[ the fuzziness doesn’t last much longer than that. in and out, up and down, his system is working through the drug’s effects; adrenaline zeroed the focus and made everything clear, only for it to lapse as he caught his breath, shaky hands releasing keith from his binds. it’s that lapse that gave room for that inattentive slip, but all it takes is that change in keith’s breathing. how can he be such a livewire of vigilance for keith’s wellbeing one second and such a dumbass the next? he hurt him. he actually hurt him.
shiro rips his hand away so fast, almost like he’s the one who's been burnt. he’s not, of course; quite the opposite, actually. his insides go cold instead, brittle and cracking from the immediate wave of guilt. ]
I’m sorry!
[ it hurts to even draw a breath, the vice-like grip of disdain for his own actions taking a physical toll on him. his heart, too. it feels fragile, like one wrong beat will crack it in two. ]
God, I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t mean to, I…
[ he looks to keith’s face in the midst of those words, his own pained, but not nearly on the same level as keith’s. the rest of his apology catches in his throat and… – he doesn’t understand the depth of what he’s seeing or hearing. keith said again. don’t do this to him again. and there’s his hand on his cheek, touching the scar that’s been burned into his skin. from the war is the extent of what shiro’s ever gotten as an explanation. now though…
two pieces connect in mind and he understands a little differently, his next breath shaky with a fresh wave of anxiety and dread. this isn’t the time for an interrogation, though, especially when keith’s leg is shaking in the bind, body wrought with pain. ]
I’m sorry. [ how many times will he say it? ] I need… [ he grimaces, because that sounds wrong to say now. swallowing, shiro places his left hand on that shaking leg, trying to soothe it as much as still it. ] I need you to keep still. I’ll get you out. I’ll be more careful.
i don't even remember what the compliment was at this point... should've capped it
shiro rips his hand away so fast, almost like he’s the one who's been burnt. he’s not, of course; quite the opposite, actually. his insides go cold instead, brittle and cracking from the immediate wave of guilt. ]
I’m sorry!
[ it hurts to even draw a breath, the vice-like grip of disdain for his own actions taking a physical toll on him. his heart, too. it feels fragile, like one wrong beat will crack it in two. ]
God, I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t mean to, I…
[ he looks to keith’s face in the midst of those words, his own pained, but not nearly on the same level as keith’s. the rest of his apology catches in his throat and… – he doesn’t understand the depth of what he’s seeing or hearing. keith said again. don’t do this to him again. and there’s his hand on his cheek, touching the scar that’s been burned into his skin. from the war is the extent of what shiro’s ever gotten as an explanation. now though…
two pieces connect in mind and he understands a little differently, his next breath shaky with a fresh wave of anxiety and dread. this isn’t the time for an interrogation, though, especially when keith’s leg is shaking in the bind, body wrought with pain. ]
I’m sorry. [ how many times will he say it? ] I need… [ he grimaces, because that sounds wrong to say now. swallowing, shiro places his left hand on that shaking leg, trying to soothe it as much as still it. ] I need you to keep still. I’ll get you out. I’ll be more careful.