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My dear Shiro & Keith,
I am pleased to share some truly good news with you both – our last patrol confirmed that Diablo Falls is a ghost town, abandoned and left to the dust, and that Zarkon was killed in a skirmish near Whitehorse a week ago. His body was burned, but Thace confirmed his identity for us beforehand. It is strange to think his reign is over, after so very long.
Still, you know I am not one to linger too long in the past. It is best to move forward, now. The Pink Lion, you may be interested to hear, is a brothel no longer. As more and more women move West, the demand for their clothing has increased dramatically. It was Addie’s idea, for she has some skill sewing, and even greater skill in designing the gowns and hats we have begun to produce and sell. So far, it has been a wonderful change. I think the girls much prefer the occasional pricked thumb to entertaining dusty strangers. You ought to visit, sometime. Keith, perhaps we could even set aside a gown just for you.
I think of the two of you every day, and know in my heart you are happy. The others ask after you often, but I have only said you are resting, for once in your lives. Take as much time as you need. To be with the ones we love is a precious thing, indeed.
Shay and Hunk are welcoming their first child into the world this spring. Shay has told me she thinks they will be twins, but this is a secret, so, hush. I hope she is right – it will be worth it to see the joy and awe on Hunk’s face.
Lance and Katie, meanwhile, scoff at anyone who bothers them about children. They are moving to the city soon. Katie is more interested in science than infants, and Lance has a dream of finding gold. They miss you, and I have made them promise to come back and visit.
I do not know what happened, precisely, on that day that you arrived on my doorstep, together and whole. But I know both of you have changed. I know something was sacrificed, and something was gained, too. And something tells me that the three of us will see this world change for many, many years to come.
I am glad to have friends in eternity. It is a lonely business, otherwise.
Always, your friend from Altea Creek,
Madame Allura.
*
Keith opens his eyes. It is morning, but the sunshine is muted within the cave, filtering in through the gaps in the stones above the pool. Where the light hits the water, it is a pale and brilliant blue, plunging to the very bottom of the vaguely circular pool. Minnows and tadpoles flicker to and fro in the light. Somewhere, water drips. Keith inhales, long and languid, lungs filling with the scent of petrichor.
There was a monsoon, last night. He and Shiro watched the lightning streak across the violet-black sky before they fell asleep, lulled into dreams by the thunder.
Keith rolls onto his other side, away from the pool, facing his sleeping husband. They have not married, not in a chapel nor with a minister, but they have no need of such ceremony. They have their own rituals, ancient and intricate. Someday, they will return to Altea Creek to celebrate with their friends. But for now, this is what they need. Peace beside an oasis. Keith curls closer and tucks his nose into the crook of Shiro’s neck. There is a faint stirring in his mind, one which is quiet most of the time, unless he calls to her first. But now she says, simply, He is beautiful.
Yes, Keith agrees, carding his fingers through Shiro’s long hair. It is growing out, and falls thick and dark over the sandstone. She hums in pleased agreement and retreats again, back into slumber. Keith yawns. He is just about to try to sleep again when a hand squeezes his hip. He opens his eyes.
“Good morning,” Shiro says, pushing Keith’s hair out of his eyes, though it is a lost cause. “Did you have any interesting dreams?”
Keith’s brows lift. “Interesting?” he repeats, and nudges Shiro’s thigh with his knee. “I dreamed of Allura, actually. Of her visiting us here. She brought her cat, and a whole suitcase full of fancy hats with feathers. You put one on and kept sneezing. I suggested you take it off, but you claimed you looked too dashing to part with it.”
“Wonderful.” Shiro grins, lopsided, and kisses the tip of his nose. “Well? Did I look dashing?”
Keith wrinkles his nose. “You know, I really can’t say the peacock feathers did much for you.”
Shiro splutters in mock-indignance, tickling him in revenge until Keith has exhausted himself from giggling, and Shiro’s vicious tickles turn to soft snuggles, which are always welcome. “How were your dreams?” Keith mumbles, wrapping his arm around Shiro’s waist.
Shiro hums. “Good,” he says. “I dreamed of my temple. You were there. I prepared a great feast for you, and fed you grapes. Then we rode around the city on jaguars, and raced them, and I think I won.”
Keith squints. “I’m certain I would have won. Besides – wait, you fed me grapes?”
“I did,” Shiro admits, not at all ashamed, and shifts closer. Keith reaches up to curl his fingers around Shiro’s horns, and the ifrit huffs at him, breath hot as bonfire smoke. “And you let me.”
“I don’t suppose I let you do anything else?” Keith chuckles, nuzzling under Shiro’s jaw. A sly tail slithers between his thighs, wrapping around one and squeezing.
“It was very chaste grape-feeding,” Shiro murmurs, eyes twinkling. “But you did taste sweeter when you kissed me, afterwards.”
