"Did I wake you up last night?"

"No," Keith told Shiro, though honestly, he wished he had. Shiro shouldn't have to deal with his nightmares alone, and judging by the dark smudges under his eyes, they'd been persistent last night.

Keith wished he could erase Shiro's exhaustion with his fingertips; wanted to hold him, touch him until he could ignore the shadows lurking in the corners of his mind. He wanted to kiss away the— He really needed to stop thinking like that. Platonic thoughts, Keith.

Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Shiro, he stared out the large window beside the bed. One of Graxarion's suns was rising, washing everything in warm rose-gold. The light spilling into the room was pleasant, safe.

"Visran's not here yet," Keith said. "Why don't you close your eyes until he comes to get us?"

"…Alright." Hesitantly, Shiro sat back down on the mattress, fully clothed.

With gentle hands, Keith coaxed him into lying down, and, in a moment of indulgence, he pulled the peach-tinted sheets over him and tucked him in. Shiro smiled as he let his eyes fall shut.

Keith stayed as quiet as possible as he washed up and got ready for the day, employing his stealth training with the Blade to keep his footfalls silent. There was still time after he was done—he'd never taken long in the morning—so he snuck back under the sheets to join Shiro.

Their arms brushed—completely by accident, of course. He pulled back, but Shiro shifted, keeping their shoulders pressed together.

Keith had fallen into a light doze by the time there was a knock at the door. Shiro was quick, and before the door swung open, he slid an arm under Keith's spine and pulled him in against him.

Like the day before, Visran greeted them and gave them ten doboshes to get ready before bringing them to breakfast. The ten doboshes weren't necessary—they were both ready to go—but they didn't say anything. When the door shut, neither of them moved.

After breakfast, they piled into the carriage and were escorted to a large, sleek building with a domed roof. The sharp smell of disinfectant and sweat hit them as soon as they stepped inside. Keith and Shiro exchanged matching grins.

It was a training facility, high ceilinged and spacious, with plenty of room to move around on pitch-black floors and mats. The dark walls were lined with all kinds of weapons that gleamed and glowed under fluorescent lights: swords, knives, daggers, axes, bows, spears, staves…

"Typically, this trial begins with a lesson," Visran said. "There are instructors available to teach our guests combat skills. However, I imagine you Paladins are already well versed in combat."

"We are," Shiro said, with a nod.

"In that case," Visran said, "you may proceed directly to the next stage of the trial. You will work together to defeat a simulated opponent."

He gestured to a robot at the end of the room similar in appearance to the Castle's Gladiator, though darker by a few shades and clunkier by several degrees. "A panel will observe from above," Visran said, gesturing to a flat, reflective surface a few storeys up that must have been a one-way mirror.

"Fine by me," Keith said. He drew his blade, sliding the dagger from his belt and activating its sword form in a familiar indigo glow. "Bring it on."

Nothing was easier than fighting side-by-side with Shiro. They knew each other's moves, knew where the other would be at any given time and which enemy they would target next. They barely had to speak a word. They didn't have their armour, but there was no need when they had each other. Covering Shiro was as natural as breathing.

The first robot was down in no time at all, left with a gaping hole clean through its chest. Replacements were brought out, also quickly defeated. The waves of opponents became larger and larger, until they were faced with a small army. But even vastly outnumbered, the two had no problem—the robots were only programmed with so many moves; and while the robots were fast, they were faster. They fell into an easy rhythm.

Soon enough, every single opponent was felled, sliced or stabbed or melted through. Two thirds of the metal bodies on the ground glowed with orange lining the site of contact, edges still molten from the intense heat of Shiro's hand.

Staring around at the glowing wreckage on the floor turned battlefield, Keith couldn't help but feel a bit put out. There was no question Shiro was the better fighter, but still. Double?

"I thought speed was supposed to be my thing," Keith muttered.

"It's not a competition," Shiro said. "You did well."

"You got twice as many as I did," Keith said.

"I've had more experience."

…That was true. Not only had Shiro already been leagues better than Keith at martial arts when they'd first met, he'd spent an entire year doing nothing but fight for his life in an arena. (A year Keith had spent in the desert with no one around to fight even if he'd wanted to.)

