[ he never intended to come back. barely even dared to dream it when he’d had nothing other than time and space to fill infinity. he’s been in hopeless situations before and fought his way out but this—this had been beyond in the beyond. afterall, it’s a widely accepted fact that people don’t come back from the dead, especially when there’s no body to come back to. the emergence of the clone hadn’t given him any ideas of conscience swapping and body snatching, no. even after allura pulled his essence from the astral plane and melded him into the abandoned headspace of the clone, that brief reprieve of you found me didn’t give shiro any high hopes of making it out. if anything, it had only cemented the belief that his time was up.
in the astral plane, he’d had black. she protected him. housed him. comforted him with her steady presence and a gift of her eyesight. there, stuck in limbo, he’d still been very much himself, even without any solid form to ground him. coming back was… a lot. too much. exhaustion hit him immediately and it had been akin to sprinting headlong up a mountain just to keep his eyes open, but while a part of him warmed on spellbound relief that he was breathing, his heart was beating and he had keith sheltering him in the support of his body, shiro remembers thinking in that last moment before he passed out, that this was it. why? because nothing felt right. black has been a part of shiro’s life close to a year. while alive, she’d been a near constant nudge of awareness and gentle purr of comfort. and while dead? she’d become just about everything while shiro bided his time in that desolate landscape. oddly enough, having that connection severed made shiro feel more adrift than floating endlessly in the astral plane ever did.
having one’s own body reject your soul only added to that feeling of loss.
it shouldn’t have taken. the clone was dead but the memories were still locked up in that head to create enough disturbance for the body to recognize shiro as an invader. looking back on it, shiro can’t fully describe those couple of hours while he wavered on the brink. point a to point b is, unsurprisingly, a huge, hazy question mark but he does know that this last hoodwink with death is keith’s doing. the combination of keith’s pleas and the reshuffling of memories into dreams gave him enough ammunition to strong arm this body into submission and… that was it. he woke up. and just as before, there was a moment of peace for you saved me and this time, to actually believe it.
but the days extended and still, shiro’s soul hasn’t hit equilibrium.
sometimes he feels too much. sometimes he doesn’t feel at all. when he’s not driving himself numb on churning thoughts of being a stranger in his own—stolen—skin and going blank-stared at the gaping silence of where black should be, he’s inwardly panicking over the dizzy feeling of, well, feeling. there’s a buzz to his skin now. a tremble in his fingers. sometimes, all it takes is someone standing too close and speaking too close; of having their breath tickle his nerve-endings to throw him into a silent battle of clenching his teeth on the sudden, full-body desire to curl into it. minus these last couple of days, he’s been dead for months. shiro thinks that’s what it is. in the astral plane, he didn’t have to breathe or eat or sleep. he didn’t even have to blink. he merely… existed.
now, everything is coming back into sharp focus and it’s coming back strong. every scent that tickles his nose. every taste that touches his tongue. every brush against his skin. the paladin armor has never been the definition of comfortable and now, it’s even worse ( and how embarrassing is it that he catches himself ten, twenty times a day nitpicking at his clothes, trying to comfortably sit the suit against his skin ). least to say, if clothes are giving him problems, keith is in a class of his own. touch has been a staple of their friendship for years but now, it feels new, almost strange at times.
shiro should talk to him about it. keith has proven to be nothing less than accepting of all of shiro’s hang-ups, but shiro is tired of putting keith in that kind of position. ever since he crash landed on earth, shiro has never quite stood up on his own two feet and he’s beginning to fear that he never will, either. perhaps he’s grown too comfortable with keith’s unwavering support because it’s always so readily available.
he just needs a little bit of time. he’ll reorganize his thoughts, get a handle on this body, and become a useful part of the team again. or at least, not a detriment perpetually plagued by his own misgivings.
it’s difficult to carve out time for himself given their present situation though. too many people confined to the lions, supplies and energy running low on all fronts—they’ve barely started the journey back to earth when they make their first pitstop. a quick analysis of the planet—and a check-in with coran, who is an encyclopedia of various worlds—reveals that it is uninhabited and consists largely of jungle. with tree lines too thick to see through with flyovers. by default, on foot is the option of choice. so scouting teams are quickly formulated. of course shiro ends up with keith. their task is to forage for food. coran described some berries. some flowers. easy things to pluck and stuff into their packs for hunk to utilize later.
it’s going well… in the sense that neither of them have gotten hurt or lost yet. shiro’s without an arm and doesn’t have the kind of endurance he had before, which is only made worse given the atmosphere of this planet. this suit doesn’t breathe. similarly to earth’s jungles, there’s a mugginess to the air and it chokes right under the collar, to have him feeling sticky under his suit and damp all along his hairline. he feels overheated and sluggish, and he's been staring a little too long at the high collar of keith’s paladin armor, wondering if he’s feeling the heat too. if the mess of hair shiro knows is hidden away there is curling further from sweat an’ humidity.
and that’s right around the time his foot catches under an outgrown root. he trips up with half-aborted shit and throws his arm out to catch himself. in that split second of scrambling, fingers enclose on a hanging vine and the momentum jerks to an abrupt halt. there’s a long pause and then he clears his throat, trying to save as much face as he can by smoothly straightening up. ]
… Guess I should watch where I’m stepping. [ and not on, y’know, you, is the wordless tail-end. the crooked tilt of his smile acts as the substitute for that blank though. ]
Edited (i'm a failure) 2021-06-06 23:35 (UTC)
you say that and yet here I am 20 days later, rip my work schedule
[It's been hard. There's so, so much to sort through and work through both together as a team, with Shiro, and in his own heart. He'd had plenty of time in the two years with his mother to work through what he wants, what he feels. But it's different when it's in front of him again.
