Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was nine when his dad died and his whole world shifted on its axis.

Keith had nowhere else to go — his mom left when he was a baby and he had no other relatives, or not any who wanted him — so he became a ward of the state. He spent a few years putting up with screaming adults, being hit, being locked in closets, and missing meals. He learned to stop crying, since that only made it worse. He learned to sneak food when no one was looking because meals were never guaranteed. He moved his stash often; some adults would search for stores of food or other “illicit items” and he’d lost things on more than a few occasions. It usually came with more hitting.

He had started fighting. Keith had screamed back at his state-mandated “parents,” punched kids on the playground, and snapped at teachers. He was labeled combative and difficult.

Desperate, the social workers had put him in a mentorship program. His world shifted again: that was where he met Shiro. The older boy was a science prodigy and Keith knew Shiro was too good for him, but Shiro didn’t seem to realize this. He’d stuck around all through Keith’s turbulent teen years.

And now Keith was moving into a dorm on the Garrison University campus. He and Shiro — now a grad student — had been the first to arrive at this dorm building, and one of the first on campus. No one else accompanied Keith; everyone else was glad to be rid of him.

“This is great,” Shiro said when they walked in. Keith gave him a doubtful look.

“It’s crap,” he said, looking around the tiny room. There was a window and a heating and air unit on the far wall, a pair of twin beds and desks on either side, and tiny built-in closets. Shiro just laughed and hauled in some of Keith’s things.

He didn’t have much. Two sets of sheets, two bath towels, a few toiletries, a small collection of clothing. His school books and a backpack. He’d saved for months and worked extra shifts at the diner to buy a used laptop, and Shiro had given him an old hard drive of his to use for back ups. A few other odds and ends. It didn’t take long to unpack and set everything up.

“We should get you some posters or something,” Shiro said, looking at the blank wall behind Keith’s bed.

“Nah, I don’t need that shit.” Keith sat down on the bed and pulled his butterfly knife from his pocket, flipping it around distractedly. Shiro didn’t even blink, more than used to this habit of his.

Shiro chuckled at his response. “Let’s go get breakfast, then. The dining hall should be open by now, or we can go to the diner.”

“I spend enough time at that shit hole,” Keith scoffed. “Let’s go to the dining hall.”

They made the walk across campus to the student center where the main dining hall was. Shiro didn’t have a meal plan, being a grad student, so he paid with cash and Keith swiped his student ID card for the first time.

At the heart, it was a cafeteria. It was nicer than the ones he’d had in his public school tenure, but it was still just a cafeteria. They filled their plates and had their pick of tables; there were only a few other people in the dining hall this early, when most people were just arriving on campus, so they had their pick of tables.

“So,” Shiro said, picking up his silverware, “do you have an idea what you want to major in?”

“You already know that,” Keith said. Keith picked up his drink and took a long sip. “I'm going to do aerospace engineering.”

“You don't have to copy me, Keith.”

“I'm not copying you, Shiro. I'm going to surpass you.”

Shiro laughed and took a sip from his own drink. “Okay, okay, Mr. Hotshot.”

Keith took the little paper that had covered his straw, crumpled it up in his hand, and launched it at Shiro, hitting him square on the nose. He cackled at Shiro’s look of surprise — he looked like a fucking dope. When he recovered, Shiro launched the scrap of paper right back at him, but Keith dodged and it whizzed past his ear. Keith stuck out his tongue at Shiro.

“You're such a brat,” Shiro said, smiling to soften the blow. Keith knew he was right, but he also knew Shiro wasn't being serious. Shiro didn't believe it, it was just a joke to him.

“Shiro,” Keith said, mock sincere, putting his hand over his heart. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.” Shiro chuckled but his face fell a bit. He knew Keith was being serious. Compliments that Keith received were usually backhanded insults, like, you're so smart but you just don't apply yourself, or, If you would just cut your hair you could be really handsome, or, Why don’t you just make something of yourself instead of fighting all the time? He had really had enough of people looking down on him.

But Shiro never did. Shiro saw him for everything he was and everything he could be and all he ever did was keep Keith company and help him figure out how to be the best version of himself. He never tried to change Keith.

“Thank you for helping me move in,” Keith said, looking down at his food. Looking at Shiro was one thing; looking at him while thanking him or expressing any emotion whatsoever was an entirely different hurdle that Keith was absolutely not capable of. “You didn’t need to do that, but thank you anyway.”

Shiro said, “Of course, Keith. I'm proud of you. You’ve worked hard for this.”

Keith scoffed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is, though,” Shiro argued. “You haven’t been expelled since middle school and you only got suspended a few times in high school. You studied hard and got good grades. You almost never fought in high school.You even graduated a year early!”

Keith bit down on his straw, embarrassed and uncomfortable at Shiro’s praise, but the man went on. “And you didn't bring any knives to school this year — or you didn't get caught, at any rate.” Shiro looked over at him with a smirk. He knew Keith too well; Keith could only shrug and smile right back at him.

“I will never stop carrying knives, Shiro. You should know that by now,” he teased.

Shiro groaned and covered his face with one hand, clearly exasperated.

At least the ooey-gooey emotional stuff was done with and they could eat in peace. Shiro was so comfortable with his emotions, the complete opposite of Keith.

When they got back to Keith’s dorm, his roommate had arrived and was in the middle of moving in. And he had a lot of stuff. His desk was piled high with books and figurines, his walls covered with posters and a cork board full of personal pictures. A woman was making his bed while a teenage girl put clothes in the closet.

“Um… hi,” Keith said, looking around uncomfortably. He was used to sharing a space, and even sharing with a stranger or someone he hated. What he wasn’t used to was whole families, working together and talking happily.

Everyone looked up and stared at him. Keith bristled and longed to pull out his knife, but Shiro put a hand on his shoulder and the need settled just enough that he could resist it.

“Hi, you must be Keith,” the woman said. She had a strong accent, something Spanish, but it was also clear she’d been speaking English for a long time and was comfortable with it. “I’m Laura, Lance’s mom.” She said her name in the Spanish way; Keith had heard some Spanish from other foster kids, so the sounds were comfortable for him, even if he didn’t actually know Spanish himself.

Suddenly, a boy who must have been his roommate emerged from under the desk. “Hey! I’m Lance!”

“Keith.”

“I guess you already moved some of your things in. Did you go to get the rest of it?” Lance asked. He wore a big, friendly smile. Keith wanted to punch it off his face.

“No, this is everything.”

Lance looked around, as did his mom and the girl who must have been his sister. They all looked disappointed, like they expected more. Sure, Keith’s side of the room was sparse, but he had everything he needed and there was no need to do extra.

“I guess you’re a minimalist,” the girl said.

“Sure…” Keith responded. He moved over to his bed and sat down. His fingers itched for his knife, but not in front of the family. Laura seemed like a loving mom and would no doubt call campus safety if he pulled a knife on her precious son. Once Keith was sure Lance wouldn’t completely lose his mind, then Keith would bring it out.

“I see you’re a big talker,” Lance said, sitting on his own bed. Keith glared, but Lance didn’t seem to notice. “You know, I’m more of a quiet guy myself. If you’re a real chatterbox, I doubt this is going to work out between us. Sorry, buddy.”

The room was quiet as Keith simply stared his roommate down. And then, Shiro laughed. “Yeah, Keith never shuts up, but only when you get him talking about motorcycles or airplanes.”

Keith’s glare shifted to his friend, and intensified. “Thank you for your input, Shiro.”

“Are you… his older brother?” Laura asked.

Shiro shrugged. “Something like that. I’m Takashi Shirogane, it’s nice to meet you.”

Shiro and Laura talked for a bit while Keith sat on his bed, fingers tapping his thigh. It was a poor substitute for his knife, but he was capable of a modicum of restraint. He could keep it together while the family was here.

Eventually, Laura, the sister, and Shiro took their leave. Lance’s mom gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. Shiro simply patted Keith’s shoulder and said, “I’ll see you later.”

“So, where are you from?” Lance asked the moment the door shut, sitting in his desk chair and bouncing his leg.

“Here. A Boulder City native, or whatever,” Keith answered, not looking at his roommate.

“Cool, I’m from Miami. Boulder City is a lot smaller than I’m used to. And I miss the ocean already.”

Keith didn’t answer. He was texting Shiro.

Keith > this guy is so annoying i’m moving out

Shiro texted back within a few minutes.

Shiro > Haha it’ll be fine. You’ll get used to each other. And you’ll be in class a lot of the
time anyway so you’ll never see him