Keith wasn't sure what to say to that, so he reached for Shiro's right hand. Unlike the metal bodies at their feet, Shiro's hand had cooled down already, thanks to some form of Galra tech or druidic magic. The feature probably hadn't been meant for holding hands, but it was convenient nonetheless. Keith gave his hand a squeeze. He wasn't sure how much Shiro could feel the pressure, but he kept his grip tight, just in case.

Visran approached them from the sidelines, lifting the hem of his white robes to step over the wreckage. "You did extremely well," he said, thin eyebrows raised. "Never have I seen such formidable skill in combat. Your teamwork is truly remarkable." The chaperone actually looked impressed, for once.

"Thank you," Shiro said, bowing his head.

"There is only one more component of the trial left for today. We were not expecting you to be so quick. The trial will continue tomorrow, but for now, the last stage entails sparring with one another." Visran walked over to the wall and picked up a practice sword about the size of Keith's blade. He offered Keith the blunt weapon, but Keith made no move to take it.

"We don't need practice weapons," Keith said.

Visran frowned. "You are not worried about harming one another?"

"No," Keith said, with conviction. "We know how to use our weapons, and we've sparred together for years. I could never hurt Shiro, and he would never hurt me." Pointedly, he laced their fingers together. "It's more useful for actual combat situations if we train with our real weapons, and we're more familiar with them anyway."

Visran considered, before nodding. "Very well, then." He led them to the thin mats, and they began.

"It's been a while since we've done this," Shiro said, waiting for Keith to make the first move. Between Keith's missions with the Blade of Marmora and all their duties with Voltron, there hadn't been much opportunity for sparring.

"I've had more training with the Blade since then," Keith said.

"Yeah? Let's see what you got."

Any hope of catching Shiro off guard with his new skills quickly dissipated. Despite his recent training, Shiro was still able to predict his every move. He knew what Keith was going to do before Keith did: Keith didn't know what he was doing until he did it, just going with whatever felt right, but Shiro could see it all ahead of time. Every swing, every slash of Keith's sword was dodged or parried.

Keith had a good sense of how Shiro usually fought, but knowing Keith was familiar with his typical fighting style, Shiro changed it up. His moves became predictably unpredictable: every time Keith thought he'd figured it out, Shiro would change tactics entirely.

Keith put up a solid fight with his blade, but Shiro managed to disarm him every time, and as soon as his weapon clattered to the ground, the match was as good as over. There wasn't much point in grappling with Shiro. Even if Shiro weren't able to predict every single one of his moves; even if Shiro didn't completely overpower him, with something like fifty pounds on him; even if Shiro hadn't been the one to teach him hand-to-hand combat in the first place; without a weapon or armour, Keith didn't stand a chance against his Galra arm.

It became repetitive: Shiro would disarm him, defeat him, and they'd go again. So Shiro began toying with Keith, a cat playing with his prey.

Shiro disarmed him as usual, but he didn't move in for the win. He just waited for Keith to attack him again and again. He countered every move with ease but never went on the offensive, and Keith was left running headfirst into a brick wall over and over. It was absolutely infuriating.

It sent Keith back to late adolescence, back to the early days of their friendship. Shiro had done the same thing back then, but back then he'd been instructing him. He hadn't grinned at Keith's steadily mounting frustration the way he was now.

"Just end it already," Keith growled.

"Patience yields—"

"I hate you."

"You don't mean that," Shiro said, as Keith came at him again. He dodged, grabbed Keith by the wrist, and flipped him over with one arm—and not even the right one. Keith was left winded as his back was slammed into the mat. Shiro trapped his hips with his knees, hands pressed over hands. He held him down with barely any effort at all, watching him with laugh-crinkled eyes. "…Do you?"

When he regained his breath, Keith rolled his eyes. "No, but I might if you don't just—" He cut off his sentence with a guttural, exasperated sound as Shiro's grip loosened, intentionally releasing him.

"Whoops," Shiro said, lightly.

Keith scowled. Pushing himself to his feet, he launched another attack and, within seconds, was knocked flat on his back yet again. Shiro leaned over him, hands wrapped around his wrists, pinning him again.