Keith kisses him then, a long slow press of hot tongue and parted lips, with no end goal in mind except to feel each other. Shiro’s tail continues to rub his thigh, also without purpose, for they are both tired from last night, and often, this simple intimacy is enough. Even when they part to breathe, they keep their foreheads touching, and breathe each other in with soft relief.
“Just as sweet,” Shiro says, his claws absently braiding Keith’s silver-white hair, and tucking the little braid behind his ear. “No grapes needed—”
He’s cut off by a nearby insistent whinny, and both of them sigh. “That foal may be adorable, but I mourn the loss of our lazy mornings with the luxury of sleeping in,” Shiro sighs.
“Shiro, it is nearly noon,” Keith snorts. “If this is not a lazy morning, then what is?”
Shiro yawns, revealing sharp teeth. It has been nearly three years together, now, but the sight of them still makes Keith shiver (in the best way). “I meant,” Shiro murmurs, moving quick and sinuous on top of Keith, caging him in under his body, “I miss waking you up with my mouth on your cock. Among other things.”
Keith’s breath shallows. He lets his head loll back, a blatant invitation, and Shiro drags soft sucking kisses over his throat. “Wicked,” he murmurs, smile curling at his lips. “You’re really going to let Applesauce waste away while you do unspeakable things to me?”
Shiro breaks away with a scowl. “Don’t say our daughter’s name while I’m doing unspeakable things to you.”
“Who? Applesauce, the light of our lives, the prettiest li'l pony this side of the Mississippi – ?”
“Alright, alright!” Shiro groans, rolls off of him, and promptly splashes into the pool. Keith snorts. Shiro surfaces, pushing his sopping hair out of his eyes. Water drips from his horns, and with his slitted pupils, he looks like a disgruntled cat.
“Not a word,” Shiro warns, holding up a clawed finger, but Keith kisses him when he climbs out of the pool, wet clothes be damned, and his scowl fades into a brilliant smile by the end of it.
They get dressed for the day and wander through the caves Shiro made for them, not like the caves of the old lava tubes, but lighter, airier, homier. This place is another dimension, removed from time in a way Keith doubts he will ever fully understand, but doesn’t much care to understand, because he and Shiro are safe together here, and that is what matters.
It is not just himself and Shiro, however.
They turn into a wide cavern, one carpeted in lush grass with a tumbling creek and a small stand of trees. Several horses graze there, including a gray yearling colt they rescued in a particularly nasty monsoon flood, a roan stallion with a scruffy mane and a faded brand on his flank rescued from a Galran gang, a familiar chestnut mare who raises her head to them with a welcoming snort, and the spindly-legged red roan filly nursing from her, who also lifts her head with a high-pitched whinny and stumble-bounds over to them, her mother close on her heels.
“Why, hello there,” Shiro laughs as Applesauce prances over, muzzle still white with milk foam. “I swear she gets bigger every day, doesn’t she?”
“That’s sorta the point,” Keith chuckles, scratching behind the filly’s velvet-soft ears as she noses at his pockets for treats. “Hey! Hasn’t your mama been teachin’ you any manners, girl?”
Said mama huffs at Keith, butting her head against his shoulder when she reaches him. Strawberry is full grown, now, and Keith suspects she’s the leader of their little herd. The stallion, Mesquite, is utterly content with that – he’s had enough excitement in his life, carrying Galra into robberies and gunfights and whatnot. And the yearling, Phantom, is rarely aware of much of anything. He’s currently chasing a frightened lizard through the tall grass.
“She’s going to grow up as beautiful as her mother,” Shiro murmurs. Strawberry’s tail switches at him, but she nuzzles into his open palm the next moment. It is funny to think she was once so scared of the ifrit. Now, she runs this town.
Applesauce whinnies again. “Alright, alright,” Keith sighs, and reaches into the feed bag he hauled out from the antechamber to the horses’ paradise. He lets Applesauce gobble up the handfuls of bran and flax from his palm, and feeds some to Strawberry, too. After this, they’ll fetch some hay for all of the horses, and groom them, and maybe take them out to ride, if they’re in the mood for it. For now, though, Strawberry is happy to simply eat, and Keith can relate, if the way his stomach rumbles is any indication.
Shiro nudges him. “Sounds like the horses aren’t the only ones in need of breakfast.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Keith starts, but is silenced by Shiro’s quick kiss, his eyes bright when he pulls back.
“I’ll get breakfast started,” he murmurs. “Take your time with the horses, you know they adore you.”
Keith flushes. “Thank you,” he whispers back. “They adore you, too.”
Strawberry lifts her head to watch Shiro as he leaves, but is distracted by more feed, and then by Keith chasing after her, which sends all of the horses into a mad dash of playtime. Keith is sure he must look like a fool, sprinting after a small herd of mustangs with a spirited and confused filly chasing after him, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s fun.
