The line between soft, sweet white and luminous lavender hues exposed a divide; a divide in heritage, in mind, in spirit. It also rose a potent pride, and the struggle that came with it, heavy in the atmosphere.
Shiro reached out. His finger traced that line. It ran along Keith’s neck, his cheek. Curves in his pointed ears, creases in his lips: Shiro could feel his chest grow in pain as he ghosted a touch.
Keith knew who he was now.
He made that clear, on no uncertain terms.
He was a Galra Prince, and he would take this responsibility, with pride.
“Shiro?” He was staring right at him but Keith’s voice sounded like it was beneath water, the scene blurry.
“Shiro—“ Firm hands gripped his shoulders. The scene became... less swirled, and what was left was Keith’s wild, purple locks, yellow concerned eyes... searching.
Cold metal greeted a strong chest. Shiro’s will crumbled. He wondered if his hand would fall through. He wondered if he’d lose once and for all, if the scene would deteriorate right in front of him... so, he fell forward, head first, a sob stuck in his throat.
“I don’t know who I am without you—“
The words were a war cry and a timid plea all at the same time. Keith’s entire body shook. They stayed this way, slowly morphing closer, together. For ticks. For hours.
“... You absolute idiot.”
Their cheeks were already sticky with wetness, yet more tears came, this time from laughter. Keith called Shiro many things, sharp things, this perhaps the most piercing of all... in the most healing way. Though Keith’s confidence, his pride, his status grew in size... his love would never diminish. Now, Shiro swelled with his own pride, the future in infinite brightness—
“You’ll never have to know.”