Keith > i might kill him first

Shiro > Please do not

Keith didn’t respond to that, just tossed his crappy little flip phone aside.

~~~

Keith couldn’t take it any longer, Lance’s constant chatter, so he left to explore campus. He’d been around Garrison University plenty of times, both because it was a major fixture of Boulder City, and because he spent so much time with Shiro. His mentor-turned-friend would often let him into whatever academic building he was working in, and Keith had occasionally visited him in the dorms back when he was an undergrad student. So to say he was exploring was maybe a generous description, but he did want to get more familiar with campus. He searched out the academic buildings he wasn’t already familiar with and the library.

He wandered the stacks of the empty building, browsing everything from physics to engineering, as well as the fiction options. Keith had never gotten to spend much time on the internet, nor did he particularly care to, so books were the only things he could entertain himself with when he wasn’t with Shiro or getting into trouble. He went ahead and checked out a few novels while he was there.

Keith stayed out as long as he could stand, which was a long while. He had always been good at keeping himself occupied — not always productively, though. The campus was full of fresh new undergrads, wide eyed and excited. Keith sat down on the lawn and read for a while under the shade of a large oak tree. When he finally went back to the dorm, Lance had the door open and was talking with some strangers.

Pushing his way through, Keith intended to sit on his bed, but there were already people sitting there. “Move,” he ordered. The two boys laughed and shifted to make room for him. “Get off my bed,” Keith growled, and he saw fear shoot through their eyes before they scrambled off.

“Jeez,” one of them muttered. “No need to get crazy.”

Crazy. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that.

Lance jumped up from his own bed and tried to play peacekeeper. “Hey, Keith, we were just about to go to dinner. You should join us!”

Everyone else in the room, from Keith to the strangers, looked at Lance like he was nuts.

“I’ll pass.”

“Aw, come on, buddy. We’re roommates, let’s just have dinner one time.”

Keith was about to refuse again, but he thought of Shiro and how he was always telling Keith to be nice to people, to make friends, to let people into his life. Keith wouldn’t go that far, but one dinner… he could do that. Just to tell Shiro he had.

Sighing loudly, Keith stood and Lance cheered. The other guys — their hallmates, Keith supposed — didn’t look happy in the least, but Keith didn’t care. He walked out of the room, his Doc Martens falling heavily, and he didn’t look back to see if the others were following.

Keith sat at the far end of the table in an attempt to get distance, but Lance sat right beside him. Worst of all, Lance kept touching him, casual touches on his arm or a friendly punch. Keith gritted his teeth and held his fork so tightly it started to bend.

“Lance,” he ground out. “Stop touching me.”

Lance didn’t seem to notice he’d spoken.

The other guys were talking loudly, laughing loudly, moving loudly. Everything about them was animated and Keith’s fragile patience was on the edge of snapping.

When Lance said, “Yeah, me and Keith here have been besties for years!” and threw his arm around Keith’s shoulders, it snapped.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, ripping Lance’s arm away from him and standing. Keith left, abandoning his food and dishes, ignoring how Lance shouted after him.

The door to Shiro’s apartment opened and Keith burst in, angrier than a wet cat. During the walk to Shiro's apartment, his anger had only grown, ballooning into a rage. The moment Shiro cracked the door open, Keith was pushing inside.

"Keith, what—" Shiro started, but Keith didn't even let him finish.

"He's a fucking asshole!" Keith was frenetic. Without noticing, his hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out his butterfly knife, flipping it open and around as he paced.

"What happened?" Shiro asked, his voice calm and steady in the face of Keith's tempest.

Keith shook his head and sat on the couch, his leg bouncing and the knife still flashing around. “I went to dinner with Lance and some other guys on our hall. It fucking sucked. They were so loud and obnoxious! They just kept yelling and goofing off. And Lance kept touching me! And I just went off." Suddenly deflating, he added, "I’m sorry, Shiro.”

“Keith, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you,” Shiro said, sitting beside him. He put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, a comforting and warm point of contact.

The anger slowly bled out of him, leaving shame in its wake. Not because he’d yelled at Lance, but because, in doing so, he had let Shiro down.

“You’re going to make me apologize, aren’t you?” Keith knew he was pouting, but Shiro didn’t call him out on it.

“I never make you do anything,” Shiro countered.

Keith looked up at him wryly. “That’s bullshit. You always make that disappointed face.”

Shiro laughed, loud and beautiful. “Okay, maybe I do. But you always make the decision, Keith.”

Grumbling, Keith flipped his knife around in his hand a few more times before letting it rest against his thigh. “But they’re assholes.”

“Are they?”

Keith thought about it and, of course, the answer was not exactly. Lance wasn’t being an asshole, not entirely. He had been trying to be friendly. Keith found that behavior obnoxious, and he didn’t want to be friends with anyone, ever. Except Shiro, obviously, but that was different. Shiro was different. Still, Lance had really pushed Keith, even when Keith had told him repeatedly to back off.

“Ugh, whatever. He still touched me though! After I told him not to!”

Nodding, Shiro said, “That’s not okay, and I’m sorry he did that. Maybe you could talk to him? Set some boundaries?”

Keith grumbled. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to hit something. He said as much and the other man merely nodded and stood up. “Okay, then hit something.” Shiro disappeared into his room for a moment and, when he returned, he was holding punch mitts. “Square up.”

Shiro held his hands up, the mitts facing Keith, and Keith punched one, then the other, as hard as he could. Shiro was big and strong, he’d done martial arts and krav maga, so he stood firm as a mountain while Keith pummeled the mitts with all his might, kicking out occasionally too. Keith grunted with each hit, sweat breaking out along his brow the longer he worked, and every few minutes Shiro gave an encouraging comment, “Good hit,” or, “That’s it, keep going.”

It took a long time for Keith to tire, but he did eventually drop his fists. His knuckles were sore but it felt good, it felt right, like Keith had gotten out all of those pesky emotions he hated to deal with.

“Do you feel better?” Shiro asked, pulling off the mitts. Keith nodded. “Good, I’m glad. What else can I do?”

“Nothing. I guess I need to go back to my dorm and… apologize,” he spit the word, “to Lance.”

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but I’m proud of you. It’ll get better, I promise.”

“We’ll see,” Keith said, heading for the door.

Chapter Text

When Keith walked into his dorm, it was lit only by Lance’s bedside lamp. The boy himself was sitting in bed doing something on his smartphone — a game, by the sound of it.

“Hey,” Keith said, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

Lance looked up at him, glaring.

Grimacing, Keith sat on his own bed. “I’m… sorry I snapped at you. I don’t like… being touched.”

Lance was quiet for a few moments before he let out a loud, put-upon sigh. “It’s fine, man. I won’t touch you anymore. I’m just excited to be here. I’m sorry.”

Keith shrugged. He couldn’t quite bring himself to brush it off, but he could at least tamp down his instinct to fight the other boy. In silence, Keith got ready for bed, and he was soon dozing.

Keith rose early the next morning, as he always did. He had tried to make all his classes early in the morning, so he was out the door before Lance had even roused, which was probably for the best. Keith had put his gen ed classes on Monday-Wednesday-Friday in the morning, along with calculus, and he was done with them by eleven. He already knew Shiro’s schedule, and knew he would be teaching until noon, so Keith found a quiet corner of the student center and sat down to do some homework. He’d graduated high school a year early, and he was not about to start slacking now that he was in college — now that he was finally on his way out of his shithole upbringing.

By the time Shiro texted him to meet up for lunch, Keith had finished the readings for both his freshman seminar and his intro psych course. Keith packed up his back and headed towards the dining hall. He spotted Shiro at the entrance a little ahead of him; Keith approached from behind and bumped their shoulders together.

Shiro turned with a smile, looking down slightly at Keith. “Hey, Keith!” The younger man’s heart fluttered at Shiro’s warmth, his obvious happiness to see Keith, but he quickly quashed the feeling. No need to get ahead of himself. Shiro didn’t see him that way; Keith was more like a little brother to him.

“Hey, old man,” Keith shot back with a smirk. They paid their way through — Keith swiping his student ID, Shiro his debit card — and started filling their plates. Keith had a hard time believing that he could eat anything there, and as much as he wanted. Shiro had made sure he didn't starve, but Keith had never had much access to food. On his best days, he got three square meals. Those days were few and far between.

Now, however, he had full access to an all you can eat cafeteria, once per day, all included in his scholarship. The meal plan would only be included for his freshman year; sophomore and beyond he'd have to pay for it himself or find other options, but he would worry about that when he got there. It was beyond his wildest imagination.

They sat down and Keith saw Shiro notice how much food Keith had piled on his plate. He also saw the corner of Shiro’s lips quirk up in a pleased smile, but the man wisely didn't comment on Keith's portions.

“How were your classes?” Shiro asked.

Keith shrugged. “Annoying but fine. I already finished some of the homework.”

“Of course you did,” Shiro said with an amused huff.

“I've got the introductory engineering course tomorrow,” Keith couldn't help but add with barely suppressed excitement.

Shiro didn't even try to hide his smile. “You're gonna love it, Keith. And if you don't, it's not too late to drop it and take something else instead.”

Keith snorted. “You're just afraid I'll outshine you.”

“I hope you do.” Shiro's voice was too soft when he said the words, too tender. Keith cleared his throat and focused on his food, incapable of responding to such earnestness.

“How was your class this morning?”

“Ah, you know I love teaching the freshmen. They're so much fun.”

“I don’t know how you stand it. They’re obnoxious.”

Shiro only laughed. “You would make a great teacher, Keith.” Keith scoffed and Shiro went on, “Really, you would. You’re great at explaining things and you’re more patient than you give yourself credit for. You’ll have to teach when you go to grad school, anyway, and then you’ll see I’m right.”

“Whatever.” Keith rolled his eyes affectionately. Shiro had never been wrong about him before, but it was hard to see himself teaching without blowing up on the students. Still, it didn’t particularly matter at that moment. He wouldn’t have to worry about it until he became a graduate student.

They finished up their lunch and sat a while longer, just chatting, comfortable in their shared space. They only left when both men needed to get to their work — Shiro in the engineering lab, and Keith for his first shift at the library. They parted with Shiro patting Keith’s shoulder, a warm feeling spreading through Keith as it always did when Shiro gave him one of those effortlessly casual touches.

Keith settled in quickly. He and Lance adjusted to each other — made all the easier by Keith studying in the library or hanging out with Shiro as much as possible, and Lance out socializing with others. Lance rarely brought friends back to their dorm after that first time, learning quickly how private Keith was — “antisocial,” Lance called him. Keith didn’t care, as long as their room remained a private space.

He got ahead on his homework as much as he could, starting papers weeks in advance and reading well ahead of their coursework. He was no kiss-up, but he worked hard in class and tried hard to get along, and his professors noticed.

His job at the library was great. It was a small but steady paycheck and provided him time to do his homework. It wasn’t, however, enough money for groceries and the other little odds and ends Keith needed to buy. He only got one meal a day in his meal plan, leaving him responsible for buying groceries and snacks, or eating out with Shiro. Keith had tried to get a second job through the university, but they denied him.

That was fine, though. Keith had other ways to make ends meet.

It was a habit he’d picked up young. Something Shiro didn’t know about. His classmates had always been afraid of him, but not so afraid that they wouldn’t fork up some cash for a handjob or, later, a blowjob. They could overcome a bit of terror if it meant getting their dick wet, and Keith got a little extra spending money. It was a win-win. And, as he’d gotten older, he’d branched out. There were plenty of men who didn’t look twice at his age when he was offering up such a service.

So, one Thursday night, early on in the semester, Keith dressed in his tightest jeans and a t-shirt with a deep v-neck. He pulled on his combat boots and brushed his hair. Luckily, Lance was out so Keith could do the next part without being questioned: he reached into the bottom of his closet and pulled out his make up bag. He put on mascara and eyeliner, using the little mirror in his compact. He brushed a little blush onto his cheeks and a little highlighter. Most importantly, he applied his lip plumper. It was nothing major, nothing that most people would notice, but it was enough to draw eyes from the right people.

He grabbed his phone, wallet, keys, and his all-important knife, and departed. It was late, after nine o’clock, and the sun had finally gone down, which was perfect for Keith. He was lucky to be going to college in the same town he had grown up in, so he knew all the best spots already. There were seedy places downtown that he liked to go to, and others that were close to the university.

The walk was only a few blocks from his dorm before Keith arrived at a sketchy gas station where he’d worked before. Keith leaned up against the wall near the entrance door of the gas station, pulled his shirt so a little sliver of his stomach showed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and waited. He made eyes at every man who passed him and most guys looked away quickly, knowing what he was after and apparently uninterested. Keith wasn't worried. This was exactly the right place for him to be.

It wasn't long before he caught one. There was a man whose eyes lingered on Keith’s exposed skin, who eyed him up and down. Keith pushed off from the wall, keeping eye contact with the man. He ran a hand over his exposed belly, pulling his shirt up a little more, then walked around to the side of the building where it was poorly lit. The man followed him.

Keith stood against the grimy wall there and smiled up at the man. He wasn't ugly, but he was certainly no looker. He was an average, middle-aged guy wearing a beat up trucker hat and a t-shirt. His jeans were well worn and his work boots were dirty but in good shape. Working class. Maybe he had a wife and wanted some variety, or maybe he was just lonely or bored. Either way, they found themselves in a mutually beneficial situation.

“Hey,” Keith said, voice low and sultry.

“You're awful pretty,” the man said, stepping in closer, leering.

Keith smirked. He said coyly, “Do you really think so?”

The man nodded and reached up to cup Keith’s cheek. He leaned in for a kiss and Keith turned his head. “I don't kiss,” he said when the man pulled away.

“Okay, baby,” he replied. “Then we should get started.”

“You can go ahead and pay me now,” Keith said. “Twenty dollars.”

The man pulled out his wallet and passed over the cash, which Keith stuffed into his pocket. Keith dropped to his knees and started unbuttoning the man’s pants, pulling the zipper down. He pulled the jeans and underwear down just a few inches so he could get at the man’s dick, but no further than necessary. The man put both hands in Keith’s hair and held on for the ride.

Keith was quick and perfunctory, but he knew how to make it good. He bobbed his head and sucked. He suckled the head and licked the slit; pulled away to mouth teasingly up and down the shaft. He reached back and played with the man’s balls, which he seemed to really enjoy. It wasn't long before the man held Keith’s head firmly in place and came over his tongue. When he was released, Keith leaned to the side and spit it on the ground.

Before he could stand, the man was patting his head. Keith pushed his hand away and stood up.

“You're so sweet, boy,” the man said. “Do you want to come with me? We can find a nice hotel.”

Keith thought about it, he really did. Blowjobs were one thing, but he wasn't interested in doing anal with this guy. He didn't want his first time to be for cash. (If Keith were to permit himself a moment of honesty, he would rather his first time be with Shiro, and to only be with Shiro forever after that, but he buried those thoughts. There was no point imagining the impossible.)

“Thanks, but no. I’ll see you around,” Keith said, and he walked off.

Keith kept up with his classes and his work at the library, in addition to his side hustle a few nights a week, going to different locations around town. It had him pocketing enough cash to cover meals and school supplies and a few new clothes. It was easy to do, and men were so easy to reel in. Sure, Keith was underage, but no one seemed to notice — or if they did, they certainly didn't care. He knew some guys were into that anyway and Keith thought it was better that he didn't think about that.

One day in early September, a different kind of man approached him. He was about Keith’s height, and Asian too. He wore baggy jeans and a long sleeved black shirt. Keith took him around the side of the building and was about to tell him the price when the man held up a hand.

“I’ve seen you working around here,” he said. “How would you like to make more money?”

“I don't do anal. I just do blowjobs,” Keith said, firmly. “And I work alone.”

“Listen, whatever you want to do is fine, kid. But this area is my turf, and if you want to work here, we need to work together.”

Keith got the sense it would be a major problem if he didn’t get along with this man.

He continued, “I manage a lot of people. We have a nice house where you wouldn't have to do it behind a gas station. How does that sound?”

Keith thought for a moment. It would be nice to not have to kneel on uneven pavement and cigarette butts. And in a house, he would be less exposed and less likely to get arrested. “Yeah, okay. Why not?”

“Great. Come on, I’ll take you there.” The man walked away and Keith followed him to a big black SUV parked on the side street by the gas station. They both got into the back. This guy had to be a big deal if he had such a nice car and a dedicated driver to go with it.

“Drive, Kent,” the man said and the driver pulled out. He looked at Keith. “My name is Leo Jin. As I said, I manage a lot of people in various locations. You would be an independent contractor, basically. I take thirty percent for upkeep of the house, maintenance, those sorts of things. You can come over any time of day and we will have clients. We stay very busy. You can work as much or as little as you want.”

“Okay,” Keith said. “I have classes but I have a lot of free time. I like not having to go to the gas station.”

“How old are you Keith?” he asked.

“I'm old enough. I have been doing this for a couple of years.”

“Are you eighteen?” Leo pressed.

“I will be.”

“When?”

“October twenty-third,” Keith answered. He didn't like admitting he was underage and he worried Leo would cut him out.

Apparently, he needn’t have worried, though. Leo just nodded and said, “Well, we’ll just keep that quiet, then.”

They arrived at a house a few minutes later. It was a two story brick house and it was in decent shape. It wasn’t crumbling, at any rate. They got out of the car and walked up to the door. Leo continued talking. “Some of our regular clients have tabs, like a bar tab, and pay us monthly. You will get paid weekly regardless of whether the clients pay up front or on their tab.”

They stepped inside and it was just as nice as outside. It wasn't like it was a fancy place or anything, it was no Playboy Mansion, but it was a nice house. There were couches in the living room, which was spacious. There were two men and a woman in there giving blowjobs. “You will work mostly on the first floor,” Leo said. “The second floor is for more intimate work.”

Leo gave Keith a tour and introduced him to some other sex workers. They all seemed friendly, except for Juan who looked worn out. Maybe he just had a long day. Everyone was young, in their twenties, although some were definitely closer to his own age.

“Would you like to work a little and then Kent can drive you home?” Leo offered. Keith shrugged and agreed. He blew three guys over the course of a couple of hours, his jaw aching by the end. He checked his watch and left a little before eleven, going to see Leo.

“I’m going home,” Keith said.

“Since it's your first night,” he said, “you can go ahead and have your pay. Then we will go to weekly pay.”

“Okay, that sounds fine,” Keith said, pocketing the cash. He walked outside with Kent and got into the car. He gave Kent directions to his dorm and thanked him when they arrived. He watched Kent drive off before going inside his dorm, feeling a sense of unease.

Chapter Text

They had met through Big Brothers Big Sisters. Keith was an out of control twelve year old brat with a fighting problem and issues with authority. Shiro was a teenage science prodigy. The woman in charge that day, a skinny black girl named Rebecca who was no more than twenty herself, led Keith over to a table in the back where a man was already seated. At least, he looked like a man to Keith, based on the size of his arms and the back muscles he could see through the man’s tight shirt.

Keith sat down opposite him and looked at him for just one second before immediately looking away, fixing his gaze on the table. He was gorgeous, with short black hair and perfect skin. There was no reason someone so handsome should be anywhere within one hundred feet of a messed up kid like Keith.

“Hi,” said the man. He was young, probably nineteen or twenty. He was nice, too, which Keith instantly hated. He didn’t trust it. He wanted to lash out against it.

“What are you doing here?” Keith grumbled.

“Well, I'm here to mentor you, I guess. Isn’t that what this program is about?” the man asked. He was smiling sweetly and it made Keith more angry.

“You're too old for this. What are you, some kind of pedophile? You won't get anywhere with me, old man.”

The man looked taken aback and he blushed like a little girl. Fuck, but it was pretty. Keith really liked how it looked on him.

And okay, Keith was pretty sure he was gay but that didn't mean he was happy about it. It wasn't enough that he was an orphan and a foster kid with a bad attitude and a fighting problem, he had to be a fag too? Fuck that. But he wasn't the kind of person to keep secrets or try to hide the shitty parts of himself. No, he put everything on display. He liked to watch the normies freak out and run away from him. It was better that they learned what kind of person he was early on and didn't fool themselves into thinking he was something he wasn't, was some nice kid. It was better this way.

“I'm not an old man, you know,” the man said. “I'm seventeen.”

Keith looked at him critically. “No, you're not.”