Keith has tried to give Shiro space when it was clear he wanted or needed it, and to offer support when he could offer and not be obtrusive.
But he wants to be so much more.
Keith desperately wants to be more than that to Shiro.
It's something on his mind, even as he hears Shiro trip and starts to reach for him, but stops as Shiro catches himself.]
Maybe. This place has a lot of trip hazards, so... If you need we can go a little slower.
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@ whatsacactus
in the astral plane, he’d had black. she protected him. housed him. comforted him with her steady presence and a gift of her eyesight. there, stuck in limbo, he’d still been very much himself, even without any solid form to ground him. coming back was… a lot. too much. exhaustion hit him immediately and it had been akin to sprinting headlong up a mountain just to keep his eyes open, but while a part of him warmed on spellbound relief that he was breathing, his heart was beating and he had keith sheltering him in the support of his body, shiro remembers thinking in that last moment before he passed out, that this was it. why? because nothing felt right. black has been a part of shiro’s life close to a year. while alive, she’d been a near constant nudge of awareness and gentle purr of comfort. and while dead? she’d become just about everything while shiro bided his time in that desolate landscape. oddly enough, having that connection severed made shiro feel more adrift than floating endlessly in the astral plane ever did.
having one’s own body reject your soul only added to that feeling of loss.
it shouldn’t have taken. the clone was dead but the memories were still locked up in that head to create enough disturbance for the body to recognize shiro as an invader. looking back on it, shiro can’t fully describe those couple of hours while he wavered on the brink. point a to point b is, unsurprisingly, a huge, hazy question mark but he does know that this last hoodwink with death is keith’s doing. the combination of keith’s pleas and the reshuffling of memories into dreams gave him enough ammunition to strong arm this body into submission and… that was it. he woke up. and just as before, there was a moment of peace for you saved me and this time, to actually believe it.
but the days extended and still, shiro’s soul hasn’t hit equilibrium.
sometimes he feels too much. sometimes he doesn’t feel at all. when he’s not driving himself numb on churning thoughts of being a stranger in his own—stolen—skin and going blank-stared at the gaping silence of where black should be, he’s inwardly panicking over the dizzy feeling of, well, feeling. there’s a buzz to his skin now. a tremble in his fingers. sometimes, all it takes is someone standing too close and speaking too close; of having their breath tickle his nerve-endings to throw him into a silent battle of clenching his teeth on the sudden, full-body desire to curl into it. minus these last couple of days, he’s been dead for months. shiro thinks that’s what it is. in the astral plane, he didn’t have to breathe or eat or sleep. he didn’t even have to blink. he merely… existed.
now, everything is coming back into sharp focus and it’s coming back strong. every scent that tickles his nose. every taste that touches his tongue. every brush against his skin. the paladin armor has never been the definition of comfortable and now, it’s even worse ( and how embarrassing is it that he catches himself ten, twenty times a day nitpicking at his clothes, trying to comfortably sit the suit against his skin ). least to say, if clothes are giving him problems, keith is in a class of his own. touch has been a staple of their friendship for years but now, it feels new, almost strange at times.
shiro should talk to him about it. keith has proven to be nothing less than accepting of all of shiro’s hang-ups, but shiro is tired of putting keith in that kind of position. ever since he crash landed on earth, shiro has never quite stood up on his own two feet and he’s beginning to fear that he never will, either. perhaps he’s grown too comfortable with keith’s unwavering support because it’s always so readily available.
he just needs a little bit of time. he’ll reorganize his thoughts, get a handle on this body, and become a useful part of the team again. or at least, not a detriment perpetually plagued by his own misgivings.
it’s difficult to carve out time for himself given their present situation though. too many people confined to the lions, supplies and energy running low on all fronts—they’ve barely started the journey back to earth when they make their first pitstop. a quick analysis of the planet—and a check-in with coran, who is an encyclopedia of various worlds—reveals that it is uninhabited and consists largely of jungle. with tree lines too thick to see through with flyovers. by default, on foot is the option of choice. so scouting teams are quickly formulated. of course shiro ends up with keith. their task is to forage for food. coran described some berries. some flowers. easy things to pluck and stuff into their packs for hunk to utilize later.
it’s going well… in the sense that neither of them have gotten hurt or lost yet. shiro’s without an arm and doesn’t have the kind of endurance he had before, which is only made worse given the atmosphere of this planet. this suit doesn’t breathe. similarly to earth’s jungles, there’s a mugginess to the air and it chokes right under the collar, to have him feeling sticky under his suit and damp all along his hairline. he feels overheated and sluggish, and he's been staring a little too long at the high collar of keith’s paladin armor, wondering if he’s feeling the heat too. if the mess of hair shiro knows is hidden away there is curling further from sweat an’ humidity.
and that’s right around the time his foot catches under an outgrown root. he trips up with half-aborted shit and throws his arm out to catch himself. in that split second of scrambling, fingers enclose on a hanging vine and the momentum jerks to an abrupt halt. there’s a long pause and then he clears his throat, trying to save as much face as he can by smoothly straightening up. ]
… Guess I should watch where I’m stepping. [ and not on, y’know, you, is the wordless tail-end. the crooked tilt of his smile acts as the substitute for that blank though. ]
you say that and yet here I am 20 days later, rip my work schedule
Keith has tried to give Shiro space when it was clear he wanted or needed it, and to offer support when he could offer and not be obtrusive.
But he wants to be so much more.
Keith desperately wants to be more than that to Shiro.
It's something on his mind, even as he hears Shiro trip and starts to reach for him, but stops as Shiro catches himself.]
Maybe. This place has a lot of trip hazards, so... If you need we can go a little slower.
[Anything to help. Anything.]