*
By the time Keith finishes playing with the horses and feeding and watering them all, he’s red-faced and sweaty, and splashing himself with water only seems to worsen the situation. He wanders through the caves, trying to catch his breath, looking out the “windows” cut into the rock. Shiro admitted he’d created this place with his temple in mind, for it is a maze of high-ceilinged halls, mosaic floors, sprawling courtyards, and stone chambers.
Keith passes one of the courtyards then, and has to stop to pet the mewing black cat that greets him, hopping up on the stone wall and purring when he strokes its long fur. There are no jaguars here, but Keith has his horses, and Shiro has his cats. Keith has stopped asking where he gets them all. They lay about in puddles of sunshine on the warm stone, or stalk among the curling ferns and palm fronds, or else curl up in cool shadows.
Keith has been trying to persuade Shiro to get a coyote, but so far he is fighting a losing battle. Little does Shiro know, Keith and Xilonen are intent on adding more courtyards for that sole purpose...once they can figure out how to use that particular magic.
Their kitchen is large, with many alcoves and shelves, each one filled with jars of herbs and spices and dried jerky and preserved jams and fresh eggs from the chicken courtyard. Shiro is humming while stirring a bowl of blue corn mush porridge, mixing in some agave and neatly diced apricots. There’s a few loaves of frybread in the pan on the stove, and when Keith inhales, he can smell their warm, heady aroma. Shiro has fried them in olive oil and sprinkled them with cinnamon, just the way he likes.
Keith is so in love.
He sneaks up on Shiro, who continues stirring and humming although Keith knows the ifrit must hear him. “Hi,” he says when he’s snaked his arms around Shiro’s waist and pressed himself up close to his back. “That smells good.”
“You smell good,” Shiro counters, not looking away from the bowl, though the corner of his mouth lifts.
Keith hums and hides a kiss behind one pointed ear. “Thank you. It’s a new perfume, highly sought after and expensive. They call it ‘eau d’horse.’”
Shiro grins. “How mysterious. Now, are you going to keep fondling me, or let me finish breakfast?”
“What, this?” Keith squeezes his hip. “This ain’t fondling. This, though…” He slides his hand down over Shiro’s muscled stomach, and tucks his fingertips under his waistband. Shiro catches his wrist when his fingers slide and scratch through coarse hair. “That’s fondling,” Keith teases. Shiro’s claws dig into his skin.
“You’re going to ruin breakfast,” Shiro warns, but it doesn’t sound very threatening at all.
“Would it really be ruined if I bent you over this countertop and had my way with you?” Keith coos. “I thought you liked my cock.”
Shiro wheezes and almost drops the ladle. “Keith.”
Keith pouts into his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Sit down,” Shiro manages, voice rough. Keith smiles to himself and obliges, but only after slipping his wrist out of Shiro’s claws to squeeze the thick bulge in his pants. He giggles and leaps out of the ifrit’s reach before he can be swatted with a spoon. They both know Keith is too quick for Shiro to catch him without expending a great deal of energy, but it’s cute that he tries.
Shiro serves him his bowl of porridge and fruit, with the fry bread on the side and a cup of strong black coffee for Keith, a bigger cup of steaming black tea for Shiro. They eat in companionable quiet, and Keith sneaks looks at Shiro over the edge of his mug. Halfway through their meal, Shiro pauses.
“What is it?” he asks gently.
Keith blinks and sets down his mug. “What is what?”
“You keep looking at me,” Shiro says. “Is there something on my face, or…?” He shifts, more than a little self-conscious — Keith can tell these things. Since the day Keith and Shiro left the wild world of the West for somewhere a little quieter, Shiro tends to prefer this form, one that is more human-sized, and though horned and clawed and tailed, looks more human than his other forms.
They both know Keith has no problem with his larger form – quite the opposite – but nonetheless, Shiro stays like this more often than not, and is always aware of his size and strength in comparison to Keith, even though Keith is much stronger, these days. He frequently carries himself like a bull in a china shop, and though Keith wishes he wouldn’t, he also cannot imagine how it must be for Shiro to be living with someone again after centuries alone and left to his own devices. He has admitted to Keith before that he once feared he had forgotten how to be gentle. Keith knows that is not at all the case, but still, he thinks Shiro is uncertain of himself.
Keith reaches out across the table and takes his hand. “Nothing on your face,” he says. “I just like looking at you.” Shiro blushes, and shovels a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He probably shouldn’t have done that, because then he nearly chokes when Keith continues. “You know...I’m glad I sacrificed myself for you.”
Shiro manages, with difficulty, to swallow the porridge, and stiffens in his chair, staring at Keith with no small amount of helplessness. “Don’t – don’t say that, Keith, please.”