The man smiled. “I am. Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

Keith nodded and he pulled out his wallet, slipped out the license, and handed it over. Keith grabbed it quickly from his hand and hunched over the table to look at it. Takashi Shirogane, age seventeen, black hair, brown eyes. Keith disagreed, his eyes were almost black, like obsidian.

Keith handed the license back to its owner. “Why are you even here, Takashi?” he asked the hulking teen.

“You can call me Shiro. And honestly, I just need some community service to put on my college application. I'm an only child, so I thought having a little brother would be neat.”

Keith scoffed. “You're lucky. Having siblings sucks. Or foster siblings suck, anyway.”

“You're in foster care?” Shiro asked.

Keith nodded. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started twirling it in his hands like he would with his butterfly knife, if he were to pull that from his pocket. He knew better than to take that out, though. These kinds of programs didn't like knives and he didn’t want to get kicked out again. This shitty program was better than court mandated therapy and it got him out of his foster home for a little while. If he could just pair up with someone who wasn't completely horrible, then he would be fine.

“Um, how old are you?” Shiro asked. He looked uncomfortable. Probably because Keith was an orphan. People never knew what to do with orphans. They felt bad, like they were guilty for having parents, but they didn't know what to say.

“I'm twelve. Why are you so huge?”

Shiro raised one eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You look too big to be just seventeen. It is not normal.”

“I play rugby,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just to fill the time and to look good on my college application. I won't play in college. I like it, but I'm more interested in school.”

“What are you going to study?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

“What, like spaceships and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Keith couldn’t help but acknowledge that. “That's cool, I guess.”

“Yeah. I’ve always loved space. I would have been the first man to the moon, but Neil Armstrong was born first.”

Keith looked up sharply and saw Shiro smiling. He was joking. He was a fucking nerd.

Keith liked it.

They talked for a while. Shiro asked what Keith liked to do and he could only shrug. “I don't really have hobbies. I'm just supposed to stay out of trouble.”

“What would you do if you could? Would you go to a movie?” Keith shrugged. “Would you play a sport?” He shook his head.

“They would never let me play team sports. I get into too many fights.”

“What about something solo, like cross country running?”

“Why would I want to run?” Keith’s tone more than conveyed his revulsion at the idea.

“Okay, what would you like to do?” Shiro didn't even look exasperated when he asked, like people usually were after talking to Keith for more than two minutes.

He shrugged again. “Motorcycles are cool.”

Shiro laughed. “Okay, you fight and you like motorcycles. Do you want to join a biker gang?”

“Yes,” Keith answered seriously. “That would be awesome.”

Shiro’s face fell. “Oh. Uh. Well… that wouldn't be good. You don't want to go to jail.”

“Maybe I do.”

“There are seriously violent people in jail, Keith.”

Keith shrugged. “I’ll just fight them too.”

“Oh, jeez.” Shiro looked seriously concerned. That was more what Keith was used to. He wasn't used to people smiling at him or laughing or looking comfortable. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we go to an arcade and race motorcycles there?”

Keith shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. It beats sitting in here.” Keith stood up and pocketed his pen, running his hand over the knife there but not pulling it out. Touching it made him feel better, though. Relaxed.

Shiro led the way out. He waved and smiled to the coordinator, saying, “Keith and I are going to the arcade. I’ll take him home later, okay?”

“Sure thing, Shiro,” she said, waving in kind.

They walked past the rows of other kids and mentors, out of the open room and into the hot desert sun. Keith felt the heat radiating up from the asphalt in the parking lot as he followed Shiro to his car. It was an old Toyota but it was in good shape. Evidently, Shiro took care of it. There was only one bumper sticker, and it wasn't even on the bumper, it was on the window so as not to mess up the paint. It was a NASA sticker. Well, at least Shiro was on brand.

Keith climbed into the passenger seat. He watched as Shiro turned the key and started the car. The inside was clean, no trash in the footwell. He was a careful driver — that is, until they hit an open stretch of highway with no other cars around. Then he turned to Keith and said, “Do you want to have some fun?” with a mischievous grin on his face.

Keith could only nod, curious and surprised.

Shiro hit the gas, speeding up well beyond what was technically legal given the sign that pronounced the speed limit. As their speed increased, Shiro started jerking the steering wheel back and forth, swerving the car over the pavement. Keith couldn't help it, he had to laugh, bright and joyous. Shiro was laughing too, glancing between Keith and the road and grinning wide. His eyes were sparkling and Keith decided that he kind of liked this space nerd after all.

When Keith stepped through his dorm room door, Lance was at his desk, his lamp the only light in the murky darkness of their room.

“Oh, hey,” Lance said, looking up at him immediately. Obviously eager for a distraction from his homework.

“Hey,” Keith said, immediately stripping down to change for bed. It was late, and he’d had a long day, and he just wanted to get some sleep.

“You’re out late. Do you have a test coming up?” Lance pressed.

It was second nature for Keith to lie. “No, I was working on a paper.”

“Sure, sure. Y’know, you’re a surprisingly good student for someone so antisocial.”

Keith turned a scathing look on his roommate. “I can’t afford not to be. If I get one C, I’m out of here.”

“What, are your parents that strict?”

“I don’t have parents.”

Keith actually heard Lance’s jaw snap shut.

“It’s fine,” Keith said, not unkindly. “If I don’t keep my grades up, I lose my scholarship, that’s all.”

“Oh, uh, right. Of course,” Lance stuttered.

“I’m going to bed,” Keith said, ready to end this stupid conversation.

“Right. I’ll, uh, I’ll finish up soon,” Lance said. Keith went to brush his teeth — he couldn’t sleep with the taste of cum in his mouth — and by the time he got back, Lance was in bed, asleep.

The next day, Keith woke early as usual. He went to class, he met Shiro for lunch, and he worked his shift at the library. After dinner, Keith debated with himself but ultimately, he headed back to the brothel.

When he arrived, he was greeted at the front door by a bouncer named Joey. Joey let him inside and Keith went to the living room first, looking for Leo. He wasn't there, nor was he in the kitchen. He asked one of the women, “Hey, is Leo around? Do I need to check in with him when I get here?”

“No,” she said. “The bouncers keep track of our clients. Leo isn’t here most of the time.”

Keith nodded. That made sense. Keith sat on one of the couches in the living room and waited until he was needed.

He left a couple of hours later, having had several “clients,” as the others called them. It sounded weird to Keith, but whatever. He took the bus back to campus and went straight to the campus pizza joint to meet Shiro.

“Hey, there you are,” Shiro said. “I was just getting ready to text you.”

“Yeah, sorry I'm late, I was studying,” Keith said, barely stumbling over the words. It felt so odd to lie to Shiro, of all people. He never wanted to lie to Shiro, not for any reason. They had always been honest with each other — about everything, even the bad stuff. But he had to. Shiro would freak out if he knew Keith was going to a brothel, let alone working in one. Honestly, lying to Shiro felt way dirtier than anything he did there, or even behind the gas station. He couldn't let the guilt get to him though. He needed to do this and he absolutely needed to keep it a secret from Shiro and Lance and anyone else who got curious.

They ate dinner and then Keith went to the library to study for real. The guilt kept eating at him, but he pushed it down. He didn’t like lying to Shiro — the one person in Keith’s life, the one who’d stuck around, the one who never asked for anything from him but to be his best, honest self. But what choice did he have? Shiro would freak out if he knew what Keith was up to, and Keith couldn’t handle Shiro’s concern, the worry over him. It was more than Keith deserved.

Keith continued on like that — class, work, studying, and hitting the brothel a few times each week, but he just kept feeling worse and worse about it. After everything Shiro had done for him, lying to Shiro, going behind his back, was killing him inside. Sucking off a few random strangers was one thing, but actually working for a pimp was next level.

It went like that for a few weeks, but Keith was starting to have trouble. Every time he went over to the brothel, they made him stay for longer and longer. He would try to leave, but the bouncers talked him into one more hour, then two more hours. When he finally did get out of there, it was late and he didn't have the energy to study. He had to work twice as hard during the day just to keep up.

Not to mention, Leo came over pretty often, actually. He and the bouncers were always offering Keith “a room upstairs,” no matter how many times Keith said no, he didn't do that and he didn't want to do that. They kept pushing, though. Leo also wasn't satisfied with just thirty percent. He was taking fifty percent now, much to Keith’s ire.

Between his guilt over Shiro, and his anger at the brothel, Keith was fed up. One day, two weeks before his birthday, Keith went to Leo. “Leo, I can't come here anymore. I'm falling behind in my classes and midterms are coming up. I really need to be at school studying.”

Leo’s eyes turned dark. “I don't think that's a good idea, Keith.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, that's what's happening. I can't fall behind in school. School is my top priority and that's that. I won’t be coming back.”

Leo looked at him silently for a long minute. Finally, he said, “Do what you need to do.”

Keith left and didn't go back.

The next few days were a huge relief. Keith was able to catch up on his classes and spend enough time studying for his upcoming midterms. He slept better and Shiro — and even Lance — took notice of his improved mood.

“I know the last few weeks have been difficult,” Shiro told him as they were hanging out in his apartment on Friday night, taking a rare break. “Getting settled in a new environment is always hard. But I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Keith hummed noncommittally, not ready to share the real reason he’d been struggling, and shoved a fistful of popcorn in his mouth.

He was studying late in the library a few days later, but they kicked him out at midnight. He knew he should probably pack it in anyway and get some sleep, so he headed back to his dorm. As he walked up to his dorm, he heard something — some strange sound — and it made him pause. It didn't sound right. He couldn't place why, but something felt off. He reached for his knife and pulled it out of his pocket.

Turning around, Keith saw three men walking over to him in the darkness. Keith flipped his knife open. “Who are you?” he called out.

The men didn't say anything, just kept advancing on him.

Keith backed away, edging towards the dorm door. If he could just get inside, he’d be safe. He got out his wallet and tried to slide out his student ID card one handed, just barely managing it. If he could get inside the dorm, whoever these men were, they couldn't get to him and he could call campus safety. Or the real police.

As the men stepped closer, the glow of the street light hit them and Keith recognized them instantly. It was Leo’s driver Kent and the bouncer Joey, and someone else he didn't know. “Kent?” he asked, stopping his retreat. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Joey was the one who answered him. “Keith, please come with us. Leo would like to see you.”

“No way,” Keith said. “I'm done with that. I don't want to do it anymore.”

Keith backed up again, up onto the steps to the door. He was about to turn and swipe his card when he felt a shift in the air. They were converging on him. Keith swiped the card and darted inside, but he wasn't quick enough. He screamed as loud as he could, which was apparently pretty fuckin’ loud.

Someone had grabbed his arms and another person put their hand over his mouth. Keith tried to bite down but whoever it was avoided his teeth expertly. They had done this before.

Keith kicked his legs wildly and thrashed his arms. He managed to get his right arm free, which was all he needed; he moved his hand around quickly and expertly, slashing the knife through the air. He felt the blade make contact several times.

Someone grabbed his legs and held them tight. It was fine. Keith could get out of this. He just needed to stab them enough to scare them off.

Keith sunk the blade into Joey’s side, and it went deep, down to the hilt. Keith saw Joey bend over as his breath left him. Keith retracted the blade and moved to strike again.

Keith had never killed anyone, but he found he wouldn't mind, in that moment, if all three of these bastards died.

However, Keith didn't have the advantage here. Kent grabbed his wrist and twisted until he was forced to drop the knife. Keith cursed as he heard it clatter on the pavement. They held down his legs and arms and started to carry him off. Even Joey was still upright, though he was breathing heavily. Keith looked up at the dorm building as he was carried away and saw several windows lit up. Someone opened the door and looked out.

“Help!” Keith screamed. “I'm Keith Kogane! Help me!”

Seconds later, he was shoved into a van and they were driving off.

Chapter Text

Keith vividly remembered the first time he’d really gotten in trouble after meeting Shiro. They’d only known each other a few short weeks, but when Keith called him from school, Shiro came running. Shiro talked to the principal while Keith sat in the hall, bruises on his face and knuckles.

Shiro emerged with a simple, “Hey.”

“Look,” Keith said, preempting the inevitable lecture, “I know I messed up. You should just get rid of me already.”

“Keith, you can do this. I will never give up on you, but more importantly, you can’t give up on yourself.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but sometimes, we all need a hand.” Shiro stretched his hand out, expectant, looking at a scared little boy like he was a person.

Keith took his hand, and shook.

In the van, the third guy who Keith didn't know zip tied his wrists and ankles together while Joey wheezed in the front seat. Keith suspected Joey was in trouble. He needed to get to a hospital, and soon. Keith said as much but the third guy slapped him and said, “Shut up, whore.”

With his hands and legs bound and without his knife, Keith had no defense, so he clenched his jaw. He couldn't do anything about his situation right now. Maybe he could soon, but not right now. He just had to keep his wits and watch for an opportunity.

When they arrived at the brothel, the man who Keith didn't know carried him inside, carrying him bridal style. It was disgusting. The man dumped him on a couch in the living room, which was strangely empty. Normally, the whole house was hopping late at night, but Keith supposed all the other sex workers must be upstairs. With clients. Maybe Leo had specifically sent everyone out so he could fucking kidnap Keith.

Kent and the unknown man stayed in the living room with him while Joey went to the kitchen, presumably to attend to his knife wound. Leo was already there, sitting in an armchair opposite Keith. “Hello, Keith,” he said. His voice was pleasant on the surface, but Keith heard a darker tone underneath. Leo wasn't playing around. “You know, you're very popular here. We’ve missed you.”

“Fuck you,” Keith spat. “Let me go.”

“Oh, Keith. That mouth of yours. We’ll have to fix that. Max, get the cattle prod.”

Oh, shit, Keith thought. He really was in trouble.

“Keith, I expect a certain standard of behavior here. I expect you to be respectful to me and to my men. I expect you to treat clients like they are kings. If you do that, you will do very well here. If you can't behave, then we’ll just have to keep teaching you until it sticks. Do you understand?”

“Leo. Seriously, let me go. You don't need me.”

Leo leaned forward in his seat. “Keith, I think you're missing the point. No, I don't need you. But I want you. I’ve had many clients requesting your cute, tight little ass. Every time I had to tell a man no, my reputation suffered. When you left, I was devastated. You're too popular for me to just let you go. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you're a virgin. Isn’t that right?”

Keith gulped. He really didn't like where this was going.

“I thought so. I have several clients lined up who want to change that and be your first. It will go to the highest bidder, of course.

“Now, a few more ground rules before I go. You got Joey, and I'm not happy about that. Now I have to make sure we don't have a body to get rid of. Don't try to escape or you will wish I killed you. Max, Kent, take him to the basement.”

And Leo got up and left.

Kent and Max picked him up, but they had a hard time with Keith writhing and trying to get away. He knew it was futile — he was bound, what could he do even if they dropped him? — but he still had to try something. He couldn't just go quietly.

“Get off me!” he shouted. “Let me go, you bastards!”

They didn't let him go, obviously. They took him down the stairs and into the basement. It was one large open space, with one door in the corner that was probably a bathroom. There were bunk beds all across the room. A few of the beds were made, but most were not.

Kent said, “You get one bathroom break.” They carried him into the bathroom and pulled down his pants and sat him on the toilet. After a moment of consideration, Keith made himself go because he didn't know when he would get another chance and he wasn't keen on the idea of wetting his pants. It was humiliating.

When he was done, they carried him into the room and put him on one of the lower bunks. As soon as they let him go, Keith tried to crawl away. Unsurprisingly, he didn't succeed. Max grabbed him while Kent took another zip tie and attached it to the bedpost, linked through the zip tie on his wrists. Keith was stuck.

Shiro woke up to his phone beeping. He groaned and rolled over to grab it. There was a message on his phone, a security message from Garrison University. He sat up and swiped his phone open to read it.

Attention students. There is a security concern on campus. Reports have come in that a student was kidnapped. We have not verified these concerns but we request that everyone stay inside and don't leave the building. We are working with local police to investigate the situation. If you have any questions, please email or call us at…

Shiro felt a stone sink in the pit of his stomach. Someone was kidnapped (maybe)? He had a bad feeling about this. Shiro closed the message and opened his text app. He typed out Hey Keith are you okay? and hit send.

He didn't get an immediate response, which was probably not surprising. He was fine. Keith was fine and safe in his dorm, sleeping like he should be.

But Keith was a light sleeper, Shiro knew. He would have gotten the university's text and then Shiro's text and it would surely have woken him up. Shiro waited a few minutes. And a few minutes more. Finally, after ten minutes, he couldn't take it anymore. He hit dial and listened to the ring.

It rang and rang but no one picked up. Keith's voicemail message played, just the standard factory message. He’d never bothered to change it.

"Keith, hey, it's Shiro. Call me when you can. Please. Just… just call me." He hung up and tapped his fingers on his thigh through the bed covers. Keith never slept through a phone call, and he never didn't answer Shiro’s calls unless he was in class.

Something was definitely wrong.

Shiro called Lance, who picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” The boy’s voice was scratchy; he had obviously been sleeping.

“Hey, Lance, it’s Shiro. Is Keith there?”

“Shiro? No, uh… he’s not. I guess he went to class already.”

It was five in the morning, so Shiro doubted that. “Did he come home last night?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him at all yesterday.”

“Okay. Thanks, Lance.” Shiro hung up without explaining himself.

Shiro called campus safety. He had to wait for several rings — he was sure they had a lot of calls but he also knew most students were still sleeping. It was early, after all. But finally, someone picked up. "Campus safety, how can I help you?"

"Hi, the student who was kidnapped, was it… was his name Keith Kogane?"

The woman was silent for a long moment. "How did you know that?"

"Shit," Shiro gasped. Fuck. Keith was gone. Where was he? "What happened?"

"I can't disclose that. Do you know him?"

"Yes, he’s… my brother. I'm coming over." Shiro hung up, jumped out of bed, and got dressed faster than he’d ever done before, running out the door and down the stairs. He raced across the parking lot to his car and drove too fast to the campus safety building, a squat older building that seemed blurred in his panic. He parked crookedly against the curb. He didn’t even notice, running inside.

"Can I help you?" the woman at the desk asked.

"My name is Takashi Shirogane. Keith Kogane… we just talked… he’s my brother."

"Your brother?" she asked, suspicious.

"Yeah, we just talked on the phone. Please tell me what happened."

"Oh yes, it’s you. Come with me," she said. She stood and walked him back to a conference room full of police. She knocked on the door and said, "I have Takashi Shirogane here. He says he’s Keith Kogane's brother."

One of the cops stood up. "You're Keith's brother?" he asked, a man with red hair, a massive mustache, and a British accent.

"Well, sort of. We did the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program years ago and I’ve mentored him for years. He doesn’t have any family. He was in foster care for the last eight years. He has no one but me."

The officer sat down again and bid him enter. Shiro sat down in the empty chair beside him. "Okay, Takashi, my name is Detective Coran. I’ll tell you what I can."

"Call me Shiro," he said, without thinking.

"Okay, Shiro. Several students in his dorm called campus safety just after midnight. They heard screaming outside and one student saw what happened. Three men were taking him away. They got into a black SUV and drove away. The student didn't get the license plate because it was too dark to see. So what we need to do now is track down that car. Do you know of any reason why someone would want to take Keith?"

Shiro shook his head. "No. He — he used to get in a lot of trouble when he was younger. He got in fights and was expelled from a couple of schools. But he really cleaned up his act in the last three years. He hasn’t been in a single fight and he’s completely devoted to school. He doesn’t want anything to distract him from his goals. He’s been dreaming of going to college ever since I met him."

"Okay. Has he been doing anything different recently? Has his schedule changed at all? Has he behaved differently?"

Shiro thought about it. "Well, he’s been pretty tired the last few weeks. I just thought he was studying too hard."

"Okay, Shiro. I have one more question and I need you not to worry."

That definitely had Shiro worrying but he nodded for Detective Coran to proceed.

"Shiro, we found a bloody knife at the scene. Do you know what Keith's blood type is?"

Shiro relaxed minutely. "That's Keith's knife. He always carries a knife. If it's bloody, it's not Keith's. He’s really good with a knife, so I'm sure it's not his blood. I'm sure he stabbed one of his kidnappers."

"What's his blood type?"

"He’s O negative," Shiro said. He knew a little of Keith's medical history, like that he was allergic to cats. They had once discussed blood transfusions and they had told each other their blood types.