"Doesn't look like that's working," Shiro said, leaning in closer with his patience-yields-focus smile. "You might want to try a different approach."

"Don't pretend you're trying to teach me," Keith said, glowering at him. "You're just doing this to get me riled up." It was working, too.

Shiro's smile became amused. "And?"

"And I've had about enough."

With that, Keith reached up and planted a swift kiss on Shiro's lips.

It was a rash, reckless move, born of aggravation chasing adrenaline through his veins. It was thoughtless, careless, but it had only been to catch Shiro off guard—a tactical strategy and nothing more. Keith told himself that so vehemently he almost believed it.

Startled, Shiro's weight shifted backward, allowing Keith to wriggle out of his grasp. He used all his bodyweight to pin Shiro's hands to the mat, then scooted backward. Still stunned, Shiro made no counter move, allowing Keith to trap his neck with his legs. Keith brought his legs together to cut off his oxygen, choking him until he ceded.

Shiro's eyes were wide as he gasped for breath.

"Guess you can't predict all my moves," Keith said with a smug smirk.

"…Guess not," Shiro said, his mouth slowly transforming from agape into a genuine smile.

…

After washing up, they were given free rein to do whatever they desired until dinner—so long as they were tailed by their chaperone, of course. Visran recommended visiting the fair at the outskirts of the city, a popular spot for tourists. It wasn't as if they had any other ideas, so they took him up on the suggestion and headed to the attraction.

It was a long carriage ride, and somewhere along the way, Shiro fell asleep on Keith's shoulder. Cheek pressed lightly to the crown of Shiro's head, Keith was careful not to move for the next varga or so.

He didn't particularly want to have a staring match with Visran, so he kept his eyes focused on the window on his right, watching as the candy-coloured buildings beyond the glass became smaller and smaller, sparser and sparser. His gaze occasionally flitting to the warm, heavy body resting against him.

When the site finally came into view, it became readily apparent why they'd set up all the way out here. The place was huge, sprawling out as far as the eye could see. There was a massive array of tented stalls set up, but what really got Keith's attention was the amusement rides.

Dramatic structures of all shapes twisted and turned and reached for the clouds. Keith had never been to a fair or amusement park before; it was another piece of childhood he'd missed out on. He hadn't let himself wish for many things when he was younger (besides love and affection and stability and a family), but he had wanted this. Now, he finally had his chance.

His eyes were bright, but he kept his excitement to himself—Shiro was still fast asleep, catching up on the rest he so badly needed. Even when the carriage ground to a halt at the entrance, Shiro didn't stir.

Loath as Keith was to wake him, they needed to get out. "Hey," he said, softly, cupping Shiro's cheek with his palm.

Shiro leaned into the touch as he blinked his eyes open. "Hm?"

"We're here. Ready to go?"

"Oh! Right. Sorry," Shiro said, sitting up straight. "Sorry. Fell asleep."

"I noticed," Keith said with a little smile. "Glad you got some rest."

They hopped out of the carriage and took in their surroundings. "Guess we've found another universal constant," Shiro said. "This place is set up almost exactly like the fairs on Earth—though the rides here are definitely higher tech."

"I bet they go even faster," Keith grinned.

"Let me guess: you're into the extreme rides." Shiro gazed up at the closest one, where Graxari were shrieking as they plunged downward from a point in the sky barely visible from the ground.

"Probably," Keith said, "I've never actually been on one before, though, so I guess we can't know for sure until we've tried them all." He couldn't suppress his grin.

Shiro linked their hands together, his expression fond. "Well then, we better get started."

Pulling Shiro along, Keith headed for the most terrifying rides first, the ones that elicited the loudest screams. There were queues at each of them, but they were well worth the wait.

Keith quickly decided that rides were fun. He got plenty of adrenaline in his day job as a Defender of the Universe and his side gig as a member of the Blade, but the amusement rides were free of the crushing stress that usually accompanied it. There was no responsibility here, no repercussions. Here, he could get all of the rush with none of the actual danger.

Shiro laughed and smiled along with him. A few rides in, though, his mask slipped for a moment. Jaw clenched, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut, it became apparent that his enjoyment was a charade.

Shiro flinched when Keith laid a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" Keith asked.

