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It wasn’t that Keith hated or even disliked Lance, because he didn’t. He was fine, as far as loud-mouthed jerks with weird inferiority complexes that seemed to be oddly focused on Keith went. He didn’t mind that so much or that Shiro was ‘interested’ in Lance. Shiro was a big weapon nerd and was, as a general rule, interested in anyone who was even a little bit unusual, that was just his personality.
Maybe he’d felt a little...what he hesitated to call jealousy when Lance had shifted into his full weapon form for Shiro only to flee from the classroom like the hounds of hell were at his feet. Assuming the hounds of hell caused blushing and bad attempts at boner hiding. And, really, Keith understood that better than anyone else in the world did. Shiro was...intense and kind of a idiot when it came to focusing his energy. He didn’t mean to be but when he got excited and anxious or really determined or...just about anytime, really, Shiro could lose his grip and starting ‘pushing’ his soul wavelength hard.
It was… Having Shiro’s hands on him, circling his hilt, fingers warm and sweaty against his surface and having that constant low throb of energy that flowed through their connection suddenly open up full force, like a dam bursting because of too much pressure? It was overwhelming, like drowning in everything that was Shiro; it ran over him then wrapped around him, always threatened to drag him under and never let him go and there were times when he was tempted to give in.
Anyone who’d ever gotten more than a taste of Shiro would probably be able to relate to that impulse to a degree, though not like Keith could. Shiro’s soul wavelength was warm and calming and gentle and careful; he worked well with just about everyone and that was rare. That’s what any weapon Shiro picked up felt, because Shiro was just that kind of person. His soul was bright and strong and for Keith, who could see souls it was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It ‘played nicely’ with just about every bayard he encountered.
King Alfor called it ‘malleable’ and Keith supposed that was accurate. Most bayards and meisters had one ‘pitch’ their soul resonated at and the goal was to find someone close or on the pitch, then work to combine effectively. But Shiro’s soul could change to hit the right note; Keith had seen it happen.
But not with him.
For Keith it was more than working with someone sort of compatible though. Thier souls matched perfectly, always had, none of that pitch switching necessary. He’d known since the first moment they met, when Shiro had spotted him shoplifting and threatened to tell, that they would always just...fit. And he’d been right: when they were connected, and he was swept up in being able to feel Shiro in his soul, literally, was about the only time Keith felt like he was where he belonged.
When Shiro’s control slipped it was just more of that but mixed with all the affection, awe, respect and so much want and need for Keith that it made him almost drop his weapon form if he wasn’t prepared for it. Had made him drop it a few times, which was to say nothing of the awkward boners. Though nothing said ‘I like you’ quite like getting the full brunt of someone's soul to your face and being able to pick up on just how much they wanted to be with you. Adding ‘dating’ to ‘eventual partners’ had been easy in that respect.
It was also easy to not feel jealous about Shiro's nerdy little bayard obsession. He even found the way Shiro’s soul work with others fascinating to watch. It wasn't ever the same, he could see it for the superficial wavelength matching it was. He told himself that no one else would ever really work as Shiro's weapon.
He'd even managed to sort of believe that until Lance. When the other weapon had shifted Keith had let his vision change so he could see their souls and what he'd seen had changed everything. He'd always considered Shiro's soul the most amazing he'd ever seen, strong, bright, and absolutely perfect but Lance was something else.
Or maybe ‘something similar’ was more accurate. The same brightness and strength, practically filling the room with his presence, the same promise of warmth and power.
Keith had been able to see that there was something going on that was more than just a superficial pitch change. Shiro's soul had seemed to reach for Lance's, overlapped and blended around the edges like they were meant to do so, like it was some effortless process that most people didn't spend years working on getting right.
Had Shiro felt Lance's soul, resonating on the same pitch as he and Keith did? Had he felt the edges blurring and how easy it would be to work with Lance. He must have, Shiro was pretty aware of that sort of thing and even if he hadn't been Keith didn't really see how he couldn't have felt it, it had been so obvious.
He must have felt how bright Lance was compared to Keith.
Maybe the white hot twisting in his stomach had been jealousy. Maybe it had just been dread and the realization that things were about to change. Maybe it had been fear.
Maybe just angry acceptance that he'd been fooling himself to think he'd get to keep Shiro.
He wasn't surprised that Shiro seemed distracted after class, quiet and thoughtful after they'd headed back to their shared dorm room. Well, Shiro’s dorm that would be Keith’s when their partnership was made official. Or that was what was supposed to happen but as he watched Shiro flip through a book on ranged bayards he wasn't so sure.
