"Shiro? It's me. Can I come in?"
"Yeah, of course. Come on in, Keith."
The doors to Shiro's bedroom slide open as soon as he grants Keith permission to enter, and the Black Paladin shifts his attention from the clothes in his open dresser drawer to Keith as soon as he steps into the room. "Hey."
"Hey," the younger paladin echoes, none of the warmth that had been in Shiro's voice in his.
"I'm glad you're here," Shiro says, ignoring the uncharacteristic hesitation he'd heard in Keith's voice and widening his smile. "I wanted to check up on you after the debriefing ended, but when I walked by your room and saw that the lights were off, I figured you'd gone to bed and I went to the training deck instead."
"I couldn't sleep," Keith explains. He looks up to meet Shiro's gaze for the first time since they returned from the Blade of Marmora's headquarters to the Castle of Lions, and a sad smile tugs the corners of his lips upwards. "I can't say I'm surprised to hear that you're not just awake, but working out, at half past one in the morning, though. Did you have another nightmare?"
"No. I haven't tried to sleep yet," Shiro answers, shaking his head and smiling fondly at Keith's characteristic concern for him. "I was on the training deck until one o'clock. I just got out of the shower," he adds, gesturing towards the white towel draped around his neck, which he then removes and hangs on a hook on the wall. "I'm surprised I didn't see you on the deck, to be honest," Shiro continues, turning back towards Keith. "You like midnight spars more than most people."
The smirk on Shiro's face disappears as soon as he sees that it's not his words, but his scars, that have captured Keith's attention. He's staring at the scars that litter Shiro's bare upper body — at the bite marks on his right shoulder, which he got when an alien who was at least three times his size had pinned him down on the dusty floor of the gladiator arena and attempted to bite his arm off; at the claw marks that had all but shredded the skin on his back and left arm, which he got when an alien who somewhat resembled a harpy eagle had cornered him and all he could do was curl into a ball, leaving one arm and his back vulnerable, so he could protect his core; at the surgical scar on his sternum, which he got when Haggar and the other Druids had cut him open so as to learn about human anatomy…
Shiro shudders a bit, and, biting his lip, drives the blush from his cheeks with sheer force of will. "Sorry," he apologizes, his voice steady because, contrary to popular belief, he isn't ashamed of or self-conscious about his scars. While looking at them for too long makes his blood run as cold as some of the reptilian creatures he'd come face-to-face with in the arena because they serve as reminders of all the terrible things he'd done to survive during his year in captivity, that's not the reason he's so adamant about covering his body. He dresses modestly because no one wants to look at his scars, to be reminded of what will happen to everyone in the universe if they fail to defeat Zarkon and the Galra Empire. The scars that litter his body are like the hands of a tiger mom, guiding her child's head down and forcing them to study for another hour so they have that much more of a chance of acing their next exam — and the other paladins are under enough pressure already. He can't expose them to any more. He doesn't want to expose them to any more.
"Sorry," he apologizes again, turning his back to Keith and shaking his head slightly. "I'll put on a shirt."
He starts to pick up a black t-shirt from within the still-open dresser drawer, but he stops when Keith's hand clamps down on his left shoulder. He turns his head a bit to look at him, and the younger paladin's indigo-colored eyes immediately lock onto Shiro's own steel-colored ones.
"No," Keith growls, slamming the drawer shut with a surety that seems at odds with the guilt, insecurity, and self-doubt alight in his eyes. "No, Shiro, I… I just…"
He sighs.
"You don't deserve to be so scarred. You don't deserve to have gone through what you did, and it pisses me off that the Galra hurt you."
"The Galra hurt me," Shiro repeats. He shoots Keith a look, one eyebrow raised. "Does your sudden bout of insomnia have anything to do with what happened back at the Blade of Marmora's headquarters, by any chance?" he asks, already sure of the answer because despite being a relatively reserved, quiet man, he can read people — especially Keith — like a book.
It's quiet for a couple of seconds, but then, after dragging his hand off Shiro's shoulder and shifting his gaze to the polished floor, Keith responds. "Yeah. Am I that easy to read?"
"Yes," Shiro answers. "You have no poker face," he adds, chuckling and, avoiding the Red Paladin's injured right one, laying his prosthetic hand on the younger man's left shoulder. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that discovering something as revelatory as having in your veins the blood of aliens you only just recently learned existed would keep you up at night, though," he continues seriously.
"I guess I just… I…"
The words on the tip of Keith's tongue catch in his throat, and he stares at Shiro as if to ask the elder man to read his mind — until his eyes drift downwards and catch sight of the scar on Shiro's breastbone, at which point Keith sighs and shifts his gaze back to the floor.
"I'm a good listener, y'know," Shiro says softly, his grip on Keith's shoulder tightening slightly. "But there's not much sense in listening to silence."
It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually, Keith speaks.
"I just… I know I did the right thing in telling everyone because they deserve to know, but I… well, I… Allura hates me now, and…"
"She doesn't— she just…" Shiro stops short, remembering how livid the Princess had become upon hearing that Keith was part Galra, and changes his approach, then continues. "She just doesn't know how to reconcile the good she sees in you with her perception of the Galra. The Galra destroyed her planet and wiped out her people, and Allura's anger fuels her. It gives her strength, and her desire to avenge her civilization gives her a reason to fight even though she has no one and nothing to go back to. You're a threat to her now, though — not because you're part Galra, but because you're ruining her perception of the Galra and she… she doesn't know what to do."
