WHO: Shiro & Keith WHAT: Bombing out in the first round of fight club blues meets UST and miscommunication WHEN: Late June 19th WARNINGS: They're dumb, your honor (nothing serious that I can think of) STATUS: Complete
Shiro wasn't sure how long he had before his next fight, but he'd followed Keith to the locker rooms anyway. He couldn't not. He'd seen Keith's face after that loss, the slope of his shoulders. Shiro had moved on autopilot, not even stopping to grab a towel or unwrap his own hands, and he was at the locker room doors before he even realized what he was doing. But he couldn't turn back now.
He pushed through the doors, passing by other fighters. A wave here, a 'good fight' there, and he was suddenly ducking his head to hurry past. It might seem rude, but he'd pay the price for that later. All he cared about right now was finding the nook Keith had hidden himself away in. He came around to the last row of lockers to find Keith alone, which both relieved him and upset him.
He didn't like Keith being alone.
"Hey you. Looked like you were favoring your right hand a little at the end there." He moved closer and kept his voice quiet - private. Just for Keith. "How's it feel?"
Keith had gone into Fight Club entirely too confident in himself, especially considering he hadn't actually been training for the last couple of weeks and had been spending most of his time messing around with random knife fights and eating a stupid amount of food. He had fallen back on his natural agility and fighting ability to actually survive the fight, but Jester had been bigger, stronger, and better prepared going into this fight night. His cockiness from past experiences hadn't been warranted given the outcome. Keith knew he was lucky to only come out of this fight with a sprained wrist
Fucking around and finding out wasn't a good look on Keith and he knew it. His face had probably given away how disappointed he had been in himself, before he had been able to school his features into something more reasonable. The younger Paladin had only hoped Shiro hadn't caught the look, before he had given Jester a brief congratulations and left for the locker rooms. The idea had been to get a few minutes to himself to get his annoyance at himself under control, before he forced himself to go watch Shiro's next match.
Except a few minutes turned into more than he had anticipated. Keith had already ripped off the sweaty singlet he had worn during the fight and was so caught up in trying to get the tape off his hands, wincing every time he turned his bad wrist wrong, that he hadn't even heard Shiro's approach. He fumbled the piece of tape he had managed to slightly unravel, looking up with a raw look of defeat on his face that gave away more than he cared for.
Looking down at the bad hand in question, the knuckles already bruised and wrist starting to swell, he was thankful for the excuse to not look directly at the other man. "Hurts. Think it's a sprain." His body language wasn't the most welcoming, but he didn't shy away from Shiro, instead letting him get close.
"Let me see." Shiro frowned and reached for Keith's hand, cradling it carefully in his palm. He ran his thumb gently over Keith's wrist. There'd been a number of sprains and even breaks in his time with the Garrison and their time as Paladins, so he knew what to look for. But he could admit he was concerned enough that all potential markers of an injury probably looked worse than they were.
"We should get this tape off. Get a better look." Scissors would've been better, and likely there were some around for just this purpose, but Shiro was reluctant to leave Keith to look for them. He started to gingerly unwind the tape instead, sneaking glances at Keith's face to watch for pain. "They have a healer on staff for fight night. You didn't have to come back here and suffer all by yourself, you know."
There was a good chance he would have bolted if left alone for too long, so Shiro made the right call staying there. Keith hated feeling vulnerable and especially hated it when he felt like he was disappointing Shiro, not that he would ever say he was. Shiro had been one of the first people to believe in him, to take him under his wing and teach him how to defend himself. And having such a terrible show out on his first Fight Club night, felt exactly like he was disappointing him.
So he definitely would have tried to run, if he had the chance. But now, with Shiro holding his hand and essentially keeping him hostage, he couldn't hide anything. Especially his facial expressions when he felt that striking pain that came with strains. He just grit his teeth and beared it. "Didn't want to draw attention," he managed to get out, still not looking at Shiro. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for your second round?"
