[ some small part of shiro may have felt a smidgen of guilt once they started running but then lon sheremi launches a rocket penile at them and shiro is eternally grateful that they aren’t sticking around. the race isn’t a fair one, but it’s good. it has keith laughing and shiro grinning; prison, the war, the everything concerning and baffling of these past years melting away to give way to memories of simpler days. they’ve been competitive for a good portion of their friendship and while a footrace isn’t on par with hoverbikes or sim scores or dancing around each other on a sparring mat, it has shiro’s chest aching with nostalgia.
in the end, they don’t stray much from the garrison, competitive days: shiro wins. shiro’s grin is wide and toothy, the heaviness of his breath doing nothing to dampen the shine of it. ]
And then you’d be forced to carry me. [ a labored laugh and a more mischievous: ] Try to carry me.
[ because hell, if their roles had been reversed and shiro were the one booking it in stilettos, he’s man enough to admit that he’d still be struggling through the communal area right now. ]
I don’t know how you managed that. [ he shakes his head, amused, and ends the shake with gaze forward, attention on the door as he taps his foot close to it, enough for the sensors to read his ankle monitor. ] With that kind of disadvantage and you still keeping up… the victory really ought to go to you. [ a beat and he's definitely cheekier now. ] But nah, I won.
[ the door unlocks and still holding his things, he takes some maneuvering to get the door open. but then he’s kicking it wider with his foot, sidestepping as it swings outward and then stepping inside. there’s a significant change to the layout of shiro’s cube since keith was here last. shiro’s swapped the locations of the table and chairs with his cot and his cot is… actually a bed. a king-sized bed. it’s the only way it would fit in his cube, so – the front room is now the bedroom. shiro, of course, doesn’t think to say anything about it, instead focused on walking over to the counter to put his things down. ]
And now in the right thread
in the end, they don’t stray much from the garrison, competitive days: shiro wins. shiro’s grin is wide and toothy, the heaviness of his breath doing nothing to dampen the shine of it. ]
And then you’d be forced to carry me. [ a labored laugh and a more mischievous: ] Try to carry me.
[ because hell, if their roles had been reversed and shiro were the one booking it in stilettos, he’s man enough to admit that he’d still be struggling through the communal area right now. ]
I don’t know how you managed that. [ he shakes his head, amused, and ends the shake with gaze forward, attention on the door as he taps his foot close to it, enough for the sensors to read his ankle monitor. ] With that kind of disadvantage and you still keeping up… the victory really ought to go to you. [ a beat and he's definitely cheekier now. ] But nah, I won.
[ the door unlocks and still holding his things, he takes some maneuvering to get the door open. but then he’s kicking it wider with his foot, sidestepping as it swings outward and then stepping inside. there’s a significant change to the layout of shiro’s cube since keith was here last. shiro’s swapped the locations of the table and chairs with his cot and his cot is… actually a bed. a king-sized bed. it’s the only way it would fit in his cube, so – the front room is now the bedroom. shiro, of course, doesn’t think to say anything about it, instead focused on walking over to the counter to put his things down. ]