[ Even over the external speakers, Shiro feels the disquiet in Keith's voice as if it had been filtered through the mental bond they all share through their Lions.
The Shiro of before wouldn't have hesitated before pushing further. But the Shiro of before hadn't been the half-wrought creature the Galra have shaped him into. He knows that Keith still respects him; he isn't self-serving enough in his insecurity to believe otherwise.
Yet -- pragmatic or otherwise, he still stops to wonder: maybe Keith's not willing to share his weaknesses because he doesn't trust Shiro the same way.
Shiro leans forward, forehead tilted against Red's jaw. The scuffed metal is warm to the touch, sentient but utterly inhuman. He can feel her impatience, but not the reasoning behind: Black, in the periphery of his mind, has little to offer in response. ]
Sure. If it's space you need, I get it.
[ But that's not all he wants to say. Not when he knows Keith the way he does. When Keith escapes, he escapes to pockets of shadow and isolation. Left alone in the echo chamber of his anger, it only makes it all worse.
Shiro closes his eyes, projecting his concern in Red's mental direction. If Keith won't let him in, maybe she'll see the necessity of it. He takes a deep breath. Holds it in the bower of his throat, alien air burning all the way down. ]
But - whatever is going on, whatever you're struggling with - it'll be a lot easier if we deal with it together.
[ And this is where the hesitation draws near, Shiro's tongue dragging against his soft palate. Forming and discarding words from inhale to exhale. The plume of laughter that rises from his throat is a soft, wingless thing. ]
You know that, right? [ Like the hours under the stars, Keith's brilliance isolating him from his peers, his disregard for authority angering his instructors. Shiro shaping himself into a cliffside for Keith's white-tipped waves to crash upon. A moment away from reality, a silence too sweet for awkwardness. ] Just like old times.
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The Shiro of before wouldn't have hesitated before pushing further. But the Shiro of before hadn't been the half-wrought creature the Galra have shaped him into. He knows that Keith still respects him; he isn't self-serving enough in his insecurity to believe otherwise.
Yet -- pragmatic or otherwise, he still stops to wonder: maybe Keith's not willing to share his weaknesses because he doesn't trust Shiro the same way.
Shiro leans forward, forehead tilted against Red's jaw. The scuffed metal is warm to the touch, sentient but utterly inhuman. He can feel her impatience, but not the reasoning behind: Black, in the periphery of his mind, has little to offer in response. ]
Sure. If it's space you need, I get it.
[ But that's not all he wants to say. Not when he knows Keith the way he does. When Keith escapes, he escapes to pockets of shadow and isolation. Left alone in the echo chamber of his anger, it only makes it all worse.
Shiro closes his eyes, projecting his concern in Red's mental direction. If Keith won't let him in, maybe she'll see the necessity of it. He takes a deep breath. Holds it in the bower of his throat, alien air burning all the way down. ]
But - whatever is going on, whatever you're struggling with - it'll be a lot easier if we deal with it together.
[ And this is where the hesitation draws near, Shiro's tongue dragging against his soft palate. Forming and discarding words from inhale to exhale. The plume of laughter that rises from his throat is a soft, wingless thing. ]
You know that, right? [ Like the hours under the stars, Keith's brilliance isolating him from his peers, his disregard for authority angering his instructors. Shiro shaping himself into a cliffside for Keith's white-tipped waves to crash upon. A moment away from reality, a silence too sweet for awkwardness. ] Just like old times.