It was tempting to apologize for paying too much attention, but Shiro would then have to make some attempt to stop and he wasn’t sure he was capable of that. At least not yet. He frowned and unwound the last few wraps of tape with even more care than the first, instead.
“It’s fine. There’s time,” he muttered, bunching the tape up and throwing it in a nearby wastebin. With that out of the way, he took Keith’s hand back in both of his and worked his fingers tenderly into Keith’s palm and wrist. “Sorry, I’m sure this doesn’t feel great. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t broken.” He kept one hand on Keith’s wrist and gestured back towards the fighting area with the other. “I still think you should see a healer though.” He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “Don’t do that thing where you punish yourself because you weren’t perfect at something on the first try.”
Keith frowned now, not out of pain, but annoyance now. His shoulders tensed up and he shot Shiro a look. “I’m not doing that.” Yes he was, even if he didn’t think so. Then he deflated, his tone softer and shoulders slumping a bit. “I just...this isn’t that serious. I’ve had sprains before, it will heal just fine. Save the healers for someone who truly gets their ass kicked tonight.” He hated feeling like a bother and it was all that he could do to stop from apologizing for taking up space, some days. But he probably needed a psych degree and intense self reflection to understand those feelings and how to deal with them.
Because right now, he was barely able to stop himself from pulling his hand away and stomping off. If it had been anyone else, he would have already, but Shiro brought a sense of patience in him that he really had to strive for, with others. “I’m fine, really,” his tone still soft, like the fight had gone out of him. “Just...disappointed in myself. I thought I would do better, but I guess you kind of have to keep up with practice to still be any good at this.”
Shiro fought a smirk at Keith’s instant denial. That petulant tone was familiar and almost welcome really. It was better than the disheartened tone that followed it. Shiro cautiously let go of Keith’s wrist and leaned a shoulder against the lockers next to them.
“I lost my first fight here too.” He didn’t mention that the Keith who had been here before went on to win that entire night; he wanted to commiserate, not bury Keith further into his own head. “In fact, I think I lost in the first round a few times in a row before I started winning any. I thought…” His gaze dropped away and he sighed. “I figured it was a little too like the arena at first. Because it upset me more than it should’ve to lose. But before I knew it, I was friends with a lot of these people. And I let myself enjoy it.” He leaned closer, ducking his head to catch Keith’s gaze. “No one’s giving you a performance review. Or punishing you if you don’t win.”
He wasn’t exactly short like Pidge was, but Keith still had to strain his neck a bit to look up at Shiro’s stupidly tall self. Keith caught the man ducking his head to catch his eyes and suppressed a fond sigh at that. Shiro could be such a dumb giant, but he never lied to Keith or just said pretty words to cheer him up. He was practical and pointed out logical ways of seeing things, but with a care and kindness not a lot of people were capable of.
It soothed the hurt Keith was feeling and whatever of the bad mood that had been darkening his features, fled. “I know you’re right. I’m being dumb right now.” He wiggled his fingers, trying to draw attention back onto the injury instead of focusing too much on whatever Keith was feeling now. “I’ll work on how I approach Fight Club from now on. But you should know that means I’m going to ramp up the surprise sparring on you.” He could hear the crowds cheering on the figheres currently in the ring. “I can get this wrapped up, if you want to focus on getting yourself psyched up.”
Shiro squinted, uncertain if Keith was brushing him off. He knew he had a habit of being overbearing. It was entirely possible it was worse now that he was trying - and likely failing - to press his more intimate feelings back out of the light. He mustered up a smile and straightened up out of his lean, testing the tape on his own hands as he moved.
"That surprise part is going to be tricky when I'm always ready for you, Keith." Despite the taunt, his expression was soft. He reached out and squeezed Keith's shoulder. "Come out and watch the rest of the fights, okay? It'll help, I promise. I mean, some painkillers will too. The first aid crew can give you a couple, if you really don't want to be healed. Do that much for me." He took a few backwards steps towards the locker room exit. "I don't like you being in pain."
