[ he’d been trying to ignore that too. he hasn’t activated his arm in… when was the last time? the first day in this apartment? keith hasn’t outright said he’s afraid of him, hasn’t even hinted at it, but shiro is hesitant to accept that the fiasco with the clone hasn’t damaged something between them. the arm is a weapon; simple. he knows the clone must’ve used it to overpower keith at that facility. so activating it? low on his list. not that there has been much use for that enhanced strength and power. their enemy -- possible enemy -- is an elusive god and every fight has been of the mental kind.
the closet idea is ludicrous. he understands that. half serious, half joking, he’d been hoping to accomplish… something with it, not that he can even adequately describe what. it’s backfired though. now, he’s faced with the very real scenario of him ripping the closet apart to get out. to get at keith. what is he supposed to do with that knowledge? make another bad joke about how, yes, he’ll punch his way out and hopefully, he’ll take out keith’s trash jacket in the process?
he hates this. he thinks this is the lowest point in his hate that he’s had for this place. right here, right now, so much of this feels like keith doesn’t -- care? like, whatever happens to keith doesn’t matter. the sentiment isn’t new by any means. shiro’s familiar enough with keith’s self-sabotaging and frankly, detached perception for his own well-being.
if something happens, it happens. right.
why isn’t he concerned? why isn’t he angry? twenty minutes ago, shiro had been fretting over the possibility of keith being uncomfortable enough to command shiro to leave and now, he almost wishes keith wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t laugh in that half-stuck, half-engaged way of his. shiro doesn’t want a free-pass. that makes this so much worse.
so if keith refuses to get angry, guess shiro will on his behalf. fuck all, someone needs to. ]
It shouldn’t be that easy. [ staring at the careful fold of keith’s arms, shiro frowns slow, each beat having his features tightening until he’s one stop short of glaring. he wanted this -- he tries to remind himself that he wanted them to be okay. he shouldn’t be prodding deeper and stirring a pot that should be left the fuck alone.
and yet -- he huffs and he’s on his feet, looking down at keith. ]
Why are you…
[ don’t get mad at him. shiro’s the one at fault here. if he looks beyond that statement, all the reasons as to why shiro isn’t the blame are there to examine. but he’s stubborn and he’s mad and he’s… afraid, honestly. he steps away from keith then, shaking his head as he rounds the coffee table. ]
If you end up forcing yourself on me, Shiro, no big deal. [ mocking, that’s the best way to describe his tone. it doesn’t last though and soon he’s just tired from the chaotic tumble of his thoughts. around the table and closer to the television stand against the opposite wall, he briefly covers his face with his hands, rubbing his palms hard, as though to physically dispel the tension. ]
I was thinking things, Keith. [ don’t you get it, is the unspoken part. one last rub and then he drops his hands, gaze to the floor. ] I wanted to do things to you.
[ a great many, unmentionable things that might have come to pass if they’d actually made it into the shower. ]
make it a reality. shiro fully supports this.
the closet idea is ludicrous. he understands that. half serious, half joking, he’d been hoping to accomplish… something with it, not that he can even adequately describe what. it’s backfired though. now, he’s faced with the very real scenario of him ripping the closet apart to get out. to get at keith. what is he supposed to do with that knowledge? make another bad joke about how, yes, he’ll punch his way out and hopefully, he’ll take out keith’s trash jacket in the process?
he hates this. he thinks this is the lowest point in his hate that he’s had for this place. right here, right now, so much of this feels like keith doesn’t -- care? like, whatever happens to keith doesn’t matter. the sentiment isn’t new by any means. shiro’s familiar enough with keith’s self-sabotaging and frankly, detached perception for his own well-being.
if something happens, it happens. right.
why isn’t he concerned? why isn’t he angry? twenty minutes ago, shiro had been fretting over the possibility of keith being uncomfortable enough to command shiro to leave and now, he almost wishes keith wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t laugh in that half-stuck, half-engaged way of his. shiro doesn’t want a free-pass. that makes this so much worse.
so if keith refuses to get angry, guess shiro will on his behalf. fuck all, someone needs to. ]
It shouldn’t be that easy. [ staring at the careful fold of keith’s arms, shiro frowns slow, each beat having his features tightening until he’s one stop short of glaring. he wanted this -- he tries to remind himself that he wanted them to be okay. he shouldn’t be prodding deeper and stirring a pot that should be left the fuck alone.
and yet -- he huffs and he’s on his feet, looking down at keith. ]
Why are you…
[ don’t get mad at him. shiro’s the one at fault here. if he looks beyond that statement, all the reasons as to why shiro isn’t the blame are there to examine. but he’s stubborn and he’s mad and he’s… afraid, honestly. he steps away from keith then, shaking his head as he rounds the coffee table. ]
If you end up forcing yourself on me, Shiro, no big deal. [ mocking, that’s the best way to describe his tone. it doesn’t last though and soon he’s just tired from the chaotic tumble of his thoughts. around the table and closer to the television stand against the opposite wall, he briefly covers his face with his hands, rubbing his palms hard, as though to physically dispel the tension. ]
I was thinking things, Keith. [ don’t you get it, is the unspoken part. one last rub and then he drops his hands, gaze to the floor. ] I wanted to do things to you.
[ a great many, unmentionable things that might have come to pass if they’d actually made it into the shower. ]