Hey! I'm Chi, new to the fandom, binge watched everything in a weekend but I'm rewatching the show because I was doodling half the time. I decided to try my hand at a little bit of sheith and chose a modern setting because it's easier, I admit.

Title's from a patd song because I love Brendon

Enjoy!


Given his obvious size and the muscle mass accented by a tight shirt, Shiro doesn't need to mention to anyone he meets that he likes working out. He would spend hours in the gym if he could, lifting weights and pushing himself past his limits, relishing in the soreness of his arms and legs when he can up the weights by a pound or manages to do more reps than usual. He enjoys running in the mornings, and sometimes he will run again early in the evening after a particularly draining day at work.

His workout routine revolves around the gym and the paved streets of his neighborhood, though he will sometimes indulge in a light water volleyball match on the usual Sunday lunch at the Holts on hot days, and often accompanies Matt on his quest to find an exercise he enjoys so his mother can stop nagging him about his sedentary lifestyle.

Which brings him to a Muay Thai gym he had never noticed before despite being located in a busy street. If there is one person that is more sedentary than Matt, it's his sister, but ever since she joined this place two months ago, she comes over for her daily classes and goes back home drenched in sweat, but in a good mood. If this gym fixed Katie's disinterred for sports, then it is going to fix Matt's as well, or so their mother thinks.

The place is nondescript on the outside, a simple white building with a red logo on the front that he somehow missed every time he drove past. From the door, they can see the blue tatami training mat, some punching bags hanging from the ceiling, benches by the windows where some people linger and chat waiting for the class to start, a set of lockers, some doors that presumably lead to bathrooms and changing rooms. A man is moving behind the counter to their right, fussing around a pile of receipts and paper sheets.

When he spots them standing there, the frown on his face vanishes and a grin takes its place. "Hey, I'm Lance. Are you here for a trial class?"

Shiro steps forward when Matt stays mute, probably second guessing his decision of coming. "I'm Shiro. Yes, we've heard about it from Katie, Matt's sister."

Lance's eyebrows inch up as he takes his hand for an amicable, but strong, handshake. "She did say she'd drag him here. The resemblance is uncanny." Matt slowly approaches them as Lance pulls open a drawer and places two forms and pens on the counter. "Muay Thai can be an arduous workout, especially if you're a couch potato. It's required that you fill this up and sign it to show that you're aware of it in case your blood pressure goes low, and you might get bruised afterwards."

Matt looks ready to quit then and there, but Shiro coaxes him into signing the paper and trying it out. Lance sets the forms aside and guides them to the back of the building towards the lockers as he gives them some information about the class, trying to soothe Matt's visible, exaggerated worry that he'll be returning home with a black eye and missing teeth. "I'm known for lighter workouts, but I'm not your instructor for this round." He says as they tuck their shoes and other belongings into the lockers. "But Keith goes easy on newcomers, so you should be alright."

That does the trick. Matt relaxes slightly and the tension seeps out of his body the more he hears the other people talk about the class. The mat is cool and firm beneath their feet, some upbeat song plays from the speakers, and they linger by the punching bags, talking to more experienced students. A man introduces himself as Hunk, Katie's usual partner, as he rolls yellow bandages around his hand and tells them of how much fun he's had since he joined a month ago.

"Alright, guys!" A masculine voice says from over the music. "Let's line up."

A man with tied black hair walks out from one of the rooms in the back and that is when Shiro's brain sizzles. Despite the shorter stature, he is all lean muscle and fair skin, made visible by the tank top and the training shorts he wears that stop by mid-thigh. Before he knows it, his eyes are sweeping over his toned biceps and legs, and his mouth both waters and dries at the sight. Matt makes a noise of despair beside him as the man comes to stop before the logo painted on the wall, the same one seen outside.

His gaze settles on them and he joins them quickly, sticking a hand out, a slight smile on his face. "I'm Keith. I'll be your instructor tonight." Shiro takes his hand, warm and callused and strong, and his brain edges on the brink of shutting down. Keith moves on to greet Matt, and he tells him their name because Shiro was too busy spacing out to do so. "Don't be afraid to go at your pace. If you need help or feel unwell, just call me."

And then begins Matt's downfall and Shiro's crush only grows.

The students scatter around the tatami, one of them at the front, and the warmup is simple enough. They do some stretches and Shiro breezes through the jumping jacks, sit-ups and push-ups while Matt doubles over and heaves for a breath. All the while Keith is spurring them on with some words of encouragement and counting aloud from one to five, letting the others pick up from where he left off and finish the count to ten. Shiro takes extra care to keep his form correct and revels on Keith's words when he stops by his side and compliments on how he's so easily doing fifty push-ups.

Shiro has to pick Matt off the floor when they are given a one-minute break to catch their breaths and have a sip of water. His friend topples on the bench ungracefully and places his head in his hands, face flushed red like a tomato and breathing loudly through his mouth. When they line up again, Matt somehow keeping upright despite the slouch of his spine, the same student from before has kick pads on his forearms and is standing at the front across Keith.

