Shout out to Ultimate-Hunter-Guyver for inspiring me to keep going with this fic!
He had looked so surprised when she stepped out from behind the curtain. Romelle had spun around happily— she liked the way this Earth garment twirled just below her knees. It felt lightweight and smooth, and the purple color especially made her favor it.
"You look great!" Eliza, the incredibly kind merchant, had told her.
Romelle smiled, then looked over at Keith. "What do you think?" she asked. It was only right for her to request his opinion— he had brought her there, after all.
He blinked. "Y-Yeah, it looks great, um, but I think we need to make sure that, you, ah, you know, that you get something other than a dress, too, because the weather, is, uh—"
Eliza waved a hand to hush him. "Don't worry, this is only the first outfit!"
Keith had nodded, his eyes drifting back to Romelle.
She sighed contentedly, running the memory through her head for the millionth time. His eyes looked like the galaxies were contained within them, and when they had been on her in that moment, a warm feeling had spread throughout her entire being.
Romelle stared up at the ceiling above her bed. Keith was just so…dreamy and kind and handsome, and she wanted to relive the previous night over and over again.
She would have to wait, though— she had been asked to attend a meeting, and it was within a few dobashes.
The young Altean got up from her bed and made her way toward the door, pausing in front of a mirror before she left. She had to admit, she appreciated the Earth clothes Eliza had picked for her. The "jeans" in particular were surprisingly comfortable, as was the pink top.
Apparently Romelle had a natural gravitation toward garments that were "knit," and though she was not entirely sure what this "knit" was, she knew that it was a thousand times better than the Garrison uniform.
Approving of her appearance, Romelle headed out and made her way to where the meeting was supposed to be.
"The first left, second right, and then the fourth door on the left," Keith had said. She fought back a giggle when she heard his smooth voice in her head. Romelle followed the instructions perfectly, yet when she arrived at the door, she still hesitated.
"It's unlocked," a familiar voice chuckled.
Romelle yelped and spun around. The leader of the Voltron team— Shiro, if she recalled correctly— was standing behind her looking amused.
"Romelle, right?" he asked, holding out a hand. "Keith told me about you. How are you fitting in?"
"F-Fine," she stuttered. Romelle stared at his outstretched hand in confusion. "I'm sorry, I am not familiar with Earth greetings."
Shiro blinked. "Oh! My bad. Here, you just—" he put his hand in hers, then moved it up and down. "It's called shaking hands. It's a bit formal, but it's usually a good greeting when you first meet someone."
The Altean nodded slowly. "I…I believe we met before, though?" That was an understatement— he had thrown a punch that knocked her out the last time they'd met.
He grimaced. "My, uh, my memories are still a bit fuzzy," he admitted.
"Oh," Romelle replied. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and she weighed what she wanted to say carefully. "Shiro, I do not blame you for what happened before," she stated decidedly. "You were lost and confused, and since the others have forgiven you, I shall, as well."
Shiro's eyes widened. "W-Wait, what did I do?"
She merely turned her head. The mark his metal fist had left was clear as day just below her left eye. She heard him gasp, but before he could say anything, she stepped forward and placed her hands on his shoulders.
"You are freed from all weights of guilt," she recited with closed eyes. "You will no longer carry this pain. You are forgiven."
"…Romelle?"
Shiro and Romelle turned to see Keith staring at them with a befuddled expression.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Romelle smiled as her hands dropped back to her side. "It is an Altean forgiveness ritual. Shiro is now freed from his guilt, and our relationship is restored."
A small smile came onto Keith's face. "Thank you, Romelle," he said softly. "I'm sure it'll help Shiro a lot in his recovery."
She brightened and turned to look at Shiro to see if this was true. Indeed it was— he seemed less burdened than he had a dobash ago, lighter and happier.
"Thank you, Romelle, from the bottom of my heart," Shiro nodded. "I am truly grateful for your words."
The young Altean smiled and turned her face expectantly. She waited for a moment, then realized that he had not yet come forward to thank her properly. Turning back, she noticed that both men were staring at her with raised eyebrows.
"Oh! M-My apologies," she stammered. "I— your words— I believed that you were going to express your thanksgiving."
Shiro tilted his head. "What is the proper Altean way? We usually just use our words on Earth."
"It is called the natir," she told him, "the kiss of thanksgiving. It is quite common to all Alteans, and is placed on the right cheek. I gave Keith the natir yesterday to express my gratitude for his offer to bring me to find new clothes to wear."
Romelle noticed several things at once. Shiro's eyes seemed to light up in understanding, and Keith's seemed to do the same thing, but…it was different somehow. Keith now seemed…darker than he had before. His eyebrows were scrunched together in thought, and a frown had taken over his lips.
"In that case," Shiro said humbly, leaning down to perform the natir. "Thank you for the ritual, Romelle. It made me feel much better."
She nodded her head solemnly. "You are most welcome, Shiro. Should your guilt come back, I would be more than willing to bestow it upon you again."
The leader's eyes flickered to Keith (who had fallen strangely silent), and he gave a little grin. "I have the feeling it won't be necessary."
"Excellent! Shall we go then?" she questioned.
Keith awoke out of his daze. "Y-Yes, let's go."
He opened the door and held his hand forward to indicate for them to walk in. Shiro entered first, and then Romelle, but she stopped short of the barrier to halt in front of Keith.
"How are you today?" she asked curiously.
His starry eyes met hers, but they were filled with barely masked confusion. "Good," he replied vaguely.
A frown came onto her face. "You're lying."
Keith startled. "I-I— how could you tell?"
"Alteans are perceptive," she said simply.
"I see," he swallowed. His eyes flashed between the meeting room and the hall, and he stepped back to shut the door.
The two stood in the hall in silence, and Romelle waited patiently for him to begin.
Keith stared at the ground. "I…apparently, I misunderstood your kiss yesterday."
Romelle looked at him expectantly, knowing he would continue.
"In, um, our culture, a kiss like that can indicate…ugh, this is so awkward," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "It can be interpreted as romantic interest."
Slowly but surely, a bright red hue began to spread over Romelle's face. "Oh," she gulped.
"Yeah…" Keith trailed off. "So, um, I'm sorry for not knowing what it meant, and for misinterpreting it."
Romelle's eyes darted to the floor. "No, it is I who should apologize, for I did not think to explain my culture properly."
He laughed awkwardly, "Guess we both got things a little mixed up."
The Altean looked up and took in his expression. He seemed upset, still, as though their reconciliation over the confusion had not fixed the problem. A thought suddenly occurred to Romelle, but…no, it couldn't be…could it?
She swallowed hard, then took a step forward and peered up into his eyes. "Did you…want to interpret it as romantic?"
Keith's eyes widened. "I-I, I didn't— I wasn't sure if— well, I, um…yes?"
Romelle took this information in slowly, though her heart was beating wildly. After a moment, she leaned up and pressed her lips against his left cheek. When she stepped away, he was staring at her in a daze.
"The right cheek is for thankfulness," she explained softly. "And…the left for longing of the heart."
Keith seemed frozen in time, and unable to summon any more courage to continue to stand in his presence any more, Romelle passed through the door to the meeting room.