There was a moment of hesitation, before Keith turned away from Shiro and dug into the locker he had claimed for himself. He came back with a bandage roll and tossed it to Shiro with his good hand. “Alright, wrap me up and I’ll come out there to cheer you on. I’ll even grab a couple of painkillers if it’ll get that look off your face.” Though he did not sound nearly as annoyed as he had earlier, when he had been rightfully accused of using the pain as a punishment for his terrible showing during the fight. In fact, he sounded a little fond. It was hard not to be when he was around Shiro.
He approached and held out his wrist again, welcoming the touch this time.
Trust Keith to immediately put that I’m always ready for you thing to the test. Shiro managed to school his features, but he still fumbled the roll of tape before he got a good grip on it. He huffed out a laugh. “So bossy.”
He had to use his teeth to start the tape, so he unrolled a long swatch and tore off the end before he took Keith’s hand. All the sparing he’d done over the years made the process of wrapping hands second nature. Ignoring the heated race of his blood was trickier. He took his time to avoid jerking Keith’s wrist around but lingering too long was a double-edged sword. He was frowning by the time he wound the last bit of tape around and tucked it underneath the webbing between Keith’s thumb and first finger.
“That should hold without being too tight. You might have some swelling to worry about.” He tapped the remaining roll of tape against Keith’s chest to get him to take it. The door to the rest of the club opened and he heard his name being called. “Ah…that’s my cue. See you in a bit,” he promised, jogging towards the door.
This...felt different. Shiro had hugged, touched, and helped him wrap his injuries before. This wasn’t new. But somehow, after that confession of Shiro’s from a few weeks ago, any time they touched, it felt...different. Heavier, somehow. Keith was frowning hard down at their joined hands as Shiro worked, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he shifted closer. Didn’t even realize he was doing it until Shiro finished and pushed the rest of the tape to his chest. That point of contact felt...like it was burning and if Keith’s face was suspiciously red by the time Shiro was jogging away, he wasn’t talking about it.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll be right out,” Keith said, voice scratchy and throat feeling a little dry. What the fuck? Get it together, Kogane, he thought to himself. He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly. “Kick ass, you don’t need luck!” He tried for a smile, which was genuine, but somehow still felt off. What was wrong with him?
He didn’t dawdle too much on it though, as he turned around and threw the tape roll back into his bag and pulled out a fresh t-shirt. He pulled that on and picked up his sweaty mess of a shirt off the bench and threw that into the bag as well. Shutting the locker, he turned and went out to cheer on Shiro.
And Shiro did great, with his second match. Watching him fight was always fascinating, but seeing him fight so effortlessly, for fun, was different. It was different from the way he fought the Galra empire, but not in a bad way. Keith stayed on the sidelines the whole time Shiro was up there, forgetting about his own loss, cheering whenever Shiro got a good kick or punch in.
The problem started when Shiro was squaring up against Atreus.
That fight was close, very nearly a tie, but Atreus pulled out some big moves and maybe the fight with Sam had left Shiro a little slower to block, but in the end of an intense, drawn out fight that left both men gleaming with sweat and breathing heavily, the Norse god won.
But at what cost? Because Keith was starting to panic a bit about how his eyes seem to linger longer than normal on Shiro or why he felt so hot under his collar, so to speak, watching this match. By the time Shiro got out of the ring - after a hug, who hugs their opponent??? - Keith managed to stem his internal freak out. Thankfully, Shiro was sore enough from that fight that he needed Keith’s assistance, which was a welcome distraction from the monologuing Keith’s brain was starting to do. Do I like him? Or am I just feeling bad that he lost his Keith and he looks nice sweaty? could go away anytime now. They waited around until the fights were over and Atreus had placed in the top four, before heading out.
They were Ubering together back home to their apartment, but before the silence could get weird, Keith spoke. “You know, you should have taken your own advice and gone to see a healer."
Shiro very purposely did not read into the tone of Keith's voice as he left the locker room. He tried not to read into the strange smile either, but that one wasn't as easy to compartmentalize when he could still feel Keith's skin on his fingertips. He managed, though, with a furrowed brow and quick, sharp movements as he jerked his gloves back on and climbed into the ring.
