Scars
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron) Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst
Summary: Memories plague Shiro every time he tries to sleep.
Read here or on AO3! Please like and comment, and maybe even rb <3
Shiro rolled over in his bed, eyes clamped tightly shut as he tried to will himself to ignore the memories. He squirmed in his spot, careful not to disturb Keith. He had been finding it hard to fall asleep unless he was run ragged. Every night was the same thing; telling himself that this time it would be different, crawling into bed with Keith and sharing a kiss before the teen would roll over and flip the light off.
And then the memories would come.
That huge ship that came upon him on Kerberos, so sudden and terrifying. The scratch of Galra claws against his flesh as he was dragged to a cramped cell and dumped unceremoniously inside. The abject horror of waking up to find…
A sharp ache tore through his bicep, making him wince. He pressed his good hand to the place where flesh met technology, gently running his fingertips over the hideous scar. Feeling it made his skin crawl. It made him sick.
He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. The room was nearly black. He didn’t need to think about this. He was in control of his own emotions, right? Shiro turned his mind to Keith. Tried to remember the touch of his raven hair, the faint but almost spicy scent of cologne his skin, the taste of his kiss.
Instead, he could feel the sting of Galra blades digging into his arm as vividly as the day it happened. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his palms to his scrunched lids. Why did this always happen at night? The minute the light flicked off, it was like he was back in that horrible place.
With a growl of frustration, Shiro rolled to sitting. He sat there, staring down at his hands.
One human, one hard and cold. Ugly in design, heavy, forced onto him the same way he was forcefully stolen from his home, cut apart and put back together like a plaything, pushed into battle after battle.
Tears slid down his cheeks and fell into his lap before he noticed he was crying. One droplet landed on his human hand, the other on the Galra. He would never feel anything good with that hand again, he thought. Nothing but his aching bicep and the phantom cramps where his fingers and elbow had once been.
“Shiro?”
“Go back to bed, it’s nothing,” Shiro said quietly, still staring down at his hands. His hand. Their hand.
Keith sat up and the sheet slipped down his bare chest, “Can I do anything?”
Shiro shook his head.
Keith sat quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say.
“Should I get you some water?” He finally asked, the question falling flat.
Shiro cast Keith a weak smile and leaned in for a brief kiss, “No, no, I’m just going to…”
He thought about it for a moment. Where was he going to go? Wander around the castle’s halls with only his own mind to accompany him?
Shiro jerked away when he felt a touch, far too close to his marred upper arm.
“Shiro, I-” Keith began, trying to touch him again.
This time Shiro ripped himself away from the offending sensation, goosebumps exploding out over his skin. His voice was sharp and hoarse, rage lancing through the words, “Don’t touch me!”
Shiro stumbled out of bed, far enough away to where Keith could no longer reach him. He pressed his hand against his eyes, willing himself to breathe. When he pulled his hand away his chest tightened at the look of pain on Keith’s face.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled,” Shiro muttered.
Keith, naked and tired, his hair a mess, stared up at him in concern, “I shouldn’t have touched-”
Shiro lifted his hand, that cursed Galra hand, and shushed him, “Even so. I’m…”
He turned to grab a pair of pajama pants from their place draped over the back of a chair, “I’m going to take a walk.”
He left before Keith could say more.
