A Night for Exceptions

The official sendoff had ended hours ago with the entire Galaxy Garrison celebrating the first deployment of its youngest pilot in history, finally taking off. It was an occasion usually reserved for seasoned veterans, but the boost in morale that came from wishing the Garrison poster boy luck meant that it was a night for exceptions.

After hours, the stoic cement walls of the facility became menacing, but Keith was more afraid of what waited beyond an ordinary door than he was of the shadows lurking behind corners. Not wanting to alert any staff that might've been wandering the floor of his presence, he decided not to knock, but trusted that it was unlocked and slipped inside unnoticed.

The room's only occupant (a single that came along with his promotion, lucky guy) didn't look to be sleeping, even though it was the middle of the night. A dim desk lamp was the only light source and with it, Keith saw that the bed was still made up just as tidy as it was that morning. A single bag was set off to the corner. The room was bare of all possessions, and everything being so neat only drove home the fact that it wouldn't be in use for much longer.

"I, uh, got your text," Keith mumbled, in part because of the need for quiet and another part because of his discomfort in a place where he should have felt completely at ease.

The desk chair squeaked as Shiro shifted his weight, hands folded in his lap, one index finger tapping to show he was thinking about something. It was a gesture so familiar that he could picture it with his eyes closed, and the certainty that he’d forget it eventually twisted Keith’s gut into knots. "You weren't at the party earlier."

Swallowing hard, Keith averted his gaze, the words stuck in his throat. What kind of justification could he give for missing out on one of the biggest nights of Shiro's life? There's no way he could say he couldn't stand it, that the thought of standing around while a bunch of know-nothing cadets fawned over their newly-promoted peer, made him sick to his stomach.

Another creak as Shiro stood, drawing up to his full height that seemed to dwarf Keith's own in the empty room. "I was hoping to see you," he said, voice soft, his brow furrowed in thought. Whether from confusion or worry, it still made Keith's stomach do horrible, guilty flips.

"... I'm sorry." Inadequate, stupid, idiot-- Keith licked his chapped lips and tried again, "I'm sorry, I just-- I couldn't be there, I couldn't sit off to the side and watch everybody pat you on the back knowing that--" He broke off, wavering, his hands tossed up in helpless frustration at not being able to express himself the way he wanted. "Knowing that you'd just be gone and I'd still be here, still stuck here."

Shiro watched him, waiting patiently throughout his stumbling explanation, and when Keith risked a glance, he didn't see any of the anger or disappointment he expected. One moment, he was floundering through communicating like a functional human being, and the next, he was being enveloped by warmth as Shiro wrapped his arms around him, one hand coming up to rest on the back of his head.

He didn't dare breathe.

"You make it sound so grim." While he couldn't see it, pressed against Shiro's chest, Keith could hear the smile in his voice and while it should have assuaged his doubts, there was still a tightness he couldn't explain, like a rubber band stretched too thin until it was about to snap. "I'm not leaving you behind, I promise. It's a few months out there collecting some ice samples, and I'll be so bored out of my mind that I'll be begging to come back by the end of it. You'll have your shot, it won't be long."

Tighter and tighter, the rubber band pulled. Keith stood agape, expression going slack at the sheer ridiculousness of what he was hearing. Did he seriously think-- Was he genuinely so dense that he would assume--? Even his mind was having trouble putting the thoughts together. He shifted and Shiro loosened his grip immediately, allowing Keith to step backward, an incredulous laugh already struggling to escape. "Wait, you... Are you trying to say that I'm jealous of you getting promoted before me?"

Confusion written all over his face, Shiro's brow knitted together. "Well, I mean, it's only natural, isn't it? You're a talented pilot, Keith, they'd have to be crazy to look you over next year."

Snap.

Maybe a better person would have been able to stop himself, to exercise restraint, but Keith wasn't accustomed to suppressing his impulses. It got him in trouble with authority, earned him scrapes and bruises in schoolyard fights, and now it stood a very real chance of ruining his friendship with the only person to show him any kind of respect, but there was no fighting this.

It was a night for exceptions.

Keith grabbed two fistfuls of Shiro's fresh-pressed Garrison issued uniform and pulled, leaning forward with all the extra height his tiptoes would give him, and crushed his mouth against Shiro's, feeling nothing but the warmth he craved and his own heart beating madly in his chest. Touching back down meant he could avoid looking Shiro in the eye, too anxious to see the results of his reckless actions. "Didn't know whether I wanted to punch you or kiss you, you absolute idiot."

There was an almost unbearable stretch of silence before he finally got his answer, a rumbling laugh that made him go warm from the tips of his ears to his toes. "Well, I'm glad you didn't punch me. I've got to be picture-ready bright and early." About to look up himself, Keith felt fingers against his chin gently tilting his gaze to meet Shiro's own, a moment before he closed the distance between them and returned with a kiss of his own, soft at first, then deeper.

The dam broke. Every single emotion he'd kept locked up, things he didn't even realize he'd been holding in, came spilling forth in a rush that Keith couldn't begin to stop, even if he wanted to. He didn't want to. The anxiety of losing Shiro, the fear that he might come back changed, the anger at his own pathetic wants, and worst of all, the hunger he'd been keeping at bay for so long that letting it run wild was more than he could handle. It struck Keith then that this wasn't a torrent, wasn't a river, but a blaze that consumed all it touched.

And Keith burned.

There was no way he'd be outdone. Shiro's kisses were tentative, exploratory, but Keith kissed like he was starving, arms lifting to wrap around Shiro's neck and hold tight. Breaking apart for air didn't last for more than a moment before Keith's lips were back onto his once more, and he knew that Shiro wanted to take things slower. "Keith," he tried in between kisses, "maybe we-- should-- ow! Did you just bite me?!"

It didn’t matter that in the morning, Shiro would be gone and it would mark a year of waiting, watching, and wondering. All that mattered was this, was them, was the solidity of Shiro’s weight against him while Keith roamed each and every inch of skin he could get his hands on. He wanted to commit every scar and imperfection to memory, grip tight enough to make marks that left a lasting reminder, and hope beyond all hope that Shiro’s return meant they could pick up where they left off.

And in the back of his mind, he made a private promise that the next time Shiro left, Keith would be right there beside him, no matter what it took.