He fought a little on autopilot against Sam, distracted but respectful of the power there. It wasn't until he got in the ring with Atreus that he realized his fights were catching up with him. It didn't stop him from enjoying himself though. Sparring with Atreus was always a good way to clear his head and enjoy himself. Winning would've been nice too, but he didn't mind being able to step away from the matches and sweat on the sidelines.
Everything ached. And so maybe he was a little too eager to lean on Keith on the way to the car. Maybe that was why Keith had been so quiet the majority of the ride. He wasn't eager to get a taste of his own medicine either way.. Shiro squinted at Keith in the darkness, the dim glow of his arm the only light to go by.
"I'm not injured, just sore. Getting hit by a god a bunch of times takes its toll." He rolled his shoulder and stretched his hand, trying to work out the muscle kinks before they got stiff. "Does the hand feel worse?"
There had been a power to the punches Atreus had been throwing around, that had Keith wincing in sympathy any time one landed on Shiro. That didn't stop him from giving the other man shit now, though. "Bet they could have fixed the soreness so you're not black and blue tomorrow. At least you'll be matching Black somewhat now." There was a little smirk hiding on Keith's face under the relative darkness of the car that could only be seen when Shiro moved his arm just right.
He looked down at his hand that had been bandaged earlier in the locker room. It felt a little numb, now that he thought about it. "It's a little numb. I might have to rewrap it looser, cause I don't think the guy that did it earlier knew what he was doing." The teasing was obvious in his voice and the awkwardness he had felt earlier was fading fast.
"Wow. Just not even pulling any punches at all," Shiro laughed. He itched to reach for Keith's hand again, under the guise of loosening the tape, but he curled his hand over the top of his knee instead. It was late and he was tired, worn soft by concern and actually getting his ass kicked, but he could still keep himself tightly contained. "That guy is definitely not a medical professional of any kind but I'm pretty sure he warned you about swelling anyway."
The car started to slow, pulling up next to Morningside. Shiro lifted his hips to dig his wallet out of his back pocket and paid the fare. "Come on. You can trash talk me in the comfort of our own apartment and I can put some ice on this shoulder." He opened the door and climbed out, leaning back in to flash a taunting grin at Keith. "Can you get out okay or do you need me to open your door?"
The gesture Keith flashed at Shiro was very rude and would have had Allura lecturing them both. Thankfully, she wasn't around to see Keith misbehaving. He didn't bother answering Shiro's question outside of that, getting the door open very pointedly and getting out with a quick, "Thanks!" to their driver.
The walk up to their apartment was made in relative silence, which had lost the awkwardness of earlier the second they had started to give each other shit. Keith had his key ready and got the door open, not at all surprised to see Kosmo's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the entrance corridor. "Miss us?" Keith asked, flipping the light switches and then bending slightly to give Kosmo the head scritches he loved so much. When Kosmo had his fill of love from Keith, he passed over to Shiro, nudging him.
"I'll get you an ice pack," Keith called over his shoulder, dropping his gym bag on the ground next to the corridor table that he had dropped his keys onto, before heading to the kitchen.
Shiro threw back his head and laughed at the rude gesture. That warm feeling in his gut carried him all the way upstairs, even if he did look more uncomfortable with every step. His smile only looked a little strained as Kosmo made his way over. Shiro didn't risk crouching down for a proper pet, but he did lean over to pat Kosmo's side a few times.
"I'm a little surprised he didn't follow you to the club. Were you getting into trouble somewhere?" he asked the wolf. Kosmo teleported into the kitchen as a response. "Rude," Shiro smirked. He kicked off his shoes at the door and groaned at the effort it took to pull his tank top off over his head. It was torn from the fights and had a few blood splatters. He followed Keith into the kitchen and tossed the shirt in the trash.
"You were quiet when we left the club." He cracked his neck and stretched his arm across his chest. "Everything okay?"
