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The air is sweet with what smells like cotton candy, multiple colorful lamps turning on as the sun behind him slowly dips down, turning the sky orange. Keith can hear the sounds of machinery, bells and whistles, laughter, and screams of laughter. The rest of the paladins aren’t in sight.
It’s clear that no one is taking their job seriously, but Keith’s leadership doesn’t have power over the lure of arcade games or festival food. Even the fairgoers don’t seem to appreciate his efforts, one group replying to his inquiries with a snarky, “Well, there’s one weirdo who’s going around and bothering people about if they’ve seen anything suspicious.”
It takes an embarrassingly long time to realize he’s being made fun of, and all Keith can do is stand there as they run away, snickering.
“You’re taking this a bit too seriously.”
Keith turns around, scowling. “And I shouldn’t be?”
Shiro only chuckles at his annoyance, then nods in the direction of the arcade. There’s a high-pitched shriek from what sounds like Pidge, then the unmistakable pew-pew-pew of a laser gun and a clatter of tokens. “I’m assuming you don’t want to join them?”
“No,” Keith says shortly. “We were asked to be here for one reason.”
Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. “Fair enough. But as I said, everyone can use a moral booster and a bit of relaxation.”
“Relaxation?” Keith rolls his eyes, turning to face Shiro. “Seems a bit hypocritical coming from someone who spent most of their last day on Earth working.”
“Hey, I got there in time,” Shiro says, and bends down for a kiss.
Their lips meet after a brief pause. This is still new. They’d always been so confident with each other that this hesitance is new, like stumbling in a well-rehearsed dance.
It’s the same with me and Allura, Lance confessed, a few days after Launch Day, after the Atlas had quietly expanded Shiro’s rooms. We’ve known each other for ages, but this new thing? Seems a bit bigger than it used to.
“Let’s walk around,” Shiro now says, his hand still on Keith’s shoulder. His eyes are warm, shoulders more relaxed than Keith had seen in a long time. Keith doesn’t know what caused this change, but he’s definitely not going to protest it. “Come on.”
“Have you been to one of these things before?” Keith asks, as they begin walking past the booths. He sees a few of the MFE crew members gleefully chucking balls at metal cartons or pelting each other with bits of carnival food. Griffin is laughing, popcorn stuck in his hair, while batting away attacks from a candy slingshot and an overstuffed hippo.
Despite everything—the Galra invasion, the loss of several loved ones, not seeing their families since the launch—they’re relaxed in a way Keith never seemed to know how to be. Deep in his chest, there’s a snarling and slumping, envy and resignation tied together.
“A few, when I was a kid, then once in high school.” Shiro replies, pulling Keith away from his thoughts. “I got sick from eating all those funnel cakes. And chocolate-covered bacon. And deep-fried cookies.”
Keith snickers, trying to picture a younger version of Shiro gobbling down food in the same way as Hunk at an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Did you throw up on someone?”
“No!” Shiro protests, lightly jabbing him in the side. “I knew better not to go on any rides. I stayed at the petting zoo, where a goat tried to eat my turkey drumstick.”
Keith shakes his head. “You never learned, did you.”
“Hey, someone dared me,” Shiro protests, raising his hands in the air. “I’m sure you’re familiar. What did no one tell you to go on a rollercoaster the last time you went to a carnival?”
“This is my first one,” Keith confesses, then quickly says, “But I know the drill. The food gives you a heart attack. The rides are one screw away from collapsing and killing everyone. The goldfish prizes die after a few days. And the games are rigged.”
“It’s not stopping Lance,” Shiro says, nodding in the direction of the red paladin, currently flicking hoops towards a set of pegs. His gaze keeps flickering to what looks like a blue stuffed lion resting on the counter.
Keith smirks. “Well, it’s for Allura.” Privately, he thinks it sweet, even if he suspects the game operator is cheating Lance out of his tokens. “It’s tradition.”
“Do you want me to win you something?” Shiro asks. They’ve stopped in place, just outside the walking path, his arm is now looped around Keith’s waist. “Or do you? Shall we show those pilots by the water gun targets how it’s done?”
Keith’s about to reply, something along the lines of your desserts for a week if I beat you, when an irritating voice cuts through their conversation: “Hey! Are you in line or not?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Shiro says, unfailingly polite as ever. “We didn’t mean to—”
The alien glares at them, and the next thing Keith knows, they’re being unceremoniously pushed into a grotesque, alien-frog mouth in front of a line of grumbling festival-goers. They’re both too startled to protest, and besides, the safety bar is firmly locked in place.
The ride operator gives them instructions to keep all their limbs inside—Shiro smirks a little, levitating his prosthetic just outside the ride when he turns away—and pulls the lever, sending the cart into a dark cave, metal gears slowly grinding along the track.
Keith braces himself, readying for a sudden drop, but after a good few minutes pass, he realizes that it’s not coming. It’s only darkness, except for an occasional soft purple light dancing across their faces and laps, and complete silence. Looking back, he can’t even see another cart behind them, or one in front of them, either.
“Is this…some sort of tunnel of love ride?” Keith finally asks.
Shiro smirks, scooting closer on the bench so that their thighs touch. His hand slides to cup Keith’s knee with a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”
All of the sudden, bright lights flare to life, and both of them jump, heads swiveling around to see—mechanical aliens bursting out from colorful hills and beginning to dance with pick-axes with a loud chorus of “We burrow every day! Underground is where we stay, waiting for the time to say—Clear Day, Clear Day—”
Keith buries his face in his hands. “This is worse. This is way worse.”