"Thank you, Shiro, that helps a lot. Let me get your phone number and I will keep in touch with any developments."

Shiro rattled off his number and got Detective Coran’s number too. He wasn't ready to go home yet. He would never be able to sleep, so instead he walked over to Keith’s dorm. The area around the door and the walking path was busy, cordoned off with police tape and there were five uniformed officers there and three CSI techs. They had stands with electric lights shining over the area, apparently uncaring of the students trying to sleep. Good. Shiro didn't care if they slept at all, he just wanted Keith back, and he would happily let the police do anything to make that happen.

He walked over and stood by the police tape, watching the officers and forensics team work. There was a small bloodstain on the pavement, which must be where Keith dropped his knife. Shiro took a perverse sort of comfort in knowing that Keith got a piece of whoever did this. Not that Shiro would have expected otherwise. Keith had always been a survivor, and with his past history of knife fights, well, it was no surprise. Shiro was even a little proud.

He just really hoped Keith was okay.

Keith barely slept the whole night. When the other prostitues came into the basement after they were finished taking clients, Keith woke up and couldn't go back to sleep until everyone was settled. They were a chatty group, apparently. One of the women came over to Keith — Mackenzie, if he recalled — and sat on the bed beside him.

“Hi, sugar,” she said. “I'm sorry about this. I wish they hadn’t gotten you.”

“You could get me out,” he said.

She shook her head. “I really couldn't. Leo would kill me.”

“Why did no one tell me he was kidnapping people when I came here the first time? Or any of the dozen times after that?” Keith demanded.

Mackenzie shrugged. “I'm sorry. We can't say anything. Leo doesn’t like dissent. He would have us killed.”

“Why didn’t he kidnap me that first day, if this was his goal the whole time?”

“He doesn’t actually like kidnapping. He’s not above it, obviously, but he sees it as vulgar. He prefers to avoid it. We just… we’re all bound to him. I'm not a prisoner, exactly, but he keeps a very tight leash on us. We’re only allowed out of the house with one of the guards.”

“This is fucking bullshit,” Keith ground out.

Mackenzie nodded. “You get used to it. Try not to fight it too much. It’s easier if you just accept it.”

As if Keith would.

In the morning, Keith woke up groggy and uncomfortable. There were small windows at ground level that let in some sunlight. Keith couldn't tell for sure what time it was, but it was probably mid morning, if he had to guess. The sun was too strong for it to be very early. No one else seemed to be awake, which made sense, he supposed. If they were up all night with clients, of course they would sleep well into the morning.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs, heavy and loud. Whoever it was marched over to his bunk and leaned down. Max.

“I'm going to cut you free,” he said. “If you try to escape, you will be punished. Do you understand?”

Keith nodded, gritting his teeth. Max pulled out a knife and cut all of Keith’s bindings. Keith waited until Max put his knife back in his pocket, and then he sprang. He dove away and started running for the stairs, up and up. He could hear Max behind him but he didn't stop, just threw open the basement door.

To say Keith was surprised when he was tackled would be a lie. His breath was knocked out of him and he was angrier than a wet cat, but he wasn't surprised. He growled and writhed and bit into the arm holding him down, but his captor didn't budge. This was obviously not the first time he had been bitten.

Suddenly, Keith felt a shock go through him, and it was strong. It felt like his whole body was consumed by electricity. It only lasted a second, and when it stopped, he went limp. He lost all strength and he couldn't move. He had never felt anything like that before.

It must be the cattle prod Leo mentioned last night, he thought sluggishly.

He felt himself being lifted up and carried. Max carried him outside and set him on a lawn chair in the grass. It was chilly outside but not unbearable.

Kent was there. He grabbed a hose and Keith’s stomach dropped. “Get undressed,” he ordered. Keith did so, slow and uncoordinated from the electric shock. When he was naked, Max tossed him a bottle of body wash.

“Wash yourself,” he said. “All over.”

Keith obeyed reluctantly. He really didn't want to be shocked again, especially if they were going to spray him with water as he suspected. As soon as he finished soaping up his body and hair, just as he expected, Kent turned on the hose and sprayed it at him. It was a lot colder out here when he was naked and wet.

When he finished washing away the soap, Max handed him a towel and he dried off as quickly and thoroughly as he could. They took him back inside and allowed him to dress in his own clothes again. He would have liked some clean underwear at least, but he would have to manage. They sat him down at the kitchen table with a few of the others in the house. Keith wasn't sure prostitutes was the right term for them anymore. Sex slaves, perhaps. That was what he felt like, anyway.

Max and Kent stood at each door and watched him. One of the other workers, Juan, set down a plate of scrambled eggs and biscuits in front of him and he ate, feeling all the eyes on him. He dared not move. He would have to find another way to escape, but now wasn't the time. That was fine. He could wait. He could be patient.

When he was finished eating, Kent grabbed Keith by the arm and pulled him over to the stove.

“Hey, let me go!” Keith protested.

They ignored him. Max reached into the pantry and pulled out… oh fuck. Keith started fighting, but Kent held him tight.

“The more you fight it, the worse it will hurt,” Max said, not sounding upset at all. He turned on the gas stove and let the flames lick over the cattle brand, heating the metal red-hot. Keith felt anticipatory tears building behind his eyes, but he fought them back. He would not cry, he wouldn’t.

Kent pulled Keith’s shirt off and turned him so his back faced Max. Max pushed the iron brand into the skin below his left shoulder blade. Keith clenched his teeth hard, grinding the bone together to hold back a scream. He could feel his flesh burning, skin bubbling and curling around the hot iron.

It only lasted a moment before Max removed the brand and covered it with a bandage. Kent handed Keith his shirt, and they were gone, their laughter rattling around in Keith’s skull.

After that, the afternoon passed slowly. He had nothing to do but sit and watch TV with the other people trapped in this damn house. Rafaela asked to brush his hair and he let her. Rick sat beside him and looked at him seriously.

“Keith, right?” he asked. Keith nodded. “Leo asked me to help you out. Tonight is going to be hard for you. The best thing you can do is just lie back and take it. Don't try to fight the client, whoever he ends up being. And don't scream. Leo hates screaming. He told me he’ll be here tonight to keep an eye on you.”

“Leo is a jackass,” Keith spit. His shoulder twinged.

Rick shrugged. “You know I can't say anything about that,” he whispered. “He’ll have my head if I disobey.” Then, in a normal voice, he said, “I really do just want to help you. I was in your position once.”

Keith looked him over. He was older than Keith, maybe thirty. “How long have you been here?” he asked suspiciously.

“I haven’t always been in this house, but I’ve worked for Leo since I was sixteen. When you follow his orders, he’s fine. Just… just be obedient. You won't get hurt if you're obedient.”

Keith didn't answer.

Chapter Text

Keith was, eventually, given clean underwear. They gave him a whole new outfit, in fact. Red shorts that barely covered his ass and a black, button up, short-sleeved shirt. He changed without argument, but he was glaring daggers at his guards the whole time. Of course, they couldn't give him a moment of privacy, even when he had gone to the bathroom earlier. It was like they thought he would somehow slither down the pipes and escape. He would if he could.

Leo came in after they were served dinner. He took Keith into a small office on the first floor, along with Max and his cattle prod to guard.

“Have you had a good day, Keith?” Leo asked.

“Fucking no,” he said. He sat down in the chair offered to him and crossed his arms and legs.

“That's unfortunate. Regardless, I expect you to act nice with our guest tonight. His name is Drake Krol and he is a very important businessman. He’s paying top dollar to have you first. I don't care how he treats you, as long as there is no permanent damage. Whatever he wants to do, you will do. Is that understood?”

“I'm not doing it,” Keith said, voice flat and confident.

“You will. Max.” Max stepped up and grabbed Keith’s upper arm. He tried to wrench away but Max held out the cattle prod threateningly. Keith stilled. “That's what I thought. Thank you, Max, take him away.”

Keith was half led, half dragged to a room upstairs. This was his first time going upstairs and he wasn't excited for the new experience, to say the least.

There were several rooms on each side of the hall. All the doors were open and Keith could see beds. A few had windows, but not all; it was evident that there were fewer rooms that had been closed in to make more at some point. Max took him to the last room in the hallway. It was a little bigger than the other rooms, and nicer for sure. There was a queen bed up against one wall, a window (and Keith could see bars on the outside) with soft blue curtains.

“Get on the bed,” Max ordered. Keith was still eyeing the window. Maybe he could break off one of the bars. It was only the second floor. He could probably jump.

Max pushed him roughly. “I said, get on the bed!” Keith stumbled and obeyed. He just had to cooperate until he could find a way out. Max pulled a trunk out from under the bed and while he was distracted, Keith jumped up and ran for the door.

Keith didn't make it far. Max grabbed his ankle and he fell flat, catching himself on his hands before his face made contact with the floor. Damn it, he cursed. He didn't fight as Max dragged him back into the room and manhandled him onto the bed. When he looked up, Keith saw Max was holding a pair of leather cuffs. Oh hell no. Keith wasn't being handcuffed to the bed. Again.

Keith lurched and tried to get away but Max pushed him down. Max climbed on top of him and tried to hold him down, but Keith was kicking and punching wildly. Keith hooked his ankles over Max’s ankles, thrust his hips up to knock him off balance, and flipped them. It only took a moment. When Max was on his back, Keith punched him in the jaw, grabbed the cattle prod, and took off. His hand hurt, it had been a long time since he’d punched anyone, but the pain barely registered. He raced down the stairs.

Max was screaming from behind him. He had evidently recovered enough to chase Keith. “Catch him!” he yelled.

Keith was almost to the door when another man appeared, blocking the door with his massive body. It wasn't Kent, nor Joey, it was someone new. Maybe Joey had died after all and this was his replacement. Or maybe he was just severely injured. It didn't bother Keith either way. He tried to dart around the new obstacle and head for the back door, but he was unsuccessful. The new guy had him pinned to the ground in a moment. Keith tried to writhe and get free but this guy was good. Keith couldn't move an inch.

Keith thought the most upsetting thing about all of this was the fact that none of his “coworkers,” the other trafficked people in the house, were doing a damn thing. They didn't interfere with his escape, they didn't lift a finger against him, but they didn't try to help him either. They just looked at him sadly. They watched everything go down with pity in their eyes and Keith hated them for it.

Max had more zip ties. He bound Keith’s wrists in front of him and his ankles. “Good job, Chris,” Max said. “This one is feisty. Mr. Krol will like that but I sure don't.”

Max and this new guy carried him back upstairs. As they went, Max talked to Keith. “When Mr. Krol is done with you, we’re going to have to teach you some better manners. We’ve been so nice to you, but you just won't behave. You’ll really be miserable tomorrow, kid,” he added with a dark smile.

Keith could admit, he was starting to worry.

They tied him to the bed with rough, hemp ropes, hands tied together to the center of the headboard. His legs were tied up too, an ankle to each corner at the end of the bed. Keith lay there, immobile, helpless, and angry. There had to be a way out of this, right? Maybe this Drake Krol fellow would be able to help him. It sounded like he was rich and powerful. Keith wasn't known for his faith in humanity, but surely this guy would help once he knew Keith was a prisoner? Surely he would call the cops and get Keith out? And the others too, he supposed.

Keith lay there for what felt like a long time. Maybe it was only thirty minutes, or maybe it was two hours, he couldn’t be sure. The sun went down and the only light in the room came from a standing lamp in one corner. Keith tried to twist his wrists out of the ropes, but he couldn't get free. He only managed to break the skin on his wrists, slick red blood trickling out.

Finally, the door to his room opened. Max came in, followed by a tall white man. He wasn't very old, thirty five or so, and he was objectively good looking. He had a strong chin and he wore a nice suit. It was dark gray with a lighter gray checkered pattern that Keith could just pick out. His shirt was black and his tie was light gray. His brown hair was gelled back. It was a striking image, strong and powerful.

Max said, “Here you are, Mr. Krol. This is Keith. Watch out, he’s wild.”

“I can see that,” Krol said, smirking, eyes lingering on Keith’s bloody wrists. He looked smarmy, but Keith still thought this would be okay. He would definitely help Keith get out, or at least he would call the cops when he left. He could even call the cops here; he must have a cell phone.

Max left them and closed the door. Keith didn't hear a lock click, so that was good. Maybe Krol would just walk him out.

Krol took off his suit jacket and hung it over a chair in the corner. He undressed, not slowly but he wasn't in any hurry either. He just looked at Keith, smiling. It gave Keith the creeps.

"Mr. Krol, right?" Keith asked. "Drake Krol?"

"That's right. And you're Keith. It’s nice to meet you. We’re going to have fun tonight."

"I really don't think so. Drake, I'm being held here against my will. I'm just seventeen and they kidnapped me and won't let me go. You have to help me, please. You can call the cops right now and it’ll all be over."

Krol laughed and Keith's stomach sank. "Oh Keith, I'm well aware of what goes on here. I’ve been coming here for years and you’re not the first boy I’ve deflowered. You won't get any help from me."

Fuck.

Keith started thrashing again as soon as Krol said the words. He had to get out of here, he just had to. He twisted his wrists desperately, hoping to slip out of the rope. Krol just laughed at him. Before long, he was naked and already half hard. Apparently, Leo hadn’t been lying that this guy liked a fight.

Keith was scared.

He hadn’t truly believed this was going to happen. Right from the start, he knew he would find a way out of it. Keith had always been scrappy and resourceful, a dangerous combination. There was no way he would just submit and there was no way he wouldn't escape. But now it looked like he was wrong. Keith wasn't going to escape and he wouldn't be rescued. This was really happening.

Keith was going to be raped.

Krol climbed on the bed and knelt between Keith's forced open legs. He couldn't close them, tied up as he was. "Get away from me, you scumbag," Keith hissed. He bared his teeth and tried to bite the man. Krol just laughed again.

"I'm really going to enjoy you," he said, sounding gleeful, of all things. What a twisted bastard.

Krol reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube. He set it on the bed beside Keith's hip and moved to Keith's shorts. He unfastened them and Keith had no way of stopping him. Krol moved to one leg and untied it to take the shorts off, and Keith kicked him in the head.

Krol grabbed his ankle, smiling, and held it together with his other leg, still bound. He managed to get Keith's shorts and underwear off one leg. He untied Keith's other leg and Keith thrashed. He got Krol's head between his legs and held tight, getting him in a choke hold. "Let me go, you nasty bastard, or I'll choke you to death," Keith threatened.

Keith's hold wasn't as good as he thought, though. Krol pushed and pushed and got loose. Before Keith could try again, Krol flipped him over and tied one leg back to the corner of the bed. Keith couldn't stop him from tying down the other leg, no matter how much he thrashed.

A moment later, Krol shoved two dry fingers into his ass and Keith began to cry.

It went on for a long time. After a while, Keith stopped fighting. He wasn't getting free, not tonight, and he was too tired to fight anymore. He cried for most of it, until he was tired of that too. Krol fucked him over and over again, using only enough lube to make the slide easier, grunting obscenely into Keith's ear. He would say nasty things, like Look how good you take it, sugar, you were meant for this, or, I'm so lucky I get to pop your cherry. This is all mine. It made Keith's stomach turn.

Krol did a lot of other things to him too. He spanked him until Keith's ass was raw. He took pictures of Keith in every position and of every intimate place. He flipped Keith into his back again, shoved his cock down Keith’s throat, and rode Keith's face. "If you bite me," he had said, "I'll get Max to give me that lovely cattle prod of his and I'll shock you until you're unconscious. Then I’ll beat you with it. Do you understand me?"

Keith nodded. He didn't bite.

It was late when Krol finally seemed satisfied. Keith heard him get dressed. "Thank you for a lovely night, Keith," he said, patting Keith on the leg.

Keith lay in the bed, tied up and covered in sweat and come, until Max came to retrieve him.

The next day was just as bad. His ass hurt like hell, for one thing. And Keith was to be punished for misbehaving, for being "rude" to Krol, for trying to escape so many times. First, they didn't feed him, but Keith was used to that. It had been years since his meals had been taken away from him, but his body remembered it and didn't even bother to get hungry. Then Keith was tied up again, just his hands behind his back this time. He was led out to the back yard by Max, Kent, and Chris. Chris had a cattle prod fastened to his belt. They stood around him in a circle. Keith had some idea of what was to come, but he had no way to fight back.

Just as he thought, Max punched him in the jaw and he stumbled. Kent grabbed him and punched him in the gut, then pushed him down to the ground. They kicked him over and over, everywhere, and Keith could only gasp and groan with every hit. Chris got the hose and sprayed him down with cold water.

Max flipped him over into his belly and sat on top of him. He grabbed Keith's hand, took one finger, and pulled it at an unnatural angle. Keith screamed as it broke.

They continued to beat him. Keith would be black and blue all over for weeks, he knew. When they finally finished with that, Keith was lying prone on his back. He felt someone pull his shorts down and, before he could even fight back, something hot and searing was pressed against his hip bone. Keith screamed. It felt like he was being flayed, like a hot dagger was digging into his skin and tissue.

At long last, they led him, limping and gasping for breath, back inside. He was pretty sure he had a broken rib. The mark they’d burned into him was a brand, a small bird in flight.

They let him sit on the couch in the living room. They even let him have ice packs, one for his jaw and another for his ribs. How incredibly fucking kind of them. Rick sat down beside him and said, “I'm sorry, Keith. I tried to warn you, but I guess you had to see for yourself. If you keep acting up, it’ll only get worse. Please don't make it worse for yourself.”

Keith just glared at him until Rick looked away.

Keith was denied lunch, but he was given a small dinner. It was just boxed mac and cheese but at least it was something. Mackenzie put make up on the bruise on his jaw. With that and icing it earlier, you could barely even tell. They dressed him in just a pair of boy-short underwear and a tank top. It seemed he would only be dressed up nice for his “debut,” or maybe every time Drake Krol came over. Keith hoped he never had to see the monster again, but he knew he wasn't that lucky.

He worked that night, just like everyone else. He felt woozy, though, and weak. He wondered if it was from the beating or the lack of food. Or maybe, he realized, they had drugged him. Keith wouldn't put it past Leo to do that, at this point. Whatever the reason, Keith was sluggish. That night, he blew two guys. He was requested upstairs and he tried to fight, but he didn't have enough energy. In the end, it was easy to drag him upstairs and into one of the small rooms. Easy to push him down and use him.

Keith continued to feel weak for the next several days, and he was confident they were drugging him. It had to be in the food, so he stopped eating. By the third day, he was feeling a lot better — in some ways. He felt worse because, well, he wasn't eating. He was tired and weak from his net zero calories, and he was getting dizzy, but he didn't feel woozy in the same way he had felt before.

That didn't last long, however. Leo came to visit that day, and Max told him that Keith was refusing to eat. “Oh, really?” he said. “Keith, are you not hungry?”

“Not really,” Keith retorted. His vision was blurry but that didn't matter. He could fight through hunger. He couldn't fight through drugs.

“Well, then, I guess we have no other choice. Chris, go get the straps.”

They force fed him, and within an hour Keith’s belly was full but his head was foggy. “You know,” a guy named McKinley told him, several days into his captivity, “you get paid more if they think you like it.”

“That's not the point,” Keith grumbled. His head was so heavy and he just wanted to lie down and sleep, but he really wanted to hammer his point home. “I'm missing class. I'm behind on my homework. Midterms are coming up. I have to get out of here. I want to go to school. That's all I’ve wanted for years. I worked so hard for it, you have no idea. It doesn’t matter if I'm making money because I'm a prisoner here. I want to go — well, I don't have a home, but I want to go somewhere. Back to school. Away from here.”

McKinley shook his head. “I know. I was in high school when Leo recruited me. Life just doesn’t work out for us. Get used to it.”

Days passed and Keith ate, watched TV, and fucked. Most of the men who paid for him were creeps, telling him how pretty he was and brushing their filthy hands over his skin. His body acclimated to the sex and it didn't hurt as much anymore. He never enjoyed it, and none of his “clients” (rapists) tried to make him come, which he appreciated. He was just a hole for them and he didn't want anyone thinking he was there willingly. Not that he thought these guys had any sort of conscience; they would never feel guilty about what they did to him.

But Keith was forming a plan. It was hard, with being so strung out (what in the hell were they dosing him with?) but he was getting something. All he needed was access to a phone.

He really didn't know how long he had been there by this point. The days ran together. He knew it had been a little while, though. Was he eighteen yet? He didn't know. Drake Krol had been back twice, calling him sugar and telling Keith to fight him, so Keith did. He fought back and tried to get away, but he couldn’t. He was sluggish and Drake always managed to wrestle him down and handcuff him with a pair of fuzzy cuffs he got from the trunk under the bed. Once he was handcuffed, Keith bucked and thrashed, but it didn't do any good. The last time he saw Krol, he didn't fight after he had been handcuffed. If he got off on a fight, then Keith wouldn't give him one.

