this is totally my first guess:D is it hunger games? i /really/ want to read that fic, no matter where it's from:D
(loose continuation of this)
“Shiro,” Keith says. His hand on Shiro’s shoulder startles Shiro from his half-stupor. Shiro blinks burning eyes into focus, sits up straighter in his chair as Keith quietly continues. “Shiro, you need to sleep.”
“Can’t,” Shiro croaks. On the screens in front of them Lance huddles under an overhang, as close to the cliff wall as he can get to stay somewhat dry. It’s no good; the rain pounds down from overhead, drenching him straight through. Pidge is pressed tight to his chest, a curled up ball of skintight, useless uniform and soaked wet hair.
“It’s two in the morning,” Keith argues, soft. On screen Pidge is shivering, hard. Lance wraps his arms tighter around her. “You need to sleep.”
Shiro shakes his head, eyes glued to the screens. Lance’s eyes are still open, staring out into the ceaseless gloom. “I have to see them through this.”
“I can watch Lance,” Keith promises. His hand slips down to Shiro’s shoulder blades, subtle but grounding. “Go rest.”
Across the room Matt has one of those terrible energy drinks in his hand, arms folded across his chest and brow furrowed with deep concern as he stares at his sister’s shaking form. Sam - when did Sam leave? Sam must have left some time ago, if not to sleep than to talk to the right people, try and rustle up more funds. Shiro’s saving his own deals for the right moment. This is a bad one, sure, but this isn’t it.
“Word is that this storm’s going to last at least four more hours,” Keith says. His voice is low, steady, the utter opposite of the driving need keeping Shiro awake. “They’re just going to sleep. Nothing’s going to happen at two in the morning.”
“You don’t know that,” Shiro says, sharper than he means.
“I know exactly what the Gamemakers would do to keep the game exciting,” Keith snaps. The scar just beneath his hairline is visible in this lighting, visible with the way his chin is tilted down towards Shiro. “But they’re not going to do it at two in the morning Capitol-time. Nobody’s awake to see, Shiro. I know how this works.”
Damn. “That’s not what I meant,” Shiro starts.
“I forgive you for that because you’re exhausted,” Keith says, voice gentling. “Go. I mean it.”
On the screens Lance’s eyes finally slip closed, with an exhausted sigh every hidden microphone picks up.
“Wake me if anything happens,” Shiro says. It’s more of a question than he’d like to admit.
“I can handle this,” Keith says, aloud, and the press of his hand to Shiro’s shoulder blades is the silent promise Shiro needs.
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