Keith had been digging through all the frozen vegetables and ice cream that filled their freezer, when Kosmo appeared in his puff of smoke on top of the fridge. "Off," Keith firmly said, pointing to the ground. The wolf gave him a look that would have been full of exasperation on a human, before he jumped down onto the ground and stalked off to find something else to interest him.
Watching the wolf go, Keith rolled his eyes up until he caught sight of Shiro. A shirtless Shiro. Seeing the other man shirtless wasn't new in the least, but it had never been so…significant before. His mouth suddenly felt dry again.
It took him a second to process what Shiro was asking, the chilled air of the freezer wafting in behind him as he tried to concentrate. "Uh," he started, in the way all people did when they were unsure what to say. "Guess I was still sore over being out so early in this tournament," he finally settled on, very firmly keeping his eyes on Shiro's face. "Just gotta get used to it, you know?" Unconsciously, he dug the fingers of his left hand into his palm, trying to focus himself. Passing the frozen bag of peas to Shiro with the other hand, he leaned against the table. "You really going to be fine?"
"The only thing you need to get used to is not beating yourself up about it if it happens again," Shiro countered. It was said matter-of-factly, as Shiro took the peas and pressed them against his shoulder. The cold made him hiss in a breath, but then it started to loosen up the muscle. Standing there in the kitchen made him feel weirdly self-conscious about being shirtless. It wasn't usually an issue. It had been, back when he'd first come back from the arena and all his new scars were on display for the first time. But these days that was old news. The only thing new about him shirtless in the moment was the scattering of already visible bruises.
"Anyway, I'll be fine. I've been doing this every month for over a year and it's nothing a little ice and a couple days can't cure." He scowled and edged around Keith to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Were you just giving me a hard time or is your hand actually numb? You shouldn't sleep in that," he nodded towards Keith's wrapped hand.
The temptation to call Shiro space dad was strong, but he resisted. It would feel strange, especially after all the feelings and thoughts he had about the other man during his fight with Atreus. Which he was reminded of again, when Shiro got close to get that water bottle. A warm feeling low in Keith's belly started and the panic from earlier was back as he awkwardly moved a little to get some space in between them. And yet, his eyes were still on Shiro, taking in the old scars and new bruises, over sharply defined muscles.
When did Shiro get hot?
Dumbly, Keith lifted the hand in question, before starting to remove the bandage. He should probably stop staring at Shiro's chest. He didn't. "Uh, no, I wasn't kidding. You were probably distracted by the idea of your upcoming fights." Keith knew he had been distracted by Shiro's proximity at the time. "It's cool though, I got it." He put one end of the bandage between his teeth and pulled it taunt. Then he started to rewrap it on his own, having done this a few times before. Shiro hadn't always been around to fix Keith up, especially after he joined the Blade of Marmora and started doing missions for them. At that reminder, he felt a pang for missing his mother, but he pushed that particular feeling deep down. He had only space to process one emotion at a time and right now, it was why he had the urge to touch Shiro's abs.
Which were staring him right in the face. Why couldn't he stop looking? The distraction was enough to have Keith fumble wrapping his wrist, which had him finally tearing his eyes away from the sculpted muscles and glaring down at the bandage he was trying to get in order like every confusing thought he was having right now, was it's fault.
Keith wasn't gay. At least, he didn't think he was. But he didn't think he liked women like this either. In all his years, he had never really felt attraction before, not like this, and feeling it now was surprising, confusing, and annoying. Because why did his dick finally start to take an interest in someone, only for it to be in the man he used to think of like family? Like a brother? His life was already complicated enough. Of course this would be complicated too.
Shiro drank his water, the bag of peas draped over his shoulder, forgotten. He could feel Keith’s lingering gaze like a brand and it took a long moment before he realized he was holding his breath. Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. Exhaling quietly, he set the bottle to the side and reached into a drawer near Keith’s hip. He came out of it with scissors.
