Chapter Text
Shiro's gone.
His older brother is gone.
His face is all over the news. The famous Takashi Shirogane, just. Gone. He'd messed up piloting, and the ship he had been piloting was missing. Nowhere to be found. Now, Keith doesn't believe he'd messed up, no. Not one bit. But he does believe that Shiro's missing. And if they, the Garrison, couldn't find him-
If they wouldn't find him. Because they wouldn't send anyone to find him, no matter how important Shiro may be to them, he's as good as-
Dead.
No, god. He doesn't want to think of that. But what are the chances? The chances he could come back? Stop, stop!
None.
Stop! He smacks himself in the head. Hard. He tears his vision away from the TV screen. Nothing feels real. This isn't real. He'll wake up. He's so dizzy.
It's terribly overwhelming. He'd already been running on pure anxiety from simply Shiro beginning the mission. And that was when he had truly believed he would return. Now he knew he wouldn't.
He was being punished. Punished for not fighting for him to stay harder. He'd just let him go. Eased up on his grip of the situation. Took his hands off and just accepted it. All like he used to do as a child. When he never should have.
He'd been taught this lesson so many times. When mother, his father, and then his first few foster families had gone and dissapeared. Gone and left him, it was because he had just let it happen. He wasn't ever clinging tight enough. So he grew, and told himself to grasp what ever he wanted. Hold on to what he needed and tug it close to his heart, until his claw marks ruined it.
But when Shiro held him gently and told him it was okay, it stopped his hands from clenching so tightly. And he did it by returning. Repeatedly returning. Promising. Telling Keith where he's going, and when he's coming back. He'd forgotten. He'd forgotten.
This always had to happen, didn't it? Every single family, always being ripped away from him? He couldn't keep anything? He couldn't keep Shiro? No matter how hard he tries to hang on to them, all he is allowed is the remnants of what he scratched off under his nails? Because he can never hold on tight enough? Because he's forever destined to be alone?
If the universe had meant for him to belong somewhere; if it had meant for him to have something of his own and for to keep, he wouldn't keep losing. Losing and losing and losing. He wouldn't know all of this loss. So what even now?
Maybe it's time to accept it. He's never been meant to have good things.
Without people in Shiro's house, it is much too quiet. Keith is left alone to think. He doesn't want to be.
He can't bear to hear any more reruns of that same news on TV, so the radio was turned on. When a bad remix-mashup of 3 or more songs started playing, he got fed up and slammed down on the off button. If it doesn't work after that, well, it's not like Shiro will use it anymore.
Shiro... Won't...
He starts crying. Sobbing. And he's not even really a crier. It's maybe the first time in a few years. And then his mind goes to a release.
It shocks him. What makes him think of that? It's crazy. He's never done it before. He won't. He can't.
It's a tactic... A thing he'd heard of when he was part of a specific community in secondary school. One he doesn't like to look back on. One Shiro was real wary of him getting involved in. Adrenaline feels like a rushing river in his veins.
Is this where he starts?
He doesn't want to start. But, He needs to do it or he's not cool.
Who said he cared about being cool? He doesn't.
But he's already on his way towards the kitchen. He wants to stop, terribly, but his feet won't stop shuffling him in further towards the farthest cabinet.
If he's going to do this, it will not be with a knife. He doesn't want to dirty something used for food. These are Shiro's cooking utensils. He couldn't do that to him. Even if-
So the miscellaneous stuff cabinet is his pick. He already knows what's inside. The year old rubber bands and wooden take out chopsticks. There's birthday candles, ziplock sandwich bags, and lighters. He pulls out a red gas station lighter.
He pushes down. It works. The flame is bright and beautiful. It flickers, lapping up the air around itself, and burning it up.
Is this where he starts?
He takes his thumb off it.
And then he turns it on again. Tips it to the side. Brings his arm up. It's fully extended. He's going to do it in the crook of his elbow. The skin will... Don't over think it. He tells himself. Do it or you're not cool.
This isn't cool.
Is this where he starts?
And then someone unlocks the door.
He tosses the lighter back inside the drawer. He slams it. Who is here? Who could be here? He looks to the front door.
It's Adam.
He looks to the drawer. What was he thinking? Adam saved him just in time. He's so lucky.