There was another man who was becoming a regular of Keith’s. He was chubby and actually quite attractive. If the circumstances had been different, Keith might have flirted with him, asked him out, been sweet. He seemed to like it when Keith was sweet, so Keith played it up.

“Hey, sweet thing,” the man, Alex, said as he came into the room and sat on the bed. Keith wasn't bound, so he moved towards Alex and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Hi, Daddy,” he crooned, kissing Alex’s cheek. Alex practically giggled.

“What do you want to do tonight, sweet thing?” he asked.

“Whatever Daddy wants,” Keith answered. He felt sick but he smiled through it.

They did what they always did: Alex fucked Keith on his back and kissed him like they were really in love or something. It was enough to make Keith’s blood boil, but he suppressed it as he always did. Not to mention, whatever they were drugging him with was definitely making him more relaxed. He was angry, but not nearly as angry as he should be. He just didn't have it in him.

When it was all over, Alex moved to get dressed again, but Keith stopped him. “Daddy, wait, take a picture with me,” he said.

“What? A picture?”

“Yeah, don’t you want to remember me when we’re apart?” Keith tilted his chin down, looked up through his lashes, and pouted. He felt ridiculous but it had the right effect: Alex melted.

“Okay, sweet thing, let’s take a picture,” he agreed. He picked up his pants from the floor and pulled his phone from his pocket. Keith watched rapt as he typed in his passcode: 6-6-4-4. They took a few selfies, one of Keith kissing Alex’s cheek, one of them holding up peace signs, and several just close together, like a couple would.

Keith’s plan was working, but it wasn't over yet. “Daddy, I'm so tired. Will you take a nap with me?” he asked.

“Well… I should be going,” Alex hedged.

“Please, Daddy?”

“Oh, okay. Let’s take a nap,” Alex relented. They lay down on the bed together and Keith arranged them so that he was laying with his head on Alex’s chest. As soon as Alex was snoring, Keith sat up as slowly and quietly as he could so as not to disturb the man. He leaned down to the floor and picked up the phone from the pile of clothes. He typed in the passcode, 6-6-4-4, and watched the screen open. Keith tapped the text message icon and typed out a new message.

Keith couldn't text the police, and he couldn't risk a phone call. Even if he got in touch with the police, would they believe him? Luckily, he knew Shiro’s phone number by heart. He typed it in, tapped out his message, and pressed send.

Shiro was working late. He hadn’t slept much since Keith… well, since Keith disappeared. Since he wasn't sleeping, he might as well work.

Shiro had been working with the police and the school. Obviously, Keith wouldn't be penalized for missing his classes and assignments. If — when they got him back, he would just have to do some make up assignments. Shiro couldn't let himself think about Keith being gone the rest of the semester, or even longer than that. He simply couldn't bear it.

At the moment, he was writing the physics midterm. He had last year’s tests from Professor Atkinson to use as a guide. He was deep in concentration, so he was startled when his phone chimed with a text message. He finished writing up the question he was working on and grabbed his phone.

Unknown number: 597 State St. Keith.

Shiro’s chest tightened and he froze. His fingers flew over the keys. Who is this? Keith is that you?

Unknown number: Apollo 13

Shiro shot to his feet. It was Keith, it had to be him. That was their coded message: Apollo 13, the space ship disaster. Keith was in danger. He called the number but it hung up immediately, so he texted again.

Shiro: Call me

Unknown number: Can't call. Going dark, don't text this number

Shiro took screenshots of the messages and sent the images to Detective Coran, then hit dial. It rang twice before the man picked up, sounding groggy.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Detective Coran, I'm so sorry for waking you but. I got a message from Keith.”

Keith quickly deleted the messages and blocked Shiro’s number so he couldn't call or text and blow Keith’s act. He dropped the phone back on the pile of clothes and lay back down beside Alex, pretending to sleep.

Eventually, Alex left and Keith was allowed to go shower and go to sleep in his basement bunk bed. He couldn't rest, though. He knew Shiro was with the police at that very moment, or he hoped so. That would be better than Shiro coming to get him all by himself. That would do no one any good. No, Shiro was smart, he would know to contact the police and let them handle it. But Keith wanted to see him again, so badly. He had never gone so long without talking to Shiro and he could feel an ache in his chest at the distance.

Sure, he had way bigger problems right now, but he was allowed to miss the little things too.

And so, he spent most of the night awake, thinking about Shiro, about how Shiro would come to rescue him. Soon. It would be so soon.

The next day came and went and Keith didn't notice anything different. He spent the day on the first floor with his fellow inmates, as he had come to think of them, watching TV, playing card games, playing those clapping games kids played in fourth grade. They had a few books in the house, nothing that really interested Keith but he was too bored and miserable to be picky right then. So that's how Keith read Twilight.

They had a few customers in the afternoon, Keith gave a few blowjobs and Rafaela went with one guy upstairs, but it was mostly quiet. When night fell, Keith had several clients before their guards would let him rest. He didn't have access to a clock, but it felt late. He showered and went to bed, disappointed.

Shiro was just being cautious. Or maybe the cops didn't believe him. Keith didn't trust cops or ninety nine percent of people on this fucked up planet, but he trusted Shiro. He had gotten his message across — Apollo 13, the disaster that fascinated and haunted them both. Shiro knew it was him and knew he was in danger. Keith just had to wait. Patience yields focus, Shiro used to tell him. Keith just had to be patient.

Chapter Text

Keith was eating lunch the next day — chicken patties and canned corn, yuck — when it happened. There was a knock at the door, nothing unusual for the mid afternoon. Keith didn't pay any attention, simply went into the living room to line up as was demanded of him. He wasn't keen on getting his ass beaten again; he was very motivated to not get another broken rib or something worse. He was still in a lot of pain from his first (and so far only) beating. He had been shocked a few more times for being rude and mouthing off, but he was doing okay overall. Managing. The key was not to think about it. He just had to go along with things for a little longer.

The man who came in was handsome. He had dark skin and a shaved head. Keith would have liked him in other circumstances.

“What are your prices?” the newcomer asked Max. They talked back and forth, discussing the different prices for various acts and services, and for each different person. Keith shifted from foot to foot, bored. Finally, they seemed to agree on a price and a person, and Keith was about to wander off, when something changed.

The man said, “Okay, go!” The front door burst open a moment later and flooded with men in vests. Bulletproof vests. They were cops.

Keith grinned wide, plastered himself against the wall, and watched it all go down.

Max and Chris started running for the back door, probably intending to jump the fence, but they were surrounded. They tried to run through the row of cops but failed. Max kept fighting and a cop tased him, giving Keith supreme satisfaction. He would have liked to be the one to tase that asshole, but he was happy nonetheless.

“Go in the office!” Keith shouted. A cop looked at him, then gestured for a few officers to follow her and they went to the office. Leo was in the act of climbing out the window, but they dragged him back inside and handcuffed him. Keith laughed gleefully. (Was he a sadist? No. Was he a vengeful bitch? Absolutely.)

The other prisoners were freaking out. Rafaela tried to run but she got grabbed. Everyone else was just huddling against the wall, trying to stay out of the way. Keith eyed the front door and thought about running out, but it was still full of cops running in and out and so he decided to stay put.

It took several minutes, but it did calm down. Four officers were escorting Chris and Max out the front door. The rest of them took hold of an arm of each of the trafficked prisoners and led them outside. Keith tried to shrug off his guy, but he held on and Keith glowered at him as they walked into the front yard.

It was getting dark but the police outside were bustling. Neighbors were peeking out from their front doors.

“Keith!” Keith heard his name in that familiar voice and whipped his head around. Shiro. He was right there on the other side of the street, behind a row of wooden blockades. Keith pulled free of the officer’s grip and ran, jumping over the blockade, and hugged Shiro. Shiro held him close, trapped between his strong arms and solid chest. Keith breathed him in — clean, soap, musk, and ink. Nothing had ever been so comforting in his entire life.

He stood still for a long time, just breathing and holding Shiro. Shiro started petting his hair at some point and Keith hummed. When he finally pulled back, just a little, he looked up at Shiro. “You found me,” he said. His voice broke.

“Yeah. It was only thanks to you.”

Keith looked up and he just started rambling, unaware of what he was saying until it was already out of his mouth. “Shiro, I thought… I really thought I would never see you again. It was awful there. You have no idea. They — they did so many things. I never wanted to do it, Shiro, you have to believe me.”

“I believe you, Keith, of course I do,” Shiro insisted, but Keith barely heard him, just kept plowing forward.

“I love you, Shiro, I love you so much. I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing you again. I would have died. I had to get out so I could see you again, at least.”

“It’s okay, Keith. I'm here. You're safe.”

Shiro guided Keith to take deep breaths, slow and steady, until he calmed down somewhat.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked.

Keith shrugged. “I think I have a broken rib.”

“Oh, shit,” Shiro said, letting go of him immediately, but Keith held on. He was being more clingy now than he had ever been in their entire relationship and he was very pointedly not thinking about that right now. He could dwell on it and hate himself later. Right now, he just needed this. He needed Shiro.

“Oh, hey,” he said, looking up at Shiro. “What day is it?”

“It’s October twenty-first,” Shiro replied.

Keith smirked, then yelled. “Legally I'm still seventeen! I'm underage!” Everyone looked at him and he saw a few officers sharing glances. Have fun with those child prostitution charges, Leo.

One of the officers came over to them and put a hand on Keith’s back. Keith flinched and took a step away, still clutching Shiro. He buried his face into Shiro’s collarbone.

“Keith?” said the officer. “My name is Detective Coran. I’ve been working with Shiro on your case.” Keith glanced up at him. He was ginger with a ridiculous mustache.

“Thanks, I guess,” Keith mumbled.

“Keith, we want to get you to a hospital. Can you come with me?” he asked. He gestured to an SUV.

Keith shook his head. “I'm fine.” He didn't want to be in a van again. Just the thought put him on edge.

Shiro stepped away a little so they could look at each other. “Keith, please. Let’s go to the hospital and just have a doctor look over you. Okay?”

Keith shook his head again. “I don't want to. You can't make me.”

Shiro nodded. “I know, we don't want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I would really feel better if we got you checked out at a hospital. Please?”

Keith looked at him and he just couldn't deny Shiro, not when his eyes were so big and warm and he looked so worried. If it would make Shiro feel better, then he would go. “Fine,” he huffed out. “Let’s hurry up and go.”

Shiro smiled and they walked over to the SUV but Keith stopped a few feet away. “Can we… can we go in a different car? Any other car, just like a sedan or something.”

Coran and Shiro shared a look and Coran nodded. “Sure, Keith. I’ll take you in my car.”

“And Shiro. You're coming too, right, Shiro?”

Shiro nodded. “Of course, Keith,” he said, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith relaxed, just a little. It was a familiar gesture, comforting, and just what he needed in that moment. They loaded up into Detective Coran’s car, Keith and Shiro sitting in the back. It wasn't a cruiser, just a normal sedan, so there was no cage between the front and back seats, which was nice. Shiro made him put on his seat belt, which Keith pretended to hate by scoffing and rolling his eyes, but he didn't actually mind. Shiro was always this way, caring and motherly, and having him there comforted Keith.

It was a long drive to the hospital, at least for Boulder City. It was a small town, so nothing was really that far from anything else. They pulled up to the hospital and parked by the emergency entrance. As they were walking inside, Keith saw the SUV pull up with the other people from the brothel.

Keith stood close to Shiro as they stood at the reception desk. Detective Coran explained the situation in a hushed tone and the nurse nodded. She handed Keith a clipboard with paperwork, then handed out clipboards to the other ten people coming in after him. They filled out the paperwork and waited.

“I don't have my insurance card,” Keith said. “They took my wallet and phone when they kidnapped me.”

Detective Coran said, “That's okay. Just fill out the paperwork as best you can.”

Luckily, the emergency room was quiet and they didn't have to wait long. A nurse brought Keith back, but Shiro had to stay in the lobby, waiting for him. “I want Shiro to come with me.”

The nurse said, “This will be a very private exam and he may be called as a witness if he comes back. If you're comfortable with him being there for that, then he can come.”

Keith thought about it, then nodded. He wanted Shiro. So Shiro came with them.

The nurse was quite a bit older than him with short hair and kind eyes. Keith wasn't sure if he liked that or hated it. He wasn't used to kindness, even before he had been kidnapped. It made him uncomfortable. He ground his teeth.

Keith sat on the exam bed as the nurse began to talk. “My name is Cynthia. Keith, I want to do a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam to collect evidence against your captors. Is that okay?”

Keith shrugged. “They weren’t the ones who… you know. You won't find anything from them.”

“Did you have sex tonight, Keith?”

He nodded. “I blew one guy but it was still early when the cops raided the place so we hadn’t had many ‘clients’ yet.” Keith used air quotes when he said the word, showing his disdain for the term and the people it applied to.

Cynthia nodded. First, she asked him to stand and strip. She photographed his side, still bruised from the broken rib, and a mark on his arm from the cattle prod. She photographed the brand they had burned into his hip. Then she gave him a paper gown. She swabbed the inside of his mouth for evidence and stored the swab in a plastic tube.

“Keith, I know this will be uncomfortable, but I need you to tell me about your sexual history and your assault. Can you do that?”

Keith scoffed. “Assaults,” he corrected. “I don't know how many. I wasn't counting.”

She nodded. “Okay. Tell me everything you can. First, tell me your sexual history prior to the kidnapping.”

Keith looked over at Shiro. He was conflicted. He really didn't want Shiro to hear this, but he had insisted Shiro come with him and he still wanted Shiro there. Keith took a deep breath and started.

“Well, in high school if I was low on cash, sometimes I would give blowjobs for money.” He saw Shiro tense up out of the corner of his eye. “At first, it was just guys from school, but later I would go behind the gas station on Seventh and pick up strangers. It’s a popular spot for that. I was still doing that.”

“Okay, go on,” she said, writing everything down. Her tone held no judgment, hardly any emotion at all except that same compassion that rankled Keith.

“Leo Jin picked me up there one day and said I could make more money working for him. I didn’t want to, but he said that was his turf. I did make more money, at first, but he started taking more and more out of what I made. And he was really pushing me to be at the house all the time and he wanted me to do… other things. I didn't want to and I guess that made him mad. I told him I was done and I left.

“The first time I was… raped,” the word burned in his throat, “was the day after they kidnapped me. I had blown plenty of guys before but that was all. I never… I never did anal. Well, they sold that experience to the highest bidder. His name was Drake Krol, I think he’s some kind of businessman. I tried to tell him what was happening but he said he didn't care. He really seemed to like me fighting him. He did it three times that night, and also once in my mouth.”

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder, comforting and supporting him. Keith told Cynthia about all the other times too, about every man who paid money to rape him. He was confident most of them knew what the situation was, but there may have been a few who didn't, like Alex. Keith just didn't think Alex was cunning enough to suspect anything.

“Oh, also, they were definitely dosing me with something. I don't know what but it made me foggy and lethargic. I stopped eating for a few days and I started feeling better but they force fed me and would use the cattle prod if I refused meals.”

“Thank you, Keith,” she said when he finished. “We’ll run a blood test for what they drugged you with. Now, I need to check you for sexually transmitted infections. Some can take several weeks to incubate, so you will need to get tested again in three months. First, I'm going to take blood.” She tied a band around his upper arm and had him clench his fist so she could find a vein. Once she found it, she poked in the needle and drew blood. Keith looked away. He didn't like needles.

When she finished, she put a cotton swab on the prick and wrapped his arm with that weird rough medical tape. “Okay,” she said. “Next I need to swab your genitals. Please lie down and pull the gown up.”

Keith did so, scooting to the edge so his ass was hanging off it. It felt demeaning, humiliating. She pulled out stirrups from the bed for him to put his feet on. Shiro stood right next to him, looking between his face and the wall, studiously avoiding looking at his groin. Shiro was such an innocent person, Keith almost laughed.

He felt a cotton swab on his ass and he flinched. That felt unnatural, and he really didn't want anyone back there, thank you very much. But he knew it was necessary, so he didn't fight it. But fuck, he hated it.

“Keith, next I have to swab your penis. This is going to hurt. Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ve had worse.”

No he fucking hadn’t.

She held his dick still and inserted the cotton swab into his urethra. Keith yelped a curse way too loudly. It was over in an instant but holy shit, it was awful. Keith would rather break another rib or get hit with the cattle prod again. There were tears in his eyes.

She patted his leg. “Sorry, Keith. You can sit up now. I'm going to get these tested, then I will be right back.”

Keith sat up gingerly. Shiro kept his hand on Keith’s elbow, supporting him. “That really fucking hurt,” he moaned.

“I'm so sorry, Keith. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s not your fault. It’s my own. I did it to myself.”

Shiro gripped both shoulders then and Keith startled. “No, it's not your fault, Keith.”

“But I —”

Shiro shook his head. “No. You were kidnapped. That's not your fault. Anything you did before that doesn't make it your fault. You didn't deserve this.”

Keith disagreed, but he could see fighting Shiro on that would be useless right now. He looked away.

Nurse Cynthia came back a few minutes later, carrying a pile of clothes. “Okay, Keith, we have some news. You have contracted gonorrhea, so I will write you a prescription to treat it. Just take this to the pharmacy. It’s just one dose and it’ll clear that right up. I also wrote you a prescription for Hydrocodone for the pain in your broken rib. We will have to bag the clothes you were wearing for evidence, but I brought you some sweats to wear. Do you have any questions?”

Keith took the prescription paper she gave him and shook his head. “No, I'm fine.”

“Good. Keith, thank you for being so brave today. You did great.”

Keith, uncomfortable, scratched his arm distractedly. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, Keith. I do need you to come back in two weeks to evaluate your progress and your broken rib. You can make an appointment at reception.”

She left. Keith stood up and got dressed into the sweatpants and sweatshirt she had delivered. They were a little loose but it would have to do. He pulled on a pair of socks and stepped into the cheap slippers she’d brought, crossed his arms, and said, “Well, I guess I'm ready.” They left the exam room and Keith shuffled behind Shiro to the reception desk. It was hard to walk in the slippers.

They made an appointment with reception for Keith to come back in two weeks. Detective Coran came over to them and said, “Keith, you can go home tonight and rest. Please come to the police station tomorrow and we can talk about everything. Okay? Shiro has my number. You can call me directly. I’ll be there tomorrow from nine until six.”

Keith nodded. “Okay. I’ll come by.”

“I left my car at the police station,” Shiro said after Detective Coran walked off. “So we’ll have to get a Lyft over there.”

“Okay,” Keith agreed, shrugging. Shiro sent out a request on his app. They sat on a bench outside and waited. Several awkward, silent moments went by before Keith spoke. “Hey, Shiro…”

“Yeah?”

“I… I don't want to go back to my dorm right now.”

“Do you want to stay at my apartment for the night?” he offered. Keith nodded, looking at the ground. “Okay, absolutely. I can make up the guest bed. We should go to your dorm and get you a change of clothes, though, right?”

“No. It’s the middle of the night.” The police raid had taken a long time, as had the exam, and it was late by the time they finished. “If Lance wakes up, he’ll have a million questions and I really can't talk to him about this. I just can't.”

“Okay, no problem. No problem. We’ll deal with it later.”

The Lyft arrived and they climbed into the back seat, buckled up, and rode to the police station. The driver tried to make conversation; Keith let Shiro handle it.

“You guys sure are out late,” he said genially. “And at the hospital. Is everything okay?”

“It was nothing,” Shiro deflected. “How did you get into driving?”

They chatted about nothing while Keith looked out the window. They arrived a few minutes later. Shiro thanked the driver and they got out. Shiro’s car was there, parked in front of the police station, familiar. They transferred vehicles and Shiro drove quietly. Keith would normally have picked some music on his phone, but he didn't tonight. He just let them drive in silence.

“We’ll have to go to the pharmacy tomorrow. Everything is closed already. Are you hungry?” Shiro asked. “We can stop and get something.”

Keith’s stomach rumbled. “Huh, I guess so,” he said, attempting to joke but it fell flat. “Can we just do a drive through? I don't really want to sit in a restaurant right now.”

“Sure, how about Wendy’s? I think that's the only place open right now.”

Keith nodded and there they went. Keith was hungrier than he realized, the smell of food when they pulled up making him dizzy. Even on the days he wasn’t refusing food, he hadn’t had any big meals. Shiro just got fries and a drink; Keith would bet he wasn't hungry but just got food so Keith wouldn't feel awkward.