“I’m starting to think you just like me doing things for you,” he quietly teased. Taking Keith’s hand, he carefully slipped the scissors under the tape on his palm and cut through until the rest fell away easier. “Sorry that was so tight. Actually, you should…” He took the bag of peas off his shoulder and pressed them Keith’s hand and wrist. His eyes shifted back towards the fridge, because that was safer than watching Keith too closely right now. “I have a couple of real ice packs. In the back of the freezer. I think one of them straps on.”
It was a very near thing that Keith didn’t jerk his hand away. Everything felt like it had shifted just slightly to the left and he couldn't catch up. Things were happening and he was three steps behind. At least, it felt like that and if he didn’t remove himself from this kitchen right now, he was going to do something to confuse everything even more.
So, of course he did something to complicate both of their lives.
He dropped the bag of peas onto the table and turned so he could crowd Shiro’s personal space. They were very nearly touching, so close that it took a second for his eyes to adjust when Keith looked up at Shiro. “I-,” he started, unsure which words he wanted to go with. I’m feeling something? I think it has a lot to do with you? He couldn’t spit them out and he looked a little helpless, lost in the swirl of thoughts, feelings, and hormones that were overtaking him. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” The conflict was obvious on his face. Raising his good hand, he let it hover over Shiro’s chest. “I really want to touch you.”
Oh. This had all taken a surprisingly sharp turn. Shiro had been so determined to not just see what he wanted to see that he’d been driving a little blind. He dropped his heated stare to Keith’s hand and inched closer. It wasn’t quite pressing his chest against Keith’s hand but it was close enough that it may as well have been.
“What’s stopping you?” he whispered.
Of course, being Shiro, his conscience quickly overrode his emotions and his face seemed to war between smirk and frown. He reached up to brush some of Keith’s fringe out of his eyes. “Actually, wait…How many fingers am I holding up?” He held three mechanical fingers up in front of Keith’s face. A concussion wasn’t entirely out of the question.
The rush of pure want surged and Keith...he really wasn’t good at asking for what he wanted, but he was all too willing to take at the moment. And honestly, Shiro just gave him permission, right? That’s what that was, with him goading him on. Keith’s hand was on Shiro for all of five seconds though, before Shiro ruined the whole goddamn mood.
Keith huffed and pulled away, regrettably returning his hand to himself and putting a good two feet between them. “Three, you jerk.” But the words weren’t really heated, there was only a minor amount of annoyance in them. He grabbed the bag of peas again, which was starting to form condensation, and threw it back into the freezer a little harder than he would have normally. He dug around in there for a second before pulling out the ice pack Shiro had mentioned earlier and said, “Gonna go take a shower and head to bed.” He was swiftly making an escape, slightly embarrassed by letting his hormones take over.
“Keith…I was just…” Shiro felt the sting of regret like a slap to the face. He hadn’t expected such a full retreat. He wasn’t even sure why he’d needed to question what was happening, when his brain had been shouting yes please. But he could admit that the anxiety in his gut had been enough to trip him up. He wasn’t sure he would survive Keith make an impulsive decision and then regretting it. It didn’t stop him from watching Keith with a pained expression, though.
He made a frustrated noise and his shoulders sagged. His jaw clenched as he turned his head to stare at the fridge. “It’s late and it’s been a long day. Maybe it’s for the best if we both call it a night.”
Kosmo appeared at his side, seemingly drawn by the tension in the room. He whined at Shiro, licked his hand, and then clung to Keith’s side. Shiro got an ice pack for himself and headed the opposite way.
Keith was the type of guy to run full tilt into all sorts of situations, including this one. But the frown, the question...it was enough to have him second guessing whether Shiro wanted this. Was he being an idiot? Did he make a mistake here and now his best friend thought he was trying to replace the other Keith in every other way? The doubts were all there and Keith was drowning in them.
He had paused when Shiro had called out, but when he said it was probably a good idea to call it a night, whatever little hope they had of salvaging the situation was dashed. Mood gone, doubts fully in place.
Nodding curtly, while simultaneously putting a hand on Kosmo’s mane and biting his lip, Keith agreed and watched Shiro walk away. “Alright. Goodnight Shiro.” And then he was gone himself.