[ you’re okay. shiro barely hears it. he’s dialed in and narrow sighted, so direct in his movements that he crosses the distance between them in a matter of two ticks, three. no longer lost in the haze that rooted him to the spot, shiro is lost in a different kind of mind-frame, one that dictates that he can’t slow down and he can’t relax until he’s secured keith’s safety. keith is there, just within reach, thanking shiro for saving him even though shiro doesn’t understand how. that’s alright, shiro doesn’t need credit and understanding; all he needs is to know that keith is the one who is okay.
right. that’s what keith said before: you’re okay.
it comes to him then as he drops down in front of keith, not even flinching as his knees slam hard into the floor. looking keith over, shiro fixates on the vulnerable areas of his suit – eyes, nose, chin – gaze coming to rest lastly on the sloping of his neck. the undersuit is intact. everything is intact, actually. no cuts, no blood, keith’s okay. relief floods him, overtaking that meticulous detachment that’s kept him from falling apart completely. so he’s allowed to think it once more: you’re okay.
but is he? is he actually okay? shiro doesn’t feel like he is. he’s crashing. he’s bombing. coming down from an adrenaline high at intermittent, inconsistent speeds, shiro labors through his next breath, chest heaving and throat tightening for a hitched sound. metal fingers grasping at the hard form of keith’s paladin armor, shiro anchors himself to keith… but it doesn't work. he can’t get his bearings. once more spiraling, shiro falls prey to the confusing, overwhelming mixture of relief, horror, and shame.
he collapses in on himself. metal hand still holding tight to keith’s shoulder, shiro drops back to seat his ass on his heels and then bows his head, catching his face in the open palm of his left hand. all those nasty things the druid said, the sound of keith’s calls for help, the gurgling of the creature holding his likeness… shiro can’t hear anything else or perceive anything else. he keeps rounding back to the image of the monstrous version of himself dying. again, his breathing hitches on an unsteadiness that gives way to a weak, watery sob. ]
Dammit.
[ he doesn’t need more reason to cast scathing judgment on the brokenness of this body and this soul, but here he’s given it all the same. more weakness. more inability to cope and endure. tightening the fingers clutching at his face, shiro continues to hide in the safety of his palm, hoping to pull himself together. ]
... AU where they're baby neighbors who grew up together. ttly normal to say bff's name b4 mom + dad
right. that’s what keith said before: you’re okay.
it comes to him then as he drops down in front of keith, not even flinching as his knees slam hard into the floor. looking keith over, shiro fixates on the vulnerable areas of his suit – eyes, nose, chin – gaze coming to rest lastly on the sloping of his neck. the undersuit is intact. everything is intact, actually. no cuts, no blood, keith’s okay. relief floods him, overtaking that meticulous detachment that’s kept him from falling apart completely. so he’s allowed to think it once more: you’re okay.
but is he? is he actually okay? shiro doesn’t feel like he is. he’s crashing. he’s bombing. coming down from an adrenaline high at intermittent, inconsistent speeds, shiro labors through his next breath, chest heaving and throat tightening for a hitched sound. metal fingers grasping at the hard form of keith’s paladin armor, shiro anchors himself to keith… but it doesn't work. he can’t get his bearings. once more spiraling, shiro falls prey to the confusing, overwhelming mixture of relief, horror, and shame.
he collapses in on himself. metal hand still holding tight to keith’s shoulder, shiro drops back to seat his ass on his heels and then bows his head, catching his face in the open palm of his left hand. all those nasty things the druid said, the sound of keith’s calls for help, the gurgling of the creature holding his likeness… shiro can’t hear anything else or perceive anything else. he keeps rounding back to the image of the monstrous version of himself dying. again, his breathing hitches on an unsteadiness that gives way to a weak, watery sob. ]
Dammit.
[ he doesn’t need more reason to cast scathing judgment on the brokenness of this body and this soul, but here he’s given it all the same. more weakness. more inability to cope and endure. tightening the fingers clutching at his face, shiro continues to hide in the safety of his palm, hoping to pull himself together. ]