They got back to Shiro’s apartment and went inside. Keith had already eaten all of his fries by the time they arrived. Shiro turned on all the lights and they sat at the kitchen table to eat. Keith inhaled his double cheeseburger, and afterward he kind of regretted it because he was definitely too full and uncomfortable now. “Oof, I ate too fast,” he complained.

Shiro just looked at him fondly. “I’ll go make up the guest bed. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Um, thank you, Shiro. For everything.”

“Of course, Keith.”

“You're always saving me, you know.”

“You saved yourself, Keith. You got a message out to me. We wouldn't have found you otherwise.”

Keith shrugged. “Still. Thank you.”

Keith showered, finally, after everything he’d been through. He took his time, luxuriating in the hot water. At the brothel, it’d been in and out, barely enough time to soap up, but now he could take as much time as he wanted.

When he finally got out, the water had gone cold. He changed into some of Shiro’s clothes, then went to the guest bedroom. Shiro asked him again if he needed anything. “No, really, Shiro, I'm fine.”

“Okay. If you need anything, come get me. Please.” Shiro left and turned out the light.

Keith slept… a little. It was fitful and intermittent, but he was pretty sure he got at least an hour.

Chapter Text

Keith didn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to disturb Shiro, so he stayed in bed until he heard movement in the kitchen. When he came out of the guest room, Shiro was getting out a pan and some eggs. “Good morning,” he said, wearing a tentative smile, when Keith appeared. “Did you sleep well?”

Keith shrugged. “Let me cook breakfast,” he said.

“No, it's fine, I can do it,” Shiro protested. They both knew Shiro was a novice cook, and that was being generous. Sure, Keith knew he could handle eggs, but it would taste better if Keith did it. Shiro usually overcooked his eggs, and most everything else.

Keith gave him a look. “You let me stay here last night, at least let me make breakfast.”

“Keith, you know I don't mind —”

“It’ll give me something to do, come on.”

Shiro relented and started the coffee machine. It seemed like he was being overly careful with Keith and Keith wasn't sure how to feel about it. If Shiro was pitying him, Keith would have to kill him. Keith didn't need anyone’s pity, not even Shiro’s. But Shiro had always been good at not pitying Keith, instead trying to understand him and let him grow on his own, so Keith tamped down his anger for the moment.

Keith moved into Shiro’s space, taking the eggs, and Shiro backed off. Keith grabbed a bowl and cracked each egg into it, then used a pair of chopsticks to whisk them. “Do you have any milk?” he asked.

“Sure.” He fetched it from the fridge and handed it over. Keith poured a little into the bowl and whisked it along with the eggs. By this point, the pan was hot so Keith poured it all in.

As the eggs cooked, Keith watched and stirred while Shiro hovered. Keith added cheese and stirred, and Shiro continued to hover. Finally, Keith said, “If you have something to say, just say it. You better not be pitying me.”

“No, Keith, I —” he stuttered. Shiro stopped and took a deep breath, then started again. “Keith. I promise I'm not pitying you. But I'm worried. I know you’ve said in the past you don't want to go to therapy, but I think it would be a really good idea now. After everything you went through, I think it would be a good idea to talk it out.”

“I just don't see why I need to tell some stranger my business,” Keith said, repeating their old argument. “No one wants to hear about that shit.”

“I know, but I'm worried that you might develop… some bad habits. Or… PTSD.”

“Jeez, Shiro, it's not like I went to war.”

“People can develop PTSD for all kinds of things, Keith. Especially after what you went through. You were kidnapped and…”

“Yeah, and beaten and… well, and. I know. I was there, I know. I just… I’d rather forget the whole thing.”

“I doubt you’ll just forget this, Keith. Can you at least go to one therapy session and see how it goes?”

Keith finished cooking their scrambled eggs and portioned them onto two plates. He added salt and pepper on top and added a topping of shredded cheddar as well. He brought both plates to the table and sat down. “Fine,” he said, after a long silence. “I’ll go to one therapy appointment. That's all.”

“Thank you,” Shiro said, sighing with relief. He got coffee and orange juice for each of them and they ate quietly.

“I guess I should go to my dorm and get dressed, huh?” Keith said as Shiro washed the dishes.

“If you want to,” Shiro said. “You could borrow some of my clothes, if you’d rather do that.”

Keith thought about it, but Shiro was taller and broader than Keith, so the clothes wouldn't fit well. And anyway, Keith wanted to clean up before heading to the police station, and all his toiletries were in the dorm. “No,” he said. “It’s fine. I should probably let Lance know I'm alive.”

Shiro insisted on driving Keith and Keith only put up a little protest — actually, he was grateful for the ride. He knew the police had arrested Leo and all his goons in the house, but Leo probably had a lot more goons than that and Keith was — nervous. He wasn't afraid, he was just... nervous.

So Shiro dressed and then they headed out. They parked close to Keith’s dorm and walked the rest of the way. Keith resisted the urge to hold onto Shiro’s arm, but he did glance around them the whole way, eyeing every person who came close to them. When they got to the dorm entrance, Keith froze. “Shit. I don't have my ID card or my room key.”

“Well, I can swipe into the building,” Shiro said, “but I can’t get into your room. We can see if Lance is there, and if not, then we’ll just call campus safety to let you in.”

Shiro swiped them inside using his own ID card and they went up the stairs. Keith knocked on his dorm door and waited a moment. Fortunately, Lance was there and he opened the door only seconds later. Unfortunately, that meant Keith would have to talk to him.

“Keith!” he gasped. “Where were you? They said—”

“Yes, I was kidnapped. I'm back now. They took my keys and wallet and everything so I guess I’ll have to get new ones.” Keith kept his tone short, pushing past Lance into their room. “I'm going to take a long shower and then go to the police department.”

Shiro sat down at Keith’s desk. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I'm Keith’s chauffeur for the day.”

“Oh, uh, Shiro, right?” Lance asked. He sat down on his bed, looking bewildered.

“Yep, that's me.”

Keith stripped down and tossed Shiro’s too-big sweats into the bottom of his closet. He wrapped a towel around his waist, gathered his things, and went down the hall to the communal bathroom. Although he’d showered last night, he still didn’t feel clean. He took a long shower, scrubbing harshley over every inch of his skin until it was red and raw. He washed his hair twice. He wanted to get rid of every trace of that place, and he found it hard to stop scrubbing.

When he finally did manage to relent, he stepped out of the shower and dried off. He looked at himself in the mirror, at his red skin and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked at his hair and thought seriously about cutting it. He shook his head and left the bathroom.

When he got back into his room, Lance was reading on his bed, a huge textbook on his lap, and Shiro was still seated at Keith’s desk, playing on his phone. Keith got dressed in his second pair of jeans (since he had lost his first pair to Leo’s gang) and a long sleeved t-shirt. He pulled on his leather coat, very grateful he hadn’t been wearing it when he’d been taken. He had been wearing his favorite shoes though, his well worn combat boots, so he only had a pair of tennis shoes to wear now. It would have to do.

“Okay,” he said. “I'm ready.”

“Ready?” Lance asked, looking up. Keith suspected he hadn’t actually been reading. “Where are you going?”

Or, apparently, listening when Keith arrived.

“I have to go to the police station. I’ll be back later.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Lance said, scratching the back of his head. “When will you be back?”

Keith shrugged. “I have to give a statement or something.” He didn't have any phone, wallet, or keys to grab, so he just stood there while Shiro stood and pushed his desk chair back in.

“See you later, Lance,” Shiro said, friendly as always.

“Yeah, um, bye,” the other boy answered. Keith closed the door behind them and led the way out.

“You know, I bet the worst part about all of this will be everyone asking me what the fuck happened. Like, oh sure random stranger, let me just tell you about the worst experience of my life.”

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder. “You don't have to tell anyone anything. You can just say, maybe you took medical leave or something. Or you had a family emergency.”

Keith bobbled his head in a “maybe” gesture.

They drove to the police department and Keith spent the whole drive scratching his leg through his jeans. He was only distantly aware of it, but the sensation was calming somehow. They went inside and Shiro spoke to the receptionist.

“Good morning, Mrs. Woods. This is Keith Kogane. We are here to see Detective Coran.”

“Of course, Shiro,” she said, smiling. Keith shouldn’t be surprised that Shiro had made friends with all the officers while Keith was gone. “Go on back, he’s expecting you.”

Shiro led the way, winding back past rows of desks. They finally stopped at one in particular, and seated there was the man from the night before. Detective Coran with his red hair and goofy mustache. He looked tired too, which was to be expected after a night of busting sex traffickers, Keith supposed.

The detective stood when they arrived. “Shiro, Keith, it's good to see you. How are you holding up?”

They both looked at Keith and he shrugged. “I'm fine, I guess. Can we just get this over with?”

“Of course. Keith, you can follow me. We’ll do this in a conference room and give you a little privacy.” Keith followed after Coran, then glanced back and saw Shiro was still standing by the desk.

“Shiro? Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

“If you want me to.”

Keith nodded and Shiro followed them. As humiliating as it was to have to talk about all of this, he couldn't imagine doing it without Shiro. Shiro was his only tether right now to any kind of sanity. Without him, Keith worried he might just break down, and that would be infinitely worse.

They settled in a conference room. “Do you mind if I record this, Keith?” Coran asked.

“No, go ahead.”

Coran set up a recorder on the table between them. He pressed a button and said, “Okay, state your name, please.”

“Um, my name is Keith Kogane.”

“Thank you, Keith. Now, tell me everything that happened, please.”

“I was coming home from the library. It was around midnight. This was October fifth, I think? Or sixth? I was just outside my dorm when I got a funny feeling. I saw three big guys coming towards me, so I got out my knife and told them to back off. They didn't, obviously. They grabbed me and I just started slashing and stabbing. I got one guy good. His name was Joey. I never saw him after that night, so he might be dead, I'm not sure.”

Coran nodded, and wrote something down.

Keith went on, telling everything. He thought he would have forgotten a lot of it, but no, it was burned into his memory, sharp and painful. Shiro kept his hand on Keith’s shoulder the whole time, though, and that helped ground him. He told Coran about the cattle prod, about Leo, about how he first got involved with the man. Keith told him about the first time with Drake Krol and about how they were drugging him. He talked about all the subsequent — Keith couldn't say the word, so he said instances instead. He told Coran about tricking Alex so Keith could use his phone to get a message out.

When he was done, Keith slumped down in his chair; hard plastic, uncomfortable. “And then you guys raided the place,” he finished.

“Thank you for telling me all that, Keith,” Coran said. “The text message was very resourceful of you. Even with everything going on, you managed to survive and even get a message out to us. You did amazing.”

Keith shrugged. “Whatever. It wasn't like I had a choice.”

Coran reached into his wallet and pulled out a few business cards. “Here’s my business card, Keith, if you need to get in touch with me. And this is the card for a therapist. She’s incredible. I really recommend you talk to her about everything you went through. I'm sure she can help you make sense of it all.”

Keith shoved both cards into his front jeans pocket. “I mean, it's my fault in the first place,” he mumbled. He felt Shiro bristle beside him, but before he could say anything, Coran did.

“None of this is your fault, Keith. You had no way to know this would happen. If you testify, Leo Jin will go to jail for a long time.”

“Oh. I didn't even think of that. I’ll have to testify?”

“Well, I can't make you, but without your testimony, it will be hard to keep Jin on anything and we may have to release him.”

Well, Keith definitely didn't want that. He was sure Leo would get revenge on him if he were free. “No, I’ll do it. If I have to testify to keep him in jail, then so be it.”

“Okay. We can talk more about that another time. For now, why don't you go get some lunch? I'm sure you're hungry. And call Dr. Altea, she’ll really help you.” He turned off the recorder and packed it away.

“Hey, what happened with everyone else?” Keith asked.

“Well, for now we’ve put them up in a motel and we are working with social workers to help them get back on their feet. We are also working on tracking down their families.”

Keith nodded. That was good. “Detective Coran, did you recover any of my stuff from the house? Like my wallet or keys or backpack?”

“Oh, yes! I almost forgot. Come with me.”

The three men left the conference room and went to the elevator. They went down two floors to the evidence lock up. “We did find your backpack, phone, and wallet, apparently untouched. I'm not sure if we found your keys, though. There were several key rings there. Take a look at these and let me know if you recognize any of them.”

There were indeed several sets of keys in the plastic bin. Keith pushed them around, looking for his: two gold colored keys, standardized and impersonal. He had no car key or other keys, nothing with personality, so it was just his dorm key and his mailbox key on a small red carabiner, and a grocery store rewards card.

And there it was, a minor miracle. He snatched it up and said, “Yes!” Now he wouldn't have to pay the school to get a replacement.

Keith inspected his backpack. His laptop and school books were still there, another miracle. Had they just not bothered to go through his bag? Had they planned to do so but never got around to it? Keith couldn't believe his laptop was still there. He knew he couldn’t afford to get a new one, so this was very good news. Keith put his wallet and keys into one pocket, his cell phone in the other, and pulled on his backpack. “Can I have my knife back?” he asked.

“I'm sorry, no. It’s still part of evidence and we will need it for the trial.”

“Oh. My shoes, too?” Coran nodded with a sorry face. “Okay. Well, that's it, I guess. Um, thank you.”

“Of course,” Detective Coran responded. “I’ll keep in touch about the trial.”

Shiro and Keith left the police station. “So, I’ve been keeping in touch with your teachers,” Shiro said, out of nowhere.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It sounds like you can do a few make-up assignments and catch up… or you can take the rest of the semester off to get readjusted.”

“No, no way. I don't want to fall behind,” Keith insisted.

“I know, but considering everything… maybe it would be a good idea to take a break.”

Keith shook his head. “No. I think it would just make me feel worse.”

Shiro nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “Okay. Whatever you think is best, I’ll support you.”

Shiro drove them to Keith’s dorm, right up to the door, where he idled and watched as Keith went inside. Keith went upstairs to his room and dropped off his stuff. Lance was out, so he had some peace. He plugged in his computer and unpacked his backpack. When his computer had enough charge to turn on, he opened up his school email and sent out a new message. He started with the usual pleasantries, but cut to the chase pretty quickly:

As you may know, I was recently kidnapped. I'm back and ready to return to classes. Please let me know what I can do to catch up on classwork. I hope this won't negatively affect my grades.

Thank you for your assistance,
Keith Kogane

He sent it to all his professors, including Shiro because this was an official school matter and he wanted to handle it professionally. Then he went through his syllabi, trying to figure out what he had missed over the last two or so weeks.

It was a lot. Of course it was, he shouldn’t have expected anything else. He pulled out his books and got started.

He was distracted, though. He had promised Shiro he would go to therapy, just one appointment, and he intended to keep his promise, even though he thought it was stupid. Today was Sunday, so he would have to call the therapist’s office tomorrow to make an appointment. He could go out and get a new knife then, too. He definitely wanted a new knife. He couldn't imagine living his life without a knife in his pocket, especially now, after everything that had happened.

Lance came back pretty soon. “Hey, Keith,” he said, voice cautious, like he thought Keith might bolt. “Um, how’d it go at the police station?”

Keith shrugged. “It was fine, I guess. It took a while. They wanted to know every little detail. And I guess I’ll have to testify, but it’ll take a while to get ready for trial, so that's a ways off, I guess. Whatever, it's over for now. I just want to get back to classes.”

“Whoa, really?” Lance sounded flabbergasted. “But, dude, you were kidnapped!”

“Yeah, I'm well aware of that,” Keith said, voice dripping with disdain. “I just want to move on.”

“Oh. Um, by the way, you should probably know…”

Lance hesitated for a long moment.

“Yeah?” Keith finally prompted.

“Well, there were reporters asking about you. And you were on the news.”

Keith’s heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they covered your disappearance, you know? And they covered the police raid. They’ve been asking me all about you, and everyone else they can pin down. You're all anyone has been talking about, dude.”

“Fuck,” Keith hissed. So much for keeping it quiet. He supposed he should have known better. Reporters loved a juicy story, and what was juicier than sex trafficking? His private life was over. He would forever be known as that poor little sex slave. He really didn't want to do any interviews. He would have to avoid the press somehow.

Keith anticipated that he would be spending a lot of time locked in his dorm room.

Keith spent the next hour Googling himself and reading every article about his disappearance. Only the local news covered his kidnapping initially, but the raid was covered even by national news. Keith was angry. He was angry that people couldn't leave well enough alone, that they would announce his business to the whole country. He kept up a steady stream of expletives running through his mind as he read each article.

The local news had written several articles on him, at every stage of his disappearance, apparently.

October 6, 9 a.m. — A local Garrison University student, whose name has been withheld due to being a minor, has gone missing. One witness claims he saw the boy kidnapped outside their dorm building last night around midnight. The witness says he saw three men take the student and drive off in a black SUV.

Police are actively working the case, but have not announced any leads. “We are going over all of the evidence right now. We will announce developments as they happen,” says lead detective Coran Smythe.

The student has no known relatives, but police are in touch with his friends and classmates. The University is cooperating with the police fully.

Then another, from a few days ago:

October 18, 3:12 p.m. — Police have announced they are making progress on the disappearance of a local Garrison University student. Lead Detective Coran Smythe said in a statement this afternoon, “We have a new lead that we are investigating now. It looks very promising, we are very excited.”

Police wouldn't disclose the nature of their lead.

And finally, one from early this morning:

October 22, 7:15 am — Late last night, police raided a house at 597 State St in connection with the disappearance of a seventeen year old Garrison University student who was abducted earlier this month. The student and others were freed, apparently from a human trafficking unit in town.

Police issued the following statement: “The Garrison student was one of many trafficked persons we pulled out of the house last night. We are currently working with all the victims to gather statements and arrange for housing and other needs. We are also reaching out to families. As for the men who ran the house, they are facing charges of kidnapping, human trafficking, illegal sex work, and child sex abuse. I'm sure everyone would appreciate discretion during this difficult time.”

There was a photo to go along with it. Right in the center was Keith, latched onto Shiro like he was weathering a hurricane and Shiro was the only stable point in the storm. Both of their faces were blurred out, but his skinny body, bruised, battered, and dressed like a whore, was clearly visible. Around them were police and the others from the house — Rafaela, Mackenzie, Rick, and others. Their faces were blurred too, but he could pick them out easily. Keith looked horrendous, they all did. He was pale in the bright lights of the camera flash, and he looked small curled up against Shiro’s broad chest as he was.

Keith hated it. He hated every article and especially that fucking photo.

Keith slammed his laptop shut. “Lance,” he snapped, “let’s go to dinner.”

Chapter Text

“Lance,” Keith snapped, “let’s go to dinner.”

Keith had been reading the news coverage of his disappearance and he was incensed.

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” Lance agreed. He must have seen the anger in Keith’s eyes, heard it in his voice, and decided it was in his best interest to agree. They left the dorm quickly. Even at six o’clock, it was already getting dark, and it put Keith on edge. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad he wasn't alone.

As they walked across campus, Lance texted his friends Hunk and Pidge to join them for dinner. When they arrived at the dining hall, Keith kept his head down and swiped in, went straight to the pizza station and loaded up. He was so, so hungry. He was confident he’d lost weight while he’d been in that house, weight that he really couldn't afford to lose. Now that he was out, he was going to eat everything he could get his hands on and he dared anyone to try and stop him.

Lance’s friends were only a few minutes behind them. Lance laid claim to a booth against one wall. Keith sat on the outside seat of the booth; everyone would just have to go further into the booth and let him have the outside. Keith needed the space.

When everyone had their food and was seated, Keith could feel the awkward air around them. Everyone was looking at him, just waiting for someone to be the first to ask. Keith decided to set them all straight.

“We aren't talking about it,” he said, tone brooking no argument. “If you just can't stand it, you can leave.” He ate half a slice of pizza in one go, his cheeks bulging as he chewed.

Lance chuckled uncomfortably and asked Hunk how his paper was going. Around him, everyone found unrelated topics of conversation and they left him alone, which was absolutely perfect. When Keith finished the pizza, he went back for a salad. His meals in the house were hardly balanced and he was craving a carrot like never before.

He wolfed down the salad like he had never had a vegetable in his life. When he was done, he felt almost painfully full, sat there amongst Lance and his friends, near strangers to Keith. He really didn't want to be alone, though, so he was stuck with strangers he couldn't care less about.

