tucked under her, back too straight, jaw set too tight. She looked poised, polished, except her eyes were ice, fixed on Keith like they were locked in a battle no one else could see.
Neither of them moved when Shiro set his bag down. Neither looked at him when he asked, low and wary, “What’s going on here?”
The air was wrong. It wasn’t just the liquor. It was the look they had, two storms staring each other down.
Finally, Keith spoke, his voice flat but cutting. “If you leave, I’ll find you.”
It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t harsh. It was just true.
Allura’s reply came sharp, brittle. “What if I don’t want to be found?”
Keith didn’t even blink. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find you.”
Her breath shook, her hands trembling in her lap. “You better.”
That was when Shiro moved, stepping into the storm before it could swallow them whole.
“Hey,” his voice cut through, calm but commanding. “That’s enough. Both of you.”
Two pairs of eyes turned on him, one burning, one frozen. It was like looking at fire and ice, both of them lethal in their own ways.
“You’re no fun, Shiro,” Allura murmured suddenly, her lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
She stood, wavering on her feet, but stubbornly making her way toward Keith. Shiro reached for her, but she brushed past him, her gaze never leaving Keith.
“We’re fine, Shiro.” Her voice was steady, but she wasn’t speaking to him. She was still looking at Keith. “Tell me we’re fine, Keith.”
Keith caught her hand, tugging her down until she landed clumsily in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he buried his face against her.
“We’re fine, Shiro,” Keith slurred into her hair.
“See?” she whispered. “We’re fine.”
They weren’t. Not even close. But tangled together on the floor, with the empty bottle lying forgotten beside them, they looked untouchable. Like two pieces of kindling feeding the same fire.
Shiro sighed, jaw tight. He turned away, disappearing into the kitchen to cook something, literally anything, to sober them up.
By the time he returned, Allura was slumped against Keith, too shaky to stand on her own. Shiro crouched, slipping an arm under her and lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She let him, her head lolling against his chest.
Keith stumbled after them, unsteady on his feet, half-chasing, half-dragging himself to the table.
Shiro set Allura down carefully, then turned to both of them. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command.
“You can’t do this again. Not like this.”
Keith’s mouth opened, but Shiro held up a hand.
“New rule,” he said firmly, eyes flicking between them. “You two are no longer allowed to drink alone together.”
Neither argued. They were too far gone, burned out from the spiral.
But in the silence that followed, the rule etched itself in stone, because Shiro had seen enough tonight to know: Keith and Allura together with a bottle was fire and gasoline.