He worked on his homework, an essay on Voltron, one of the Legendary Bayards, pen scratching rhythmically across paper, and waited for the inevitable. It came, soft and curious, as the last rays of the sun were retreating from their sitting area.
“What do you think of Lance?” Shiro asked, looking up from his book for the first time all night.
Keith frowned as his stomach flipped. “Decent at hand to hand. Bad at course runs and simulations. One of the top in all our other classes so far.”
Shiro smiled faintly. “I asked what you thought of him, not for his class rank.”
“...he's loud.” Keith stated dully. He could hear blood rushing in his ears and his palms were sweaty; he could barely keep proper hold of his pen. “Weird.”
Was this it?
Shiro nodded slowly then sighed, closing his book. “Keith, can we talk?”
Keith let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Sourness sat at the back of his throat. “If you want to...hang out with Lance you don't have to ask my permission. I'm your boyfriend, not your mother.”
He liked Shiro’s mother. She'd taken in look at him, too skinny, too dirty, too scared and anxious, and welcomed him into her home without question. She'd given a half feral boy her youngest son had brought home like a stray puppy a place.
Where would he go if he didn't have Shiro?
“You're my best friend and partner.” Shiro corrected like he'd done countless times before. Keith shrugged.
“Still not up to me to tell you what to do.” He wanted to scream. It was near impossible not to. “You're supposed to be trying out weapons. Try him out.”
Shiro’s eyebrows went up. “How do you make literally everything sound so dirty?”
Keith didn't think about the way Shiro’s fingers cradled him on his sword form, the way they stroked over him, the way the thrum of energy between them set his nerves on fire sometimes. He certainly didn't think about sudden boners and the way Shiro would laugh before drawing him close and wrapping his fingers around him again.
"It's a gift."
Shiro was silent for a moment, long fingers tapping against the top of the coffee table. Then he sighed, brushing his hair back from his face. “I think...I felt something when I was holding Lance. It was-”
Keith scowled. “I know. I saw.”
“I...nevermind. Forget I said anything.”
Tempting. So very tempting but no, Keith wouldn't do that. If someone else was a better fit for Shiro than that's what he deserved. The better the weapon, the closer the bond, the better off Shiro would be. Safer, stronger, more capable.
The Galra, the last witch clan, weren't going to go easy on Shiro just because sentiment had made him pick a subpar partner. Keith knew that, knew what the Galra were capable of, better than anyone. If Shiro was going to be a paladin, fight the Galra, then Keith wanted him to have the best.
If he was honest he'd always known that wasn't him; he didn't even belong in a place like this. He’d just been pretending otherwise.
“What part of ‘I Saw’ did you miss? You two fit.” Keith made himself Sunday clear and firm, rolled his eyes like he thought Shiro was being an idiot and starting to pissed him off. “Take him out to the range or something this weekend, see if what you ‘felt’ is something. It's dumb not to. If he's a better fit-”
“He isn't.” Shiro said it like he knew it for sure but Keith saw a question in his eyes where there had never been one before. Still he reached across the table, touched his hand, and there was a surge of warmth between them. Keith let his hand be pulled and his fingers twisted up with Shiro's. Affection didn't always come easy to him, and he had an even harder time accepting it, but Shiro was hard to deny.
"He isn't." He repeated, squeezing Keith's hand. "You and I are...you know what we are."
Keith knew lots of things. Like how to lie convincingly.
“Then it doesn't matter. We're together, we’re friends. Us maybe not being partners doesn't change that. It's not like I couldn't find another meister.” He'd been practicing that in his head all afternoon. It rolled off his tongue easily, sounded good to his ears.
He didn't believe it. There were plenty of partners who weren't more than that but it also wasn't uncommon to be more. Linking everything you were to someone else, blending souls and minds, it made you close. It was hard for other relationships to touch that, or so he'd heard. He imagined it'd be even harder for Shiro, who was bubbling over with power and conviction and passion, to keep that line clearly defined.
Shiro didn't respond beyond a hard frown. Keith shrugged, turning back to his essay. He didn't try to pull his hand back. He was willing to take what he could get while it lasted.
He didn't think about Shiro's soul, a deep fathomless black, steady like the surface of a still pond, or how perfectly it had twined together with Lance's, a blue so bright it had almost hurt Keith’s eyes.
He certainly didn't think about his own soul, small, hard, and dark, not just in color but lacking the light others had. He didn't shine. He was just a dark, dirty red streaked through with the purplish-pink only seen in Galra souls.