Beside him, Shiro is laughing so hard that the seat shakes.
Secretly, Keith’s pleased. He hasn’t heard Shiro laugh in so long—or react much beyond shouting orders from Atlas. Even though they’d spent Launch Day together, even though they were closer in a way Keith never thought they could be, there are still walls up between them.
He doesn’t like seeing Shiro like that, and it’s something he’s not used to. They both have things that they keep to themselves, but there’s always been an open current between them. Even in bed together, shrouded by secure walls and darkness, Shiro never brings what happened at the cloning factory between them, avoiding touching the slash on Keith’s cheek whenever possible.
In the bedroom, Shiro was gentle, too, almost to a fault, especially after the battle and the crash of the lions, even though he’d nearly been cut in half by Sendak. Keith still remembers the wild tightening in his chest as he dropped from the sky, feeling anger different from anything he’d felt before—not helpless, not uncertain—just pure fury and can’t lose him, can’t lose him again, I won't.
Shiro is alive, Keith reminds himself, and looks up at Shiro, idiotic robots with their annoying chant be damned, leaning forward to kiss him.
But the lights go out again, robots pausing in mid-swing, and the operator’s voice over an intercom informs them of technical difficulties and manages to apologize without an ounce of sympathy in his voice.
“Looks like we’re going to be here for a while,” Shiro says, twitching as stray colorful spotlights dance in his eye.
Keith then rolls his eyes. “I’d rather fight the Galra again.” He then pauses, stricken. After all, they had won in a way, especially with Sendak and Haggar—he’d killed Shiro, and she’d snuffed something out of him soon after. In an apology, Keith puts a hand on Shiro’s knee. “I’m sorry.”
Shiro’s hand reaches up, grazing Keith’s neck and settling just underneath his chin. Keith’s palm slides over the hand, feeling cool metal and gently guiding it to his cheek. Soundlessly, Shiro’s thumb moves gently over the faintly pink scar, the edge almost reaching his eye.
“I never apologized for this,” Shiro says softly. "For hurting you."
Keith moves closer, holds Shiro's hand to his face, trying not to wince when Shiro pulls it away, pulls away from him. “That wasn’t you.”
“But I remember everything.” Shiro looks at himself, gesturing self-deprecatingly. “This isn’t even my real body anymore. It’s some—some copy. Only my mind is mine, and it’s not something I don’t think I can trust.”
“I trust you,” Keith counters. He always has, since Shiro's card was pressed into his hand, but in a different way, not so much naive or blind. He's seen Shiro in ways he's never imagined, the monster Shiro privately believed he'd become in the arena, and he's pulled Shiro away from the edge of danger, from death, as often as Shiro has, with words or the lions or Atlas.
Atlas. Isn't it fitting for a man who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders?
But Shiro isn't a villain that deserves cursed to be punished for eternity. He's made for the stars, but he was born on Earth, too. He needs Earth like oxygen; they both do, as they need each other. As Lance and Allura do. As Pidge and her family do. As the paladins need each other, and yes, he still considers Shiro one, too, even if he no longer pilots the Black Lion.
"I trust you," Keith repeats, softer this time.
“I haven’t given you much of a reason to lately.”
“But I do.” Keith looks up at him, ignoring the safety bar digging into his hip. He wants to say something like things haven’t changed, but that would be a lie, and Shiro doesn’t deserve that. “Talk to me,” he ends up saying.
Shiro takes a deep breath. His hand is still cupping Keith’s face. “I’ve lost the Black Lion. I’ve lost being a paladin. But I haven’t lost you, and I almost did. Because of me.” The thumb moves again, tentatively over the scar. “Maybe this was selfish.”
Keith’s heart pounds in his ears. “I want you to be selfish,” he says. “Shiro, you’re always putting others first at the expense of yourself. Believe me, you deserve it.” He takes a deep breath. “And I want you.” Keith continues, pushing every ounce of himself into the next words: “I love you.”
He doesn’t know why it’s easy to say now. Maybe because they’re in the dark, alone, with no place to go. Maybe because they’re in an unfamiliar place on an alien planet, where there aren’t reminders of Voltron or everything that’s changed since they lost the Castle of Lions and returned to Earth. Maybe because this seems like they’re both ready to change.
“I love you, too,” Shiro says. Warm breath ghosts over Keith’s lips. His hair is falling ever so slightly into those eyes Keith so dearly loves, sort and warm like the sunsets back home. “Keith…I should have said it earlier. On Launch Day. In the hospital. Before that, so much, before everyth—”
Keith then yanks Shiro by the lapels of his uniform--fuck, he looked so much better in form-fitting armor and the Garrison cuts were hideous, but so much easier to remove--and their lips meet again, just as the lights flare back to life.
“Ride resuming,” the ride operator drones, sounding a bit too pleased. “Please keep all limbs inside the mouth, and have a blissfully burrowing day.”
The robots start dancing and singing again, and Keith and Shiro exchange looks, familiar as flying.
“Make a break for it?” Keith asks, leg already halfway out of the cart and fiddling with his bayard.
Shiro grins, wide and playful. “You know it."