Soon enough, Keith was done with his dinner, and the others seemed to be close as well, but that also didn't seem to matter. They were socializing and Keith had a horrible inkling that they would be there for a while. He could go back to his dorm by himself and let Lance talk to his friends, but that sort of defeated the purpose of coming out to dinner with him in the first place.

Keith really didn't want to walk outside alone, especially in the dark. It made him feel scared, and the fear made him feel weak, like he couldn't take care of himself. Most of Keith’s personality centered around being independent, being on his own, and taking care of himself. The idea of needing someone — anyone — was scary for him. It was unfamiliar and he didn't like it. Keith had never needed someone before, not even Shiro — or so he told himself.

Still, Keith didn't want to go out by himself, and so he stayed put. He really wished he had a book with him at that moment, or a smartphone so he could get on the internet or something, but all he had was a shitty flip phone. He sat on the edge of the booth, fidgeting, bouncing his leg anxiously.

Finally, Lance glanced over at him and paused for a moment. He must have seen something in Keith’s face, maybe he looked flighty, because Lance started to gather his dishes and extricate himself. “I'm going to head back for the night.”

“Boo!” hollered Pidge, throwing a fry at Lance.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Keith jumped up like his ass was on fire and followed Lance to the dishes drop off. “I assume you're ready to go,” Lance commented, voice quiet for only Keith to hear.

“Um. Yeah, I am. Thank you.”

“Honestly, you looked like you were about to have an aneurism,” Lance joked.

Keith huffed a laugh, the closest thing to humor that he could muster in that moment. “Yeah, well… that makes sense.”

They stepped outside into the cool night air and Keith maybe walked a little too close to Lance, but it was fine. He was fine.

They got back to their dorm in short order and Keith hung up his jacket, slipped out of his tennis shoes, and sat down at his desk. He opened his laptop and checked his email. Shiro was the only professor to have responded so far:

Keith,
I can make a test for you to take, if you want to do that. Or you can write a paper. Your choice.

Then, below that, was his formal signature with his actual name and qualifications. It was always a little weird for Keith to see his full name, even after all these years. To Keith, he was just Shiro, nothing more or less.

Mr. Shirogane,
A test would be good. I’ll come in any time to take it. Thanks.Keith

Keith hit send on the email and closed out the web page. He opened up YouTube and pulled up a playlist of lo fi music, plugged in his headphones, and pulled out his physics textbook. He looked at the syllabus to see what he had missed, and started reading those sections and doing every practice problem there was. Lucky for Keith, he liked vectors, they just made sense to him. He liked forces too. Honestly, Keith just liked physics overall.

After a while, his phone dinged with a text message. He didn't hear it through his headphones but he felt it vibrate in his pocket. He put his textbook down and pulled out his phone. Naturally, it was from Shiro.

Shiro: I just want to check in. How are you doing tonight?

Keith: I'm okay. I got dinner and now I'm studying for your test

Shiro: Did you go alone?

Keith: No I went with Lance and his friends

Shiro: Oh good
Shiro: Sorry, I know you like to be on your own, but I don't like the idea of you alone right now

Keith: Honestly neither do I. I just felt weird, like jittery

Shiro: It sounds like anxiety. Maybe something to talk to your therapist about

Keith: Ugh don't remind me. I can't believe you talked me into that

Shiro: I know but I think you’ll like it. Just give it a chance

Keith: I will. But only because you’ve been begging me for years

Shiro: 😀

Keith rolled his eyes and put his phone aside. It wasn’t so late, only a little after nine, but he was exhausted. Maybe he could just go to bed now, even though he normally didn't go to sleep so early — especially lately, when he had been kept up all night. It would be nice to sleep at night again.

So, with that in mind, he turned off his laptop, put away his textbook and papers, and went to get ready for bed.

When he returned, Lance was still playing on his computer, as he had been since they got back from dinner. “I'm going to go to bed,” Keith announced.

“Okay,” Lance answered. “You can turn off the light, if you want.”

Keith did, then got into bed.

He didn't sleep well that night, just like the night before. It wasn't just the glow from Lance’s computer. Even after Lance turned it off and went to bed, Keith was restless. He flipped over this way and that, unable to settle.

When he finally did fall asleep, it was awful. He had dreams, not good ones. Most of it was vague, faces of the men he had been with when he was abducted. He had a dream that Leo had climbed on top of him. He saw Drake Krol’s face over and over. He could even feel it.

He woke up in a sweat. Looking at his clock, it was just one in the morning. He was in for a long night.

Chapter Text

Keith’s brain was fried, whether from studying, malnutrition, or sleeplessness, he didn’t know. He moved to his bed and ended up dozing off. It wasn't deep sleep but it felt amazing after weeks of shoddy, interrupted sleep and then two nights of fitful, somehow worse sleep. He was really struggling. Hey, maybe Dr. Altea could prescribe him something to knock him out. That might be nice.

He really didn't want to talk about his feelings, though. Keith wished he could just take the drugs and be done with it all.

Keith woke with a frightened jerk when the door opened and Lance came into the room. Keith had automatically reached under his pillow for his knife, but it was still in his pocket, so his hand clenched around nothing. That was probably for the best. Keith sat up and looked at his clock. It was a little after five in the evening, so Shiro would be there soon to get him. Keith stood up, groggy and disoriented, and ran a hand over his face.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” Lance said, dropping his backpack on his bed.

“No, no, it's fine. I need to get up anyway. Shiro is picking me up in a few minutes.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When Keith didn’t say more, Lance pestered him until he gave his roommate more details. “He insists on making a big deal out of my birthday every year. It’s dumb but it makes him happy, so whatever, I guess.”

Lance spluttered, and when he spoke he sounded indignant. “Dude, wait, hold on. Is today your birthday?”

“Um, yeah?” Keith answered. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Happy birthday, man!” Lance was smiling. “How cool is it that the cops found you in time for your birthday?”

Keith looked at him in disbelief. “Really, Lance? Is that what you're happy about?”

“I mean… yeah? Aren’t you excited?”

“Well, first of all, birthdays suck. I stopped getting birthday parties when my dad died and I went into foster care. I had a lot of other things to worry about. When I met Shiro, he cared, but none of my foster parents or teachers or classmates ever did. It’s just any other day. Second, I wouldn't have known my birthday had passed anyway. It’s not like they gave us a fucking calendar in the whorehouse.”

Lance looked suitably ashamed and Keith almost felt bad. Almost. Okay, he did feel a little bad, but still, Lance was being an idiot.

“Um, yeah, that makes sense. I'm sorry. Happy birthday. Have fun.”

Keith sighed. “I’ll see you later.” He checked his pockets — phone, knife, wallet, keys, all present — then grabbed his coat and left the room. As he was heading down the stairs, his phone chimed and he checked it to see that Shiro had texted that he was there and waiting. Keith stepped outside and saw the Toyota idling on the curb. Solace. Keith jogged over and got inside.

“Hey, birthday boy,” Shiro greeted.

Keith groaned. “Oh, please tell me you aren't going to be like that all night.”

“I make no promises.” Shiro looked far too pleased with himself.

When they got to the grocery, Keith led the way around the store. He got all the ingredients he would need, including staples that he knew Shiro should have but didn’t. If Keith had his own place with a kitchen, he’d be fully stocked, but he had to rely on Shiro, who wouldn’t even know where to begin. It was cute how helpless he was in that area.

With a full shopping cart, they headed to the front, and checked out. Once they got back to Shiro’s apartment, Keith grabbed the apron out of the pantry and pulled it on over his head, tying the strings at his waist.

“Can I help you with anything?” Shiro asked.

“Yes, you can start chopping vegetables. Start with the shallots.” Shiro was a decent sous chef, good enough to cut the vegetables, anyway. If he could get the hang of timing, he wouldn't be a half bad cook, but he always overcooked everything.

Together, they made Thai beef soup, making the apartment smell aromatic, spicy, and delightful. Keith loved cooking. It made any place feel like a home. There was nothing better than a home scented with a good meal. And it was a good way for him to get out of his head. He could focus on something besides his problems, his constant simmering anger at the world and everyone in it, even his hopeless crush on Shiro. He never felt as calm as he did when he was cooking.

It took a while, but they did end up with a fragrant, good looking soup. Keith could already smell the spice; it tickled his nose and promised a good meal, and this was perfect for a cold day as the weather started to turn. “Okay, we’re all done. Time to eat,” Keith announced. Shiro grabbed two large bowls from the cabinet and Keith ladeled soup into both of them. Shiro carried both bowls to the small, beat up kitchen table while Keith got drinks and spoons. They sat together, gathering spoonfuls and blowing to cool them.

“This is really good, Keith,” Shiro said, with a tone of such pride that it made Keith squirm. “You're such an incredible cook. I wish I knew how you did it.”

Keith shrugged. “I don't know, it just makes sense.”

Shiro looked at him with a stupid smile and Keith’s heart ached. He had to avert his eyes and look down at his soup instead. This situation was untenable. Keith couldn't just bury his feelings forever. One day, he was going to burst and tell Shiro everything and Shiro would reject him and it would ruin everything they had. Keith had told himself for years to get over this crush, it would never last, but it kept burning, every single day since they had first met. Everything in Keith’s life was Shiro.

Until recently. Now his life was Shiro and sex trafficking. Keith would have to get over that too, at some point. Maybe not right this minute, but he had to sleep sometime. Maybe he could try melatonin pills. He had a brief thought about illicit drugs, but he’d seen where his irresponsible sex work had led and thought better of it.

After dinner, they sat on the couch and played Super Smash Bros, at Shiro’s insistence. “It’s your birthday, Keith, you should relax a little.”

“I have class tomorrow, and make up assignments to do,” Keith countered.

“Just an hour.”

“Fine,” Keith said, dragging out the word like a bratty kid. It made Shiro laugh. So they played, and at nine o’clock, Keith cut them off, insisting that he had to go home and study before bed.

“Okay, okay,” Shiro agreed. “I’ll drive you back.”

Before, Keith would have fought him on it. Now, he just nodded in agreement.

Keith had another fitful night. When he slept, he had nightmares. When he woke, it was with a jolt and a deep sense of fear.

Tuesday was hard for Keith. There were reporters all over campus and he almost went back inside, class be damned. They didn’t know precisely who they were looking for, but it was only a matter of time before someone blabbed. But he really wanted to get back to normal, so he ducked his head and tried to walk quickly and sneak past them.

The reporters spotted him, though. One man asked (practically yelled at) him, “Hey, you there! Do you know the kid who was taken?”

“Do you want to be on TV?” another asked, running up to him. “Just tell us a little information. Just a name.”

“Get away from me,” Keith snapped, pushing at them. Fucking vultures. “I don't have anything to say.”

He had to literally run away from them. What a way to start his day.

He had Spanish first and, having not slept again, he was having trouble paying attention. And the two week absence had messed up his ability to hear and translate in real time. Profesora Rivera wasn't completely mean, but she kept giving him annoyed looks. It wasn't like Keith meant to be absent. It was pretty far out of his control, he thought bitterly as the woman frowned down at him again.

When he went to his next class, Professor Blankenship was almost too kind. He talked with Keith before class started.

“Keith, how are you holding up? Are you seeing someone?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, I have an appointment,” Keith admitted, caught off guard.

“Good, that's good. Just keep me updated with what you need. If you need to take time off, that's okay too.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just want to get back to class. What can I do to catch up?” Keith pressed.

“I have a quiz for you. Can you stay late after class? It should only take ten minutes.”

“I have another class right after this but I can come in early on Thursday.”

“Sure, that’ll be fine.” Other students started to file in and take their seats. “Go have a seat. You're doing great, Keith.”

“Um, thanks,” he said as he turned and went to a desk off to the side, away from most of the other students.

In his history class, Professor Nejem didn't acknowledge what had happened, which Keith actually appreciated. He just told Keith to come in during office hours for his make up test and that he could take his midterm a week late. He was direct and no nonsense and Keith loved it. Why couldn't more people be like that? Keith was of the opinion that everyone should just be more upfront. He didn't like games and subterfuge; it was a waste of time, and confusing as hell.

After his classes finished, Keith went to the dining hall and ate an early dinner, then went to the library to work his shift. He realized he had actually forgotten to email the head librarian about his return. Oops. So when he walked into the employee room and saw Ellen, she looked pretty stunned.

“Keith! What are you doing here?”

“I have a shift. I mean, don’t I?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But are you coming back to school? I kind of thought you might just take the rest of the semester off.”

“No, I just want to get back to normal.” It had only been three days and he must have said some variation of that line fifty times by now. “Sorry, I meant to email you, but I guess I forgot.”

“Okay… if you're sure. I’ll tell Amanda she can go home.” Ellen left the room and Keith clocked in. He went to the front desk and got out his history book, reading through it and taking notes. He was more worried about this than his English make-up exam. He was good at reading and analysis, so he was pretty confident he could get through those texts without any trouble.

He spent most of his shift studying and he got a good amount of work done. He was feeling better about his make-up quiz, at least. He still had to go over the last few weeks to review for his midterms in all his classes, though. Midterms were supposed to be this week, but all his teachers had agreed to give him an extra week to catch up, thankfully. Keith didn't like getting extensions or special treatment, but in this case he would just have to accept it.

The rest of the week passed in much the same fashion. Keith went to class, he had lunch with Shiro, they texted constantly because Shiro was nothing if not a mother hen, and he didn't sleep. By Friday, he knew he looked like a wreck. He had thought he might settle in after a few days and start sleeping again, but no such luck. He would have to try melatonin after all, he supposed.

On Friday, he went to physics as usual. After class, he went up to Shiro’s desk as he always did. “I can't get lunch today. Or, not until later,” he said.

“That's okay,” Shiro answered, but he looked pensieve. He stared at Keith for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure you're okay? Are you sleeping?”

Keith shrugged. “I'm fine. I’ll get some melatonin and that’ll help.”

Shiro didn't look mollified, but he let the issue drop. “You have your appointment today, right?”

“Yeah, at eleven thirty, so I need to get going.”

“Okay, I’ll drive you.”

“It’s not far, I can walk.”

“Keith. Please,” he implored.

Keith sighed. He really would prefer a ride anyway. “Okay, fine.”

They left the classroom and went to the faculty lot where Shiro was parked. Keith typed the address into the maps app on Shiro’s phone and they were at the office in five minutes.

“Keith, remember to be honest,” Shiro said, looking at him pointedly. “And open. You can do this, you're so strong.”

Keith just nodded; he didn't know how to respond to that. He got out of the car and went inside.

At the reception desk, he gave his name and they gave him a clipboard with paperwork. A few minutes after he had returned it, a woman came into the lobby and called his name. She was pretty, with warm brown skin and white, wavy hair that fell past her shoulders.

“Keith, come on back,” she said in a soft, pretty English accent. They went back into a private office and she sat down in the armchair next to her desk. Keith sat down on the small couch across from her. “Keith, my name is Allura. How are you doing today?”

“I'm fine.”

She waited a moment to see if he would say more, but when he didn't she spoke again. “I understand you got my name from Detective Coran, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you tell me about that? You don't need to go into detail right now — unless you want to — but just give me some idea of what happened. Can you do that?”

Keith shrugged. “I guess. I was doing sex work and this guy… I guess you could say he’s a pimp… he wanted more out of me than I wanted to do. So I quit and he kidnapped me.”

“That must have been scary.”

“I wouldn't say scary exactly.”

“Okay, what would you say?”

“Hm.” He thought for a moment. “Bullshit. Infuriating, I guess. I was really angry.”

Allura nodded. “Of course. How long were you there?”

“Two weeks. Well, sixteen days.”

“And how are you doing now? Are you still angry, or are you feeling something different?”

“I'm definitely still angry. But at the same time, I just have to move past it. Being angry won't solve anything. I need to focus on school. I don't have time to be upset over this. I already missed enough school when they were holding me prisoner or whatever.”

“How are you sleeping?” she asked.

Keith shrugged. “Not at all, basically. I'm going to get some melatonin pills and see if that helps.”

“Are you having nightmares?”

Keith hesitated. He really, really didn't want to tell her this. But Shiro’s voice in the back of his head was telling him to be honest, open up. Keith huffed. “Yeah.”

“Have you noticed anything else? Has anything changed since you got back?”

Keith thought about it. “I'm jumpy. I don't like being alone. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Shiro — well, more than usual.”

“Who is Shiro?”

“He’s a friend but he’s… more than that. We met through Big Brothers, Big Sisters when I was, like, twelve. He’s the only person who’s stuck around.”

“What do you mean?”

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “Well, okay, um. My dad died when I was nine and my mom left us when I was a baby. I didn't have any other family so I went into foster care — which fucking sucks, by the way.”

“So Shiro was the only person who was steady for you, who was a constant thing.”

“Yeah, basically.”

Allura nodded. Keith noticed she wasn't writing anything down. Weren’t therapists supposed to be constantly writing? Although, maybe this was better. Keith wouldn't have liked it if she was writing. What would she be writing? Would she be writing about how messed up he was? Yeah, this was probably better.

“Keith, can you tell me about growing up in foster care?”

“Pfft, sure. It was awful. Most foster parents couldn't give less of a shit about you. They take their government check and feed you but that's it. I ran away a few times. Before I met Shiro. Being homeless sucks too though and Shiro convinced me foster care was slightly better. You know, indoors and all.”

“So you spent some time homeless?”

“Sort of. Just a few days here and there before the cops got me and took me back.”

“How did your foster parents react to that?”

Keith thought back. “I was with Karen and Bernie at the time. They were assholes. Karen screamed at me and then they locked me in the closet for the night.”

“Did that make you angry?”

“Yeah. I cried all night. I hated them. And I was a little shit from then on.” Keith paused, then remembered something and smirked. “Shiro called it ‘acting out,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers.

Allura laughed a little. “Okay, acting out. What kinds of things did you do?”

Keith tucked one leg up underneath him. “I got really into knives, for one thing. I — will you report me for crimes?”

“Only if you're a present danger to yourself or others.” She recited it like she had said it a thousand times.

Keith didn’t trust her, so he talked around the details. Plausible deniability. “Okay, well I got my hands on some knives. And I got into fights. Mostly fist fights but I got into a few knife fights too.”

“And you were how old?”

“Eleven and twelve mostly. I got into fewer fights after I met Shiro. A few, but not nearly as many.”

Allura nodded. “Okay. So would you consider Shiro to be a good influence on you?”

Keith hummed. “Yeah. Objectively, yes, but it still kind of pisses me off sometimes. I feel like I need to be fighting and the main reason I don't get into fights anymore is because it would disappoint Shiro.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

“Well… I'm kind of in love with him, so yeah.”

Keith had a sudden flash of memory, then. He was standing outside Leo’s house in the cold night air, scantily clad, clutching onto Shiro for dear life.

“I love you, Shiro, I love you so much. I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing you again. I would have died. I had to get out so I could see you again, at least.”

“It’s okay, Keith. I'm here. You're safe.”

Keith gasped and smacked a hand over his mouth. “Oh, shit,” he breathed.

“Keith? What happened, what's wrong?” Allura said, leaning forward in her seat.

“I just… I just remembered. The night they got me out, I told Shiro… I told Shiro that I loved him. Fuck, I can't believe I said that!”

“And what did Shiro do?”

“He just said it was okay. I was holding onto him so tight, oh jeez. He must think I'm such a little bitch!”

Allura said, “Keith, please look at me.”

She sounded so authoritative when she spoke that Keith couldn't help but look up. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“Keith, take a deep breath for me, in, two, three, four. Hold, two, three. Out, two, three, four. Very good. Let’s do that again.” She talked him through breathing and Keith recognized this from a few times when Shiro had done the same thing. She’s doing what Shiro does, he thought, and he felt his heart rate slow down.

After a minute or two, Keith was breathing normally again and his vision was no longer swimming with tears. “Do you feel a little better?” Allura asked. Keith nodded. “Okay, do you want to talk about what you said to Shiro?”

Keith shrugged.

“We don't have to, but I think it might be a good idea. Can I say something?”

Keith nodded again. He felt kind of out of it, a little fuzzy. He had felt this way a few times, like everything was far away. It was kind of nice. Nicer than the alternative of everything being too real, at least.

