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Strike. Strike. Block. Kick. Turn. Strike. Repeat.
Keith moves through his routine with a swiftness borne of years of practice. The training deck is dark but for the two lights he turned on when he got here. He knows logically that he's far enough from the rooms that he won't wake any of the others, but still. He doesn't want to chance it.
He wipes the sweat from his forehead and starts the routine again. Practice is usually a reliable way of calming himself after a nightmare, but it's not working as well this time. Not when he sees Shiro walking away every time he closes his eyes.
Keith scrubs his face with his hands. It was just a dream, damn it. It wasn't real.
Too bad he can't convince his mind of that.
Someone knocks on the wall of the training room, and Keith jerks his head up in surprise. Shiro's standing in the doorway, wearing a black tank top and long pants. His feet are bare and his hair is mussed, but his eyes are too sharp for him to have just gotten up.
"What are you doing here?" Keith asks.
Shiro shrugs and ambles into the training room. "I could ask you the same question."
Keith crosses his arms, like they'll provide more protection than his white T-shirt. "I asked you first," he says, and wants to wince. Mature.
Shiro doesn't remark on it. "Couldn't sleep," he says. "I thought I heard someone get up, so I came to check and see if they were okay."
I came to see if you were okay, Keith hears. He nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...bad dreams. Figured training would knock them out of my head."
Shiro smiles. "Has it helped?"
"Not really."
"Want to talk about it?"
Keith snorts. "Not really."
Shiro nods back toward the door. "Want to go up to the observation deck?"
Keith hesitates. He feels like he should say no, should go back to his room and his thoughts, but he wants to prolong whatever time he has with Shiro whenever he can. Besides, training clearly isn't helping. "Yeah, sure."
They walk in silence up to the observation deck, a clear dome that looks out on the vastness of space. The couches—they aren't really, but Keith doesn't know what else to call them—have low backs and wide seats, perfect for lying back and watching the stars wheel by on the great black backdrop of the universe.
Shiro takes a seat closest to the edge of the dome, and Keith follows him, sitting as close as he dares. He puts his hands behind him and stares up at the sky. It's beautiful and terrifying at the same time, and even having traveled halfway across the universe, he still gets overwhelmed at how big it is.
He listens to Shiro breathing steadily beside him, and clings to the sound as a reminder that he's still here. That this is what's real.
"Do you come up here often?" Keith asks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shiro nod. "It's hard to sleep, sometimes," Shiro says. "But coming up here, watching all this, seeing how wide the universe really is...it's big enough to block out the bad things."
Keith sighs. "Yeah, I can see how that would work."
He lays back and links his fingers under his head, and turns slightly so he can see Shiro as well as the stars. Shiro's head is tipped back, the white shock of his hair bright in the starlight, and Keith is seized by the all-consuming fear that this is only temporary, that he'll blink and he'll be alone.
"I dreamed you were gone again," he whispers.
Shiro looks at him, and it's just dark enough that Keith can't read his expression.
"I had it a lot after Kerberos," he admits. "Walking around the Garrison, looking for you, but I could never find you. And if I did, you'd walk away. And now," he waves a hand around the castle, "it's here instead."
Shiro lies down on his side and never takes his eyes off Keith. It's unnerving, and Keith fights the urge to curl into a little ball.
"I'm sorry," Shiro says quietly.
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Keith says.
Shiro reaches out, resting his cybernetic hand in the small space between them. "I can't promise I'll never leave again," he says.
Keith nods, even as his heart sinks. Given their lives, there's a chance any one of them won't make it to tomorrow. It's ridiculous to think otherwise.
"But I can promise this." Shiro's voice has the weight of a vow. "I will never leave by choice. And I will never, ever walk away from you."
His eyes are so serious that Keith's heart skips a beat. Tentatively, he reaches out until his fingers brush Shiro's.
Shiro smiles and stretches his fingers, linking them with Keith's. The metal of his hand is warm; Keith has no idea why that surprises him.
"Do you trust me?" Shiro asks.
There isn't anyone on the team he trusts more. "Always."
Shiro huffs; it might be a laugh. "Okay."
"Okay," Keith says, and he doesn't know why he feels lighter, but he does.
Shiro rubs his thumb along Keith's, and Keith closes his eyes, just wanting to stay in this moment forever.
When he opens them again, his head is on Shiro's shoulder and he's thrown his arm across Shiro's chest. Their legs are tangled together, and the stars overhead are different, which means time has passed, but Keith has no clue how much.
He should get up, go back to his room, but his limbs are heavy and Shiro's shoulder is very comfortable.
He feels the slight press of lips against his forehead, and then Shiro whispers, "Go back to sleep."
Keith does.