“I know you don’t like to hear it,” Keith sighs, “and I’m glad we’re here together now, I didn’t want to leave you, it wasn’t that. But...I have to say it, at least once. Shiro, you made me believe men could be good, again. That people could be kind, and help me learn how to let myself be loved, to believe that I could be loved...you did that, Shiro.”
“I didn’t do any of that,” Shiro protests. “That was all you, Keith –”
Keith holds up a finger. “No,” he says, “it wasn’t, Shiro. That wasn’t something I think I could have done without you. Even if I was the one who made those choices, who fell in love with you – there’s a reason I fell in love with you, Shiro. There’s a reason I didn’t hesitate when I picked up that knife. And there’s a reason you were able to bring me back. I didn’t want to die, Shiro. I wanted you to live.”
“I wanted you to live, too,” Shiro whispers, his voice breaking. “I did not want to be in a world without you, Keith.”
Keith smiles, sad. “But you would have, eventually,” he murmurs. “If I had stayed human. If I had stayed mortal. Either I would have died, or you would have vanished for good. And that’s no happy ending.”
Shiro squeezes his hand, almost bruising. “You bleeding out on an altar in my name wasn’t particularly happy, either. I never wanted to cause you pain, Keith. I never wanted you to get hurt, even though I knew you would, from the beginning.”
“It didn’t hurt,” Keith lies. “Not much,” he amends, when Shiro narrows his eyes. “Really, Shiro. It was – quick. And I felt – it felt like I was doing it for a reason. For a good reason. So I wasn’t afraid, and I wasn’t upset, because I knew it would save you, and I wasn’t alone, even at the end, because Xilonen was there. I knew she would be.”
Shiro exhales. “Yeah? She stayed with you?”
Keith nods. “I don’t remember much of it,” he admits, “but I think – I was somewhere, after I – finished the ritual.” He bites his lip. “Wherever I was, it was warm. There was sunshine. And a rabbit.”
Shiro’s eyes are shiny. “A rabbit?”
“Mhm. I followed the rabbit, through – some kind of field, or plain, where everything was some shade of gold, like it was always the moment just before sunset. And the rabbit led me to you. I opened my eyes, and – you were there. And Xilonen was there. And I was alive.” Keith tilts his head. “Think it was Heaven?”
Shiro chuckles, only a little strained. “You know we don’t believe in Heaven. But –” He lifts Keith’s hand to kiss his knuckles, slow and thoughtful, one by one. “It is said that those who die in sacrifice go to a paradise in the east, in the land of the eternal rising sun. Either that, or they become butterflies and hummingbirds.”
Keith’s fingers curl against his warm lips. “I’d be alright with spendin’ my afterlife as a hummingbird,” he says. “One of those flashy green ones with the red throats.”
“You would make a very handsome little hummingbird,” Shiro says, voice low, “but I am glad you returned to me, instead. More glad than I can ever say.”
Keith opens his mouth to reply, and is interrupted by a dull, resounding thud, thud, THUD.
Someone is — knocking?
Shiro turns to Keith in alarm, and stands beside his chair, eyes wide, both of their bodies locking up in instinctual panic, fearing that somehow, the ordeal they survived had not ended after all, and that finally their sanctuary here was being invaded.
Then there is a particularly hard knock, and someone calls, “HEY! I know you two are in there! It reeks of true love and martyrdom, and there are only two gods I know with a serious knack for both.”
Shiro’s jaw drops. Keith ekes out, “Chantico?”
“When someone knocks, the polite thing to do is open the door. Took me long enough to find you. Least you could do is say hello.”
“Hello,” Shiro calls back, wary. “Why — why are you here? How did you even find us?”
“How did you even find us?!” another voice mocks, singsong, and Shiro and Keith’s eyebrows shoot further upwards. “And yes, before you say my name dramatically, it is Xochipilli, Prince of Flowers, 'benevolent' manifestation of Piltzintecuhtli, etcetera etcetera. Ta-da! Now let me in.”
“Um,” Keith squeaks. “Shiro?”
Shiro looks as lost as Keith feels. This place was supposed to be impossible to find, but, if anyone could find it, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if it was the Lady of the Chili Pepper herself.
“Jaguar,” Chantico sighs, “you know damn well you’re the most powerful out of us – there aren’t exactly dozens of mortal lovers throwing themselves onto our sacrificial altars. We are not here to fight. Only to...say hello to an old friend.”
“Hello,” Shiro says again. “And, goodbye.”
“Not you,” Xochipilli exclaims. “The other one.”
He means us, Xilonen whispers to Keith. Her presence unfurls like a blooming flower in his mind. Shiro looks to Keith, wide-eyed and uncertain. Keith nods. “It