Keith has a pair of red boxing gloves on and goes through a simple routine of jab-punch-uppercut-kick at a slow pace so they can pick up on it, repeats it four other times before he goes all out. The student braces himself for the hits that echo in the room, loud slaps as fists and shin connect to the pads with incredible strength and speed. Both Matt and Shiro hold their breaths for different reasons at the sight.

The students walk over to a shelf they hadn't seen before to pick two kick pads for each pair, and Keith approaches them to adjust the straps around Matt's forearm. "You can use one of the spare boxing gloves if you want." He supplies, cocking his head towards the shelf. "Most students have their own, but if you don't mind a little bruising, then you can forego it." He looks at Shiro. "Don't push yourself too hard if your prosthesis can't handle it, okay?"

He leaves them to do his rounds around the training mat. Matt mimics the stance from a nearby pair and Shiro repeats the routine slowly so his friend can keep up, twisting the pads for the uppercut and turning his body for the kick. Matt is trying, and Shiro knows his friend is glad that he isn't punching and kicking hard enough to rattle the bones in his arms like some of the students. After the time is up, they switch and Shiro adjust the straps on his bigger forearms, encouraging his friend to keep punching and kicking when all he wants is to go home and curl up beneath the shower.

Keith adds some other moves to the routine, more jabs and punches and a kick on the opposite side. This time he corrects Matt on his form and Shiro is more than glad to hold the pads up and let him demonstrate how to perform a kick correctly, watching in mesmerized silence as loose strands of black hair flutter around his face. Keith pats Matt on the shoulder and moves on to check on the other students.

It's not long before he returns when Shiro is the one punching and kicking away. His coordination and form aren't so bad as he thought they would be so he doesn't need Keith to correct him – sadly. "You're doing well, Shiro."

He grins at him, fisted hands raised to his face, brain holding onto the sound of his name in Keith's voice and safeguarding it so he can daydream about the instructor later. "Thanks."

He kicks out again, stronger than before, and ruins everything.

His heart was already beating fast due to the exertion, and then it kicked up a notch when Keith spoke his name. It comes to a screeching halt when Matt yelps and stumbles backwards. The other students spare them a glance, but thankfully, they don't seem to notice it was him that did it and quickly go back to what they were doing.

Keith did, though, and now he's unstrapping the kick pads from Matt's forearms and checking for injuries. Matt wasn't properly braced for the kick and it knocked back his hand so, essentially, Matt punched himself in the face, a purple bruise already blooming on his left cheekbone. Shiro winces at the sight and helps him stand, walking him to the bench by the walls. Lance joins them quickly with an ice pack, and Keith lingers around them for a moment until Matt assures him he's fine.

Matt presses the ice pack to his face with a grimace. Shiro doesn't know if he's dying inside because he hurt his best friend or because Keith saw everything. He's embarrassed either way. "I'm very sorry, Matt."

His friend brushes the apology off with a languid wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Shiro. I was about to quit either way."

"Do you want some water? We can go home."

Matt smiles slightly. After years of being friends, Sam and Colleen have basically adopted Shiro, making their home his as well. "Water's fine, and no. We're staying." Shiro is about to protest, but Matt lifts the ice pack off his face and fixes him with a stare. "I was nearly dying there, but I didn't miss the way you were ogling the instructor."

Shiro's face is lightly pink from the workout and it grows a little redder. "I wasn't ogling anyone."

"Sure you weren't." Matt winces as he puts the pack over the bruise. "Just go back there and enjoy the last twenty minutes, okay? I'll be fine."

Shiro hesitates but goes back, and Keith is there by his side before he knows it. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he is." He looks around them, at the pairs going through another routine now, and realizes he doesn't have a partner.

Keith does the same and picks up on the same thought as quickly as he picks up the discarded kick pads from earlier. "Here, I'll help you."

The idea is very appealing, but he's the instructor and there are eight other people he needs to keep an eye on. "Are you sure?"

"It's no problem. Let's go."

Keith demonstrates what to do. Up until the second kick, nothing changes. Keith arranges the kick pads so they're protecting Shiro's stomach, and then he's reaching for his neck, and Shiro knows he's done for. Keith's fingers dance along the edge of his undercut before they settle on the nape of his neck, and Shiro inhales deeply, the smell of Keith's cologne hitting him harder than the knees to the pads. Keith's forearm lays across his chest to push him backwards, and the fresh air clears some of Shiro's brain.

This is a gym. Keith is here to teach a class, to tell them to jump and kick and punch, to keep them moving. He's got no business smelling this good here. Compared to him, Shiro is certain he smells of old sweat and dirty socks – and he's bare footed!