"Well, okay, but… what about you, Shiro?" Keith asks, looking up to meet Shiro's gaze. "What about you? The Galra… the Galra did unspeakable things to you. They captured you, forced you to fight for your life, tortured you…" He gulps. "They even took your arm."
He wraps his fingers around Shiro's wrist and continues to tighten his grip until the elder man opens his eyes again. When he does, the pained expression he had attempted to hide by closing them is gone. "I don't blame Allura for hating the Galra, and I wouldn't blame you, either. You have every reason to hate them— uh, I mean, to hate us."
"No, I don't," Shiro contests. "You can't justify hating an entire group of people for the actions of a few — or even of the majority," he adds, his gaze as steely as his irises. "You can hate those who've wronged you, and you can hate that the majority believes such cruel behavior is acceptable, but you can't hate people you don't know — or you shouldn't, anyway."
"I… I guess, but… the Galra—."
"—made me suffer more in one year than anyone should have to in a lifetime. I'm aware, Keith. Believe me," Shiro finishes, his tone so harsh it makes Keith flinch. "I'm not denying — and I never will deny — that. I can't — not when my desire to prevent anyone else from going through what I had to gives me the motivation and the strength to repeatedly put myself at risk of being recaptured by the same people that tormented me, that broke me." He glances down at his cyborg prosthetic, then returns his attention to Keith. "I want nothing more than to watch the Galra Empire fall like Rome. I despise Zarkon, and I wouldn't mind watching the light go out of the eyes of everyone who fights in the name of the Empire — but just so we're clear, Keith, I'm talking about the Galra Empire, not the Galra race. I'll admit that I used to be one of the people who thought they were one and the same, but once I remembered who had helped me escape, I realized that they're not. There are Galrans who abhor the sight of prisoners-turned-gladiators lying dead on a blood-stained arena floor, and there are Galrans who, despite all of the propaganda that gets shoved down their throats, fight against Zarkon, usually at the cost of their lives. There are thousands, maybe millions, of Galrans who have drawn their swords and taken up arms for a fight they know they cannot win alone because no one — not even a Galran — is inherently bad, and good people are simply inclined to do what is right. You, Keith, are just one more example of a good Galran."
The first sign of the dam breaking is the single tear that slides down Keith's pale cheek; Shiro draws the eighteen-year-old paladin into a tight embrace before any other tears can fall. He wraps his arms around the younger man's slender frame, enveloping him in a much-needed hug; and when Keith presses his face against Shiro's bare chest and starts crying, Shiro just pulls him closer as if to tell him — to promise him — that he isn't going to leave him like so many others have done without so much as a backwards glance or a second thought.
The gesture causes the younger paladin to sob harder, but after a couple of minutes, the sobs turn into mere sniffles, and Keith withdraws. He dabs at his eyes with his knuckles, then, lifting his tear-stained face up to look at Shiro and grimacing, apologizes for the hysterics.
"You have nothing to apologize for. It's the least I could do, considering all the times you've sat with me after I woke up from a nightmare," Shiro assures Keith. He shoots the younger man another cordial smile, then lays his hand on Keith's left shoulder again. "I can tell you're still a bit shaken up, and I know that nothing I say will get through to you until tomorrow at the earliest, but please, Keith, believe me when I say that it's not what you are, but who you are, that matters — and the fact that you're part Galra doesn't change who you are. You're still you. You are who you always were: Keith Kogane, a reckless but absolutely brilliant pilot. You think everything's changed, but in reality, nothing's changed. You're not less human just 'cause you've awoken your blade, Keith. Nothing's changed."
"You… don't hate me, then?"
The genuine anxiety that Shiro sees blazing in Keith's indigo-colored eyes drives him to close the already small gap between the younger paladin and himself. "I could never hate you, Keith," he swears. "You're my best friend, my brother, my right-hand man. You were my right hand even before the Galra took mine."
The blush that creeps across Keith's cheeks doesn't go unnoticed, and Shiro can't help but smile warmly as Keith reaches up to grasp his metallic wrist, which is still resting on the younger man's left shoulder.
"I am who I am because of you, Shiro," Keith declares. "I was a… problem child. I got into a lot of trouble as a kid, and I spent more time in detention than in the simulators when I first entered the Garrison… but you made me believe that I could do something other than cause trouble. You made me believe that I could do good." He tightens his grip on Shiro's metallic wrist and smiles. "I'll be whatever or whoever you need me to be, Shiro. I promise."
The smile on Shiro's face broadens upon seeing that the smile tugging the corners of Keith's mouth upwards is as bright as the violet bruise underneath the Red Paladin's left eye. The smile on Keith's face is as genuine as his vow to do whatever it takes to make Shiro whole again — and Shiro can't help but chuckle at that because although Keith is adamant that Shiro saved his life, Shiro swears to Kerberos and back that Keith saved his.
It's a good thing he did, too, because neither of them could face alone the threat that is the Galra Empire. The Galra are the universe's greatest warriors, after all, and while Keith decided that only victory or death would stop him long before he had ever heard the words "Vrepit Sa" or learned of his Galra heritage and Shiro was trained to be a living, breathing weapon that leaves no one alive and nothing behind, neither can do enough alone. However, together… well, the Galra Empire doesn't stand a chance.