"Of course," Shiro said. He smiled too quickly, overshooting what could have passed as genuine.

"Shiro…"

Shiro fixed his smile into something that would have convinced anyone else. "I'm good. Which one do you want to try next?"

Cold settled in Keith's gut. Shiro was doing this for him. He wanted to let Keith have fun, give him this experience, but he didn't enjoy it. Which… made sense. Of course he wouldn't. For someone who experienced debilitating panic attacks and had nightmares near every time he closed his eyes, fear would be anything but fun.

Keith felt awful for not realizing it sooner. He'd been so selfish, caught up in his own childish delight. He should have been more conscientious, should have been watching more carefully. He'd been too eager to buy into Shiro's facade.

"I'm done with rides," Keith said.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to go on all of them."

Keith shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"That was a quick change of heart. You were having a great time just a dobosh ago," Shiro said. "…Seriously, Keith. I'm fine."

"Uh huh."

Shiro sighed. "Look, maybe I don't enjoy rides the way I used to, but you do. I'll be okay, so let's keep going. I want to keep going."

"No. I don't want to anymore. We're done."

Shiro shook his head, sighing again. "You're too selfless for your own good, you know that?"

"Like you're one to talk. But I'm not; I'm just hungry." It wasn't a total lie—it had been a while since breakfast. "Let's go check out the food vendors. Maybe there'll be something on this planet that's actually good."

Reluctantly, Shiro took the out. "…Alright. Let's go."

They followed the treaded path, azure dirt packed beneath their feet. Shiro held onto Keith's hand with a tight grip as they pushed their way through the sea of people.

"D'you think we'll need to feed each other with our bare hands at the food stalls, too?" Keith asked.

Shiro shrugged. "Maybe they'll have stuff on sticks so we won't have to."

"Forget about rides. Food on sticks would be the highlight of the fair."

Shiro gave him a wry smile. "Let's not get our hopes up."

They smelled the food area long before they reached it. All sorts of aromas wafted through the air, none of which were particularly appealing. There was a lot of noise—sizzling and popping and crunching and yelling. Too many people were jammed into too narrow aisles. It was all pretty overwhelming, but Shiro's eyes darted around with keen interest, so Keith didn't mind.

They wove through the stalls, some decked out in cheerful colours and patterns, others dull and faded. Sadly, none offered food on sticks. Some of the items being sold were wrapped in coated paper, though, so it wasn't necessary to actually touch the food with their bare hands. There was no need to put their fingers in each other's mouths, which was great, because Keith definitely, definitely, did not derive pleasure from that in any way.

They sampled food from various stalls in a wide assortment of flavours and textures that ranged from unpleasant to horrendous. Keith wasn't a particularly picky eater, but the Graxari had very different ideas from most Earthlings of what tasted good. Luckily, Shiro was a human garbage disposal and would eat anything Keith didn't like.

"This one's actually really good," Shiro said, taking a bite from the crumbly, pink cube in Keith's hand. He brought a matching one to Keith's lips for him to try.

It was an awful blend of banana-flavoured children's medicine and processed "cheese"—the kind that wasn't allowed to be sold without the quotation marks. The cube had a strange consistency that dried his mouth out, and had a plasticky aftertaste. Keith grimaced. "It's really not. But your taste buds are broken. You think the Garrison's mac and cheese is the best food on Earth."

"Best food in the universe," Shiro corrected. "It's the perfect blend of soggy and crunchy. Slimy but not too slimy, you know?"

"Hunk would legitimately cry if he heard you say that."

"Hunk just doesn't have a refined palate like I do," Shiro said, eliciting a snort of laughter.

"Alright, gourmand," Keith said. "Hurry up and finish this one off so we can try something else. There's gotta be something around here that's halfway decent."

Many stalls later, at a sad-looking place in the corner that had absolutely no customers, they found a sticky blue wedge that tasted pretty close to pancakes with syrup. Delighted with the find, Keith filled up on those and those alone.

When they'd finished eating, they wiped the syrupy blue coating from their faces with their napkins. It was an automatic action, done before they realized they'd made a mistake.

"Uh oh. We were supposed to wipe each other's mouths," Keith said under his breath, looking around at all the other couples doing just that.