Shiro slips into the routine, trying not to let Keith's smell and the softness of his hair against his knuckles distract him from what he's doing. "How often do you work out?"

"Daily," he responds, slightly out of breath, and Keith takes on the kicks without a flinch.

"So can I push you to your limit even with your prothesis?"

Shiro shrugs without dropping his guard, putting on a mask of nonchalance when he's secretly glad he was given a chance to show off. "Of course."

When the routine is over, Keith returns to the front of the class. In their last five minutes there, all they have to do is more kicks, as hard and fast as they can go. Ten with the right leg, ten with the left, and then they drop down and do either ten push-ups or sit-ups. Stand up, do nine reps of each, and so on until they reach zero. It doesn't sound as complicated as it looks, and Keith makes it look easy with his grace, muscled legs, the pinch of his eyebrows and speed.

Keith holds up the kick pads. "Give me all you've got, Shiro."

The first set is fairly easy, and his throat begins to burn as he begins the next countdown. His pace slows down, kicks losing a bit of their strength, and Shiro is glad that Matt is away now, because he would have died here if he had stayed.

"Faster." Keith commands. "Come on. Harder, Shiro!"

Shiro would have choked if he had any saliva left in his mouth right now. If Keith realizes how it sounded like, then he's certainly not showing it. He is determined to push Shiro to his limits, repeating the words and sometimes directing them to the other students, his eyebrows merely twitching with every blow.

When Shiro lands a particularly hard kick on the seventh countdown, Keith grunts. Shiro has to readjust his footing because he nearly lost his balance.

If having Keith holding him by the neck – or holding Keith by the neck – was some kind of sweet temptation, then listening to his grunts and occasional orders of going faster or harder is downright sinful. His mind catalogs the sounds for later use, and they are the motivation he needs to go all out and kick as hard as he can until his shin is red and Keith's grunts are engrained in his mind.

Shiro waits until they're dismissed before laying down on the training mat. His shirt is drenched, his bangs are splattered to his forehead, his lungs are screaming for air and his throat is begging for water. Matt hovers above him and passes him a bottle, the bruise still purple, but not as swollen as it could've been thanks to the ice. Shiro eyes the bottle as if it's both alien and a miracle, and downs most of the contents as fast as he can.

Matt pulls him to his feet and gives him a congratulatory pat on the back, which is actually just a quick tap of his fingertips to the sweaty shirt. "You made it, and you didn't even faint when he helped you."

"I already messed up as it is." Shiro motions to the bruise. "How's your face?"

"Don't stress about it. I'm sure Katie can hide it with some makeup."

They go to the changing room so Shiro can wash his face. He prefers to shower at home so he can slip right into his pajamas and relax, so he wipes the sweat away as much as he can with his face towel until it's damp. Lance is beginning the warmups of the next group when they exit, and most people of their class have already gone. The instructor waves at them as he paces around the mat mid-count.

Keith is behind the counter this time. He isn't like Lance who grinned at them from the moment they entered the building, but he gives them a small smile as they approach. Shiro can see he isn't good at dealing with people, not as extroverted as his coworker, but he's a damn good instructor, so they can go without jokes and smiles (as beautiful as they are).

"Hey." He eyes Matt's bruise but doesn't mention it. "So what did you think?"

"Not really my style." Matt says with a laugh. "I think I'll pass, sorry."

"What about you, Shiro?"

He's rendered speechless for a heartbeat, his own name bouncing in his head, Keith's voice reverberating in his skull. His eyes are blue. Had he noticed before that Keith's eyes were blue? Because they are and, wow, if they aren't the prettiest shade he's ever seen–

"Of course he is." Matt answers in his stead, patting his bicep almost consolingly. "He's just a bit winded, but he's coming back. Right, Shiro?"

Shiro can only nod an imperceptible shake of his head. Keith's smile widens just a bit then. "Great. Next time you come, we can fill in your subscription."

"He's doing it now." Matt claps his back and steps back. "I'll wait for you in the car, Shiro."

He leaves quickly, wiping the sweat on his shirt as he goes, as if he doesn't want to give Shiro a chance to keep him around. Keith doesn't seem to mind his hasty exit and places a flyer the size of his hand on the counter. "This is our weekly schedule. My classes are at seven and nine in the evening."

Shiro takes the flyer, looks down at the black and white print and then at Keith's eyes. It takes him a second but his brain, which has been playing his name and the sound of the instructor's grunts on loop for the past minutes, catches on the hidden meaning of his words.

Oh.

He smiles and leans onto the counter, gathering his wits and starting a small talk as Keith types the necessary information on the subscription file, smile fixed in place and shoulders shaking in silent laughter whenever Shiro says something mildly funny.

Shiro can't wait for the next class.


I've been going to some muay thai classes for two weeks now and some things happened to me that inspired this fanfic (namely the guy that smells really nice and punching myself in the face). I might expand this, but for now I'll leave it as complete.

Thank you for reading!