“I think it's great that you told Shiro how you feel, but it seems like you weren’t in the best state of mind at the time. I think Shiro knew that and he was trying to comfort you. Maybe you could tell him again when you're feeling calm and there is no danger. Or maybe you will decide not to tell him. That's fine too. It seems like Shiro is still around, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith croaked out.

“Has he mentioned what you said?”

“No. He hasn’t said a word about that night. He just keeps asking if I'm okay.”

“That's good. I think you will be okay, Keith. I think it's okay for you to wait on talking to Shiro about this. You can wait until you're ready. It sounds like Shiro is not going to press the issue. I think he just wants to make sure you're safe.”

Keith nodded, deep in thought.

“Okay, Keith, we’re just about out of time. I would like to see you again. Would you be okay with that?” Allura asked. Her voice was still calm and soft, soothing.

“I guess so. I promised Shiro I would give therapy a shot, so…” Keith shrugged.

“Okay, good. You can make an appointment for next week, if that's okay. If you need more time, like two weeks or three, that's okay too. I'm glad I met you, Keith.”

“Um, yeah. Thank you.” Keith stood up and left the room. He stopped by the reception desk to make an appointment for the same time next week, and the week after that while he was at it. He wasn't sure he really liked this whole therapy thing — it left him feeling raw and tired — but he could always cancel. That was extremely comforting somehow.

Shiro had told him to text when he was done, but Keith didn't want to bother him, so he decided not to. Only, when he stepped out of the office building, Shiro’s car was right there, idling right in front of the door. Keith walked up to the car and got in.

“I didn't text you yet,” he pointed out.

“I know. I figured you probably wouldn't and I know therapy is usually an hour, so I just came back a little before that.”

“I would have texted you!”

“Would you have?” Shiro asked, looking at him with one raised eyebrow.

Keith looked away guiltily. Shiro laughed and pulled onto the street.

They were quiet for a moment, but Shiro had to ask. “How did it go?”

“Um, okay,” Keith hedged. He didn't want to tell Shiro about it, especially about what he had remembered and freaked out about. Allura said he could wait to bring that up (again) and wait he would. In fact, he’d prefer to never mention it again.

“Good. Do you think you’ll go back?”

“Well, I made another appointment for next week.”

Shiro smiled and he just looked so happy that Keith’s heart clenched. “That's great. I think this will really help you, Keith.”

“I mean, I still might cancel. Don't get so excited.”

“Okay, that's fine. Still, I'm proud of you for going.”

Keith groaned. He hated (loved) when Shiro got all parental. It made Keith’s heart clench in a different way, with an emotion he didn't get very often. It reminded him of his actual dad. Keith refused to miss the man, it wouldn't bring him back, but it was hard sometimes. Shiro was too kind and caring for someone like Keith. He didn't feel like he was worth Shiro’s time and attention.

Keith tried not to think about that right now, though. Any time he had hinted at that, Shiro had tried to tell him that he was absolutely worthy, that he was good and Shiro liked being around him. Keith found that hard to believe, but it was hard to resist too. He wanted it to be true, even if he didn't believe it.

They stopped by the pharmacy and Keith ran in and got melatonin. He insisted Shiro wait in the car. Afterwards, they went back to campus.

Shiro parked in the faculty lot again and they walked to the dining hall for lunch. They sat and ate and talked for a long time and Keith started to feel okay again. There was a lot in his head that wasn't okay, but somehow he felt okay in this moment. He could push all the other stuff to the back of his mind, if only for a little while.

Chapter Text

Since it was Friday night, Lance went to the frats to party with his friends. Keith stayed in; there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to trap himself in a small, overly crowded space with a bunch of handsy strangers. He had no one to go with anyway. He was sure Shiro didn't want to dance with a bunch of undergrads, and frankly, neither did Keith.

Keith studied for a while, then decided around ten that he was done for the night. He changed into a pair of soft shorts and a t-shirt for bed but he felt strangely exposed, almost like people were watching him, despite the empty room and closed blinds. It made him shiver, so he dug out some sweatpants and a sweatshirt instead. He was a little warm but much less on edge. This was better. He grabbed his laptop, got in bed, and put on a movie.

Keith put away his laptop after watching the movie and tried to go to sleep. He had bought melatonin, so he took a pill and lay down, curled up on his side, clutching his knife under his pillow as he so often did.

The melatonin helped, a little. Sort of. He fell asleep faster, but he still had nightmares and woke up frequently. He woke up when Lance stumbled in; the clock read two thirty seven. He was clearly trying to be quiet, and maybe someone else wouldn't have woken up, but Keith was who he was and he woke up to every little thing. It was how he had been for years and that wasn't going to suddenly change now.

By the time he got up the next morning, he was feeling angry and agitated. He just wanted to fucking sleep, was that so much to ask?

Lance was still asleep, so Keith quietly got out his laptop and started googling. He searched for “nightmares” first. Apparently causes could be late night snacks (Keith didn't eat after dinner so that wasn't it), certain medications (he wasn't on any), sleep deprivation (well the nightmares were causing him to lose sleep in the first place, was it a cycle? Or was it because his time in the house had messed up his circadian rhythm?), or anxiety, depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (maybe… maybe Shiro was right about that).

Keith had nightmares. He was anxious about night time and the dark, about crowds and being alone. He was jumpy. He had royally freaked out in Allura’s office yesterday. Maybe he really did develop some sort of issue.

Keith sighed. It was time to research PTSD.

An hour later, Keith was feeling supremely uncomfortable. He really might have this (so called) disorder. However, they also said you needed to have symptoms for one month to be diagnosed. All the articles recommended talking to a therapist and/or psychologist for treatment. There were also medication options so that was promising.

Keith sighed, long and tired. This was looking like it would be a much bigger issue than he wanted it to be.

Keith spent the weekend holed up in his room, for the most part. He did venture out for lunch with Lance, who was hungover (Keith was enjoying his pain). After lunch, Keith took the bus alone to the nearest liquor store, where he used his fake ID to buy a six pack of beer and a bottle of whiskey. He had to put them in his backpack and sneak them into the dorm. So that was his plan for the night: he drank two beers and watched a space documentary.

The alcohol and melatonin together got him to sleep pretty quickly but it didn’t last. He woke up at four in the morning and again at six. The second time, he gave up trying to sleep and got up. He might as well start reviewing Spanish for the make up test. He ate a granola bar, put on his headphones to listen to a lo fi playlist, and got to work.

By the time Lance got up, Keith was ready for a break. They went to lunch at the dining hall. Keith didn't sit with Lance and his friends, but he sat nearby and kind of worked on his history notes, but he wasn't paying a whole lot of attention. He kept an eye on Lance and stayed in the dining hall until his roommate seemed to be done socializing. Then they left together and went back to the dorm.

Keith tried to take a nap while Lance went to the library. He thought that having Lance out and having a quiet room would help, but it didn't. Nothing helped. He drank another couple of beers to quiet his mind, and he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Monday rolled around and Keith went back to class. He had drank a beer last night before bed and it helped, just a little. The bright point of his day was definitely seeing Shiro. After class, he took the make up quiz — it only took fifteen minutes — and then they went to lunch.

“I’ll have this graded for you by Wednesday’s class,” Shiro said as they walked to the dining hall. “And then you can take your exam Friday after class.”

“I have my, uh, doctor’s appointment,” Keith said. “Can we do it before class? Or in the afternoon?”

“The afternoon works,” Shiro said, smiling at him.

They ate lunch, then Shiro went to work in the library and Keith went there to study. He was feeling better about Spanish, though he was still a little concerned. He did a last review of his English too. He left after a little while, went to Blankenship’s office to take his make-up quiz. Blankenship, again, was too nice and it grated on Keith.

“Keith, thank you for coming in,” he said.

“Yeah, of course,” he responded. Of course he wanted to do the make-up work. He didn't want to fall behind.

“Are you up to taking the quiz today? Do you need more time?”

Keith sat down across from his desk. “Um, no. I think I'm good.”

“Okay, if you're sure,” Blankenship said. Keith had to literally bite his tongue to fight back a bratty retort. Yelling at his professor wouldn't improve his grade. Blankenship set him up with the make-up quiz, which Keith sped through as thoroughly but as quickly as he could.

The rest of the week went on and Friday rolled around. He took all his make-up quizzes and did fine. He would be taking his physics midterm later that afternoon, but his other midterms were scheduled for next week. Once he got those out of the way, then he would be all caught up and right back on track. He was looking forward to it. Maybe then people would forget about his absence and things would go back to normal.

The worst part of his week came on Friday: therapy. Again, Shiro drove him there after class and picked him up after, even though Keith told him not to bother. It didn't matter; Shiro wanted to know where he was all the time. He was texting Keith constantl y— where are you? Are you in class? Are you at the library? How long will you be out? Whenever Keith’s foster parents had hounded him like that, he had hated it and refused to respond most of the time. Even with Shiro, it was hard to put up with it, but he trusted Shiro enough that he could at least respond. It kind of made Keith happy to know Shiro was thinking about him, even if it was pretty annoying too.

“How was your week, Keith?” Allura asked after they settled into her office.

Keith shrugged. “It was okay. I took my make-up quizzes and I’ll be taking my midterms next week, so I’ve been studying a lot.”

“How have you been sleeping?”

Keith couldn't hold back a laugh. “Not.”

“Have you been having nightmares?”

Keith nodded. “Every night. I’ve been using melatonin and that gets me to sleep for a little while, at least, but…”

“But you're being interrupted by nightmares,” Allura finished. Keith nodded again.

“Keith, I want to change topics a little. Can you tell me about your dad?”

Keith shrugged. “A little. I was nine when he died so it's not like I remember everything or like I knew him that well.”

“That's okay. Talk to me about him. Did you like him?”

Keith smiled without noticing. “Yeah. He was cool. He was a firefighter, which is how he died. My mom left when I was a baby, so it was just me and him for my whole life.”

“Was it lonely?”

“No way. I loved hanging out with him. He usually worked nights, so he would take me to school in the morning after he got off his shift.”

They talked about his dad for a long time and it was nice for Keith. He didn't get to talk about his dad a lot. He didn't even think about him much; it was too painful, usually, and there was no point in lingering on it. But right now, Keith loved it. It was nice to think back to a time before his life went to absolute shit.

Keith’s midterms came and went and he got back to a regular schedule in his classes. He was no longer behind and people seemed to slowly forget that he had been absent at all, and why. (Except Blankenship, who watched him with a worried eye, like he was waiting for Keith to have a meltdown right there in class, which was infuriating.)

He kept going to therapy. They talked about his foster parents a lot. Sometimes they talked about his dad. Shiro came up every session; they talked about whatever they had done that week, even if it was only lunch after physics class, or dinner on a Saturday night.

Keith still wasn't sleeping. He was taking melatonin every night, and also having a drink or two. It started out as just a beer, but he quickly started taking a shot of whiskey every night instead. He told Allura about taking melatonin, but not the booze. He thought she would probably not approve of that. Even so, he was more comfortable with her, and more open, than he’d been a few weeks before.

In late November, as Keith was gearing up for finals, Allura dropped something on him. “Keith,” she said, “I want to talk about what happened to you. Not just the recent event, but the difficulties you have worked with throughout your life. Are you open to a diagnosis?”

Keith shrugged. He thought he knew where this was going and doubted he could put it off any longer.

“I believe you have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Do you know what that is?”

“Isn’t it like when a soldier comes back from a war zone and he freaks out during Fourth of July?”

“Yes and no. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a reaction to a traumatic event. It can be any traumatic event, like domestic abuse or even something like a car accident. Complex PTSD is when a person has experienced long term trauma, or multiple traumas over a period of time. This can be like living in a war zone, or it can be long term child abuse or something else like that. It comes from prolonged and repeated trauma.”

“Okay, so you think I'm traumatized? I'm not that weak.” Keith tried to keep the accusation out of his tone, but failed. He knew she was trying to help him but it still made him angry to think that she saw him as weak.

“I know you aren't weak, Keith. You're very, very strong, and so resilient. You have been through a lot of hard things — losing your dad, dealing with awful foster parents, and of course your recent kidnapping. It takes a lot of strength to go through all of that and you have found a way to keep moving forward. That's so impressive.”

Keith looked away, uncomfortable.

“I'm going to prescribe you an antidepressant, which will help with your nightmares and your anxiety. It can take a few weeks to kick in, so give it time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith said, still avoiding her gaze.

“Oh, and don't take it with alcohol,” she added. Keith looked up and saw Allura was looking at him pointedly.

She had asked him last week about alcohol. She must have known he was lying when he said he wasn't drinking. Damn it.

“Um, right. Got it,” he said, fidgeting.

Shiro, as always, was waiting when he got out. Keith climbed into the car and started jiggling his leg. Shiro was going to ask how it went and then Keith would have to make a decision: to tell him about his new diagnosis, or to hide it.

“How did it go?” Shiro asked, right on cue.

Keith thought about it for a moment. “Okay,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and just went for it. Lying to Shiro didn't turn out well for him, historically. “She wants me to start taking antidepressants.”

“Really? Are you… are you feeling depressed?” Shiro asked.

“She says it will help… with my nightmares and stuff. She said…”

When Keith didn't go on, Shiro prompted him. “She said?”

“She said I have Complex PTSD. It is like PTSD but over and over again or something.”

Shiro nodded. “Okay. How are you feeling about that?”

“Ugh, I don't even know. Like, I'm not weak, okay! I can handle myself! People suck and society is bullshit, but it's fine. It’s fine.”

“No one thinks you're weak, Keith. Least of all me.”

Keith looked at him, then looked away. Shiro just looked so fucking sincere.

“Keith,” he went on, “I'm serious. you're the strongest person I know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith said just to pacify him. Shiro let it go, but Keith knew this wouldn’t be the end of it.

“Let’s go get dinner, okay?” he said. A peace offering, a change of topic. Keith agreed.

Finals were awful. Keith hadn’t been to the pharmacy yet to pick up his antidepressants, so he was still dealing with the nightmares and being incapable of going out alone at night. Anyway, Allura had said they could take a while to work so he would probably still have these issues even with the medication at this point. He just had to deal with it.

He kept drinking. Lance had noticed but he’d not said a word. That was smart of him. Keith had been snapping at him a lot lately, so he may have been scared of further backlash. It wasn't like Keith meant to be mean to him, it just kept happening without him being aware until the words already left him. He had talked to Allura about this, actually.

“It’s not like I hate the guy,” he had told her. “I'm not doing it on purpose. I just can't stop myself. I haven’t felt this way since I was twelve or thirteen.”

“What way?” she had asked.

“Angry, out of control. I feel like I can't control myself.”

She had nodded then and they had talked about ways to stop himself before he reacted. He just needed to stop and breathe slowly for five or ten seconds. Or he could hum a tune to distract himself until he could react calmly. Keith felt stupid doing that, leaving awkward silences while he tried not to snap, but it worked — when he could remember to do it, anyway. Stopping was the hardest part, stopping and remembering what to do instead. He needed a lot more practice.

Keith somehow made it through finals while running on just three or four hours of restless sleep a night. He would have to wait to find out his grades, but he felt okay about them. He had become accustomed to sleepless nights and working through exhaustion. Sometimes he fell asleep in the library, just dozing, and that was kind of nice. He was getting to where he treasured every minute.

After his history final on Monday afternoon, he had English on Tuesday morning and Spanish on Tuesday afternoon, then physics on Thursday morning. Keith was one of the first to finish in physics, so he reviewed it once before handing it in. When he went up, Shiro smiled at him.

“Do you feel good about it?” he asked, voice soft so as not to disturb the other students.

Keith nodded. “Yeah, I checked it over already. I think it's good.”

“Good. I‘ll text you when I'm done here and we can get lunch.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Keith agreed.

“This is your last final right? Go relax, you deserve it,” Shiro said. Keith left the room and headed back to his dorm. The exam still had over an hour left, so he would just go to his room and watch Netflix until Shiro texted him.

Lance was in the room and he looked skittish when Keith came in. That made sense; it was a look Keith had gotten a lot in middle school and early high school. It was that look like they were waiting for Keith to attack. It was probably a good thing that Lance wasn't aware Keith kept a knife on him; he would be even worse off then.

At precisely 12:01, Shiro texted: Just got the last test. Ready for lunch?

Keith: Yeah I’ll meet you at the dining hall

Shiro: Do you want to go off campus? There’s that pizza place, or Desert Diner. We haven’t been there in a while

Keith: Desert Diner is good

Shiro: Cool I’ll pick you up in a few minutes

Keith grabbed his coat and gloves, checked that he had all his things in his pockets — knife, phone, et cetera — and went down the stairs. He wasn't going to wait outside, exposed and in the open, and it was cold to boot, but he could wait in the stairwell.

Shiro didn't take long. Keith left the building and got into his car. “Did you grade my exam yet?” Keith asked, smirking.

Shiro barked a laugh and Keith loved it. He hadN’t seen Shiro laugh in a while, not since… what happened. “No, Keith, I have not graded your exam yet. And just for that, I'm grading you last.”

“Aw, boo,” Keith returned, pouting. Shiro laughed again, though, so it was worth it. Keith would do anything to make Shiro happy.

When they arrived at the diner and went inside, Keith was disappointed to see Lance, Hunk, and a few of their friends. “Oh, shit, here it comes,” he muttered. Shiro looked over at him, confused, but he soon understood.

Lance spotted Keith and waved at him, shouting his name. “Hey, Keith! I’m shocked to see you outside of our room, man.”

“Leave me alone, Lance,” Keith grumbled.

“C’mon man, come sit with us. You must be feeling good if you ventured this far away from campus, right?”

Keith snapped. “Lance! Back off!”

Lance held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I'm sorry, man. I’m just… worried about you.” He looked behind him to his friends, who all looked confused.

“Bullshit,” spat Keith. Shiro put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, but Keith ignored him. “You don't care about me. You just want to gossip.”

Lance’s face morphed into anger, then. “Hey, man, you don’t need to be an asshole.”

Keith saw red and felt his body lurching forward, fist raised. Before he could make contact, Shiro’s arms were around him, holding him back.

“Jeez, calm down, man!” Lance said, backing up and looking spooked. “Whatever, dude. You're the one who can't stop fighting long enough to make a friend.”

“Don't talk to me,” Keith growled. “I just wanted to eat a damn burger.”

The manager came over then, fucking finally. “Let’s bring it down a notch, guys. If you’re gonna fight, do it somewhere else.”

Lance and his friends left the diner, and Keith marched over to a booth, Shiro trailing behind him.

They sat and Shiro watched him. “Keith…”

“Please, Shiro, not right now. I'm just so tired.”

Shiro nodded. “Okay, but we’re going to talk later.”

Keith just sighed.

The burger tasted sour when he ate it.

Shiro took them back to his apartment after a painfully awkward dinner. Keith didn't say a word during the whole drive. When they got there and got inside, Shiro handed him a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and they sat on the ancient, sagging couch.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” Shiro asked.

“Not really,” Keith grumbled.

Shiro sighed. “Keith, you know I don't want to make you do anything. Can I talk?”

“If you want,” Keith said with a shrug. He took a drink from his soda can.

“Keith, is it so hard to believe that someone would care about you? I know you and Lance aren't close, but it's possible that he cares about you. You can let people in, if you want to, and it could turn out really great.”

Keith scoffed. “No one cares about me. Except you. You're the only person who’s given a shit about me since my dad died. I don't know if it's just that I'm not meant to be with people or what, but no one else cares. And they shouldn’t. I'm an asshole, why would anyone want to be around me? There must be something wrong with you for wanting to spend time with me.”

Shiro looked so sad and Keith didn't know what to do. “I do enjoy spending time with you, Keith. You're so smart and I love your sense of humor. When you actually try, you make a great friend. You're the most loyal person I know. There is nothing wrong with me because you're a good person and it's natural that I would want to be around you.”

“I'm just a — a burden. All I do is take and take and I give nothing back. I'm just a drain.”

“Keith, you're not. You're a good person. I’ve known that since the first time I met you. You can be prickly, sure, but that's not all you're. You're a good person.”

Keith shrugged and looked away. “Whatever you say.”

Shiro sighed again. “Maybe I can't convince you tonight, but I do believe it and I'm going to keep telling you. I believe in you, Keith, and I'm not going to give up on you.”

Keith glanced back over to him and saw that Shiro was serious. Shiro was always serious. Keith wasn't sure how to feel about all of this, so he didn't. He just pushed it to the back of his mind.