"Ah," Shiro said. "…Well, it's not too late. You missed a spot."

Shiro brought the napkin toward Keith's mouth, but he changed his mind midway and dropped it. Instead, he tilted Keith's chin up with his fingertips and leaned in. He was either taking a really closelook, or—

Keith's eyes went saucer-wide as he felt Shiro's lips brush against his lower lip; his heart skipped three beats when Shiro took his lower lip into his mouth. A flicker of tongue grazed the edge, and he stopped breathing entirely.

Shiro pulled back and looked Keith over with a satisfied smirk. "There. All gone."

Keith said nothing. He'd lost all his words.

Shiro leaned in again. "That's for this morning," he murmured into his ear.

Keith still had no words.

"Was—was that too far?" he asked, concerned when Keith didn't respond. The playfulness evaporated from his voice. "I-I'm sorry—"

Snapping out of his stupor, Keith shook his head, trying to ignore the way he blushed to his hairline and his heart was racing faster than it had with any ride. "No. No, it was—" He was about to say fine, but the word tended to mean the opposite with the two of them, and as much as this was going to destroy Keith later when this was over, he didn't want Shiro to feel like he'd done something wrong. He couldn't tell the truth and admit it was the best thing that's ever happened to me, so instead, he said, "It was a good idea. …We needed to make up for our slip-up, and I think that covered it. So. Good thinking."

"I want you to tell me if you need me to ease up on the act," Shiro said, quietly.

"It's okay. I don't mind," Keith said, forcing his shoulders not to slump at that last word. "It's… for a good cause. This alliance is important." He looked around for a distraction, eyes finding the game section. "A-anyway. Ready to lose at some carnival games? 'Cause I'm gonna win."

"Oh, you're on," Shiro said, grinning.

And just like that, they were back in their safety zone. Back to where Keith knew they should stay—the part of him that wanted to survive beyond the next few days, anyway. The rest of him thirsted to go further, consequences be damned, but lucky for future-Keith, self-control won out.

Hours flew by as they got caught up in games of chance and skill, going all out in playful competition. They each had games they were particularly good at, balancing out to a tie in terms of overall games won. They didn't stop until they'd won the largest prize at each stall, giving away their winnings to delighted Graxari children around them.

Keith hadn't had this much fun in… he couldn't even remember how long. He didn't want it to end, but eventually, the sky ripened to a deep magenta, and it was time to head back to the palace for dinner.

Reluctantly, he got back in the carriage. He wasn't tired, excitement still buzzing in his veins, but he pretended to be so he could lean his head against Shiro's shoulder for the duration of the trip back.

Keith rode the high through the rest of the evening, through the carriage ride and onward through dinner. It wasn't until the end of the day, when they were back in their room for the night, that exhaustion swept over Keith and he crashed. Hard.

"Today was good," he said, making a beeline for the bed, too tired to change. He flopped down on top of the mattress face-first with enough force to bounce.

"Yeah," Shiro said, collapsing beside him. "Visran actually seemed impressed this morning."

In a monumental effort, Keith rolled over to face him. "Maybe this whole thing's—" he stifled a yawn—"not a lost cause after all."

"Yeah. Maybe not," Shiro said, closing his eyes. "Visran really wanted to make sure we wanted to continue with the trial earlier, before dinner. Wonder what that was all about."

"Yeah. No idea," Keith said, fighting to keep his eyes open and losing. "But I hope tomorrow's similar to today. Today was fun."

"It was," Shiro agreed.

"Tired now, though."

Shiro struggled to open his eyes again. He frowned. "Yeah. …Unusually tired. Dinner tonight. D'you… think it could've been drugged?" His words were starting to slur, eliding.

"Mm. Maybe," Keith said, as he lost the fight with his eyelids.

"Maybe we should contact the others," Shiro said, though he made no move to get up. "Are you able to go get the pad…?"

"Mm mm," Keith said, too exhausted to form proper words.

"Yeah. …Guess we'll just have to hope tomorrow goes okay," Shiro slurred. "'Night, Keith."

"Mm," Keith hummed. Too tired to remember to keep his distance, he snuggled up to Shiro, nuzzling his cheek before he passed out.