[The others don't know that he spends more nights sleeping in his Lion than out of it. He's discrete, and anyway it's never more than a few hours. Sleep-- let's just say it's not the kindness it used to be. He always wakes to the dull, distant roar of cheering, sweat-soaked, heart racing so fast it feels like one constant, mechanic thrum, the taste of blood in his mouth that never seems to go away.
But they're not as bad when he's in his Lion. Its mind is a quiet place, and though their bond isn't strong (Allura tells him he's holding something back, and that it breeds distrust. He doesn't know how to tell her he doesn't know what he's holding back, or how to stop it) Shiro knows that it will wake him if there's danger. Cold comforts.
He's in the pilot's chair, has it tipped slightly back. He's staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to break down whatever barrier is keeping them just slightly out of phase when the damn thing purrs. As far as he can tell, it's out of nowhere, and he starts. He knows the source without reading any of the external sensors, without looking. Keith.
The Lion moves without any direction from him, and bends its head down as if it were nothing more than a house-cat trying to rub up against someone's leg. The motion is precise, it stops when it touches him so as not to bowl him over. Shiro doesn't move. Barely breathes. If he holds still maybe Keith will just go away.
It's not that he doesn't want to see him. Doesn't want to talk to him. He does. But he already had to deal with the shame of Keith pulling him off that damn table, seeing him vulnerable. He's terrified of what he doesn't know of his own mind, and dragging someone else into that, no matter how well-intentioned they are-- he can't do it.
The Lion has other ideas. It all but spits him out onto the floor, and Shiro is left rubbing his head on the hard flight deck, fighting down a grimace.]
no subject
But they're not as bad when he's in his Lion. Its mind is a quiet place, and though their bond isn't strong (Allura tells him he's holding something back, and that it breeds distrust. He doesn't know how to tell her he doesn't know what he's holding back, or how to stop it) Shiro knows that it will wake him if there's danger. Cold comforts.
He's in the pilot's chair, has it tipped slightly back. He's staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to break down whatever barrier is keeping them just slightly out of phase when the damn thing purrs. As far as he can tell, it's out of nowhere, and he starts. He knows the source without reading any of the external sensors, without looking. Keith.
The Lion moves without any direction from him, and bends its head down as if it were nothing more than a house-cat trying to rub up against someone's leg. The motion is precise, it stops when it touches him so as not to bowl him over. Shiro doesn't move. Barely breathes. If he holds still maybe Keith will just go away.
It's not that he doesn't want to see him. Doesn't want to talk to him. He does. But he already had to deal with the shame of Keith pulling him off that damn table, seeing him vulnerable. He's terrified of what he doesn't know of his own mind, and dragging someone else into that, no matter how well-intentioned they are-- he can't do it.
The Lion has other ideas. It all but spits him out onto the floor, and Shiro is left rubbing his head on the hard flight deck, fighting down a grimace.]
Hey.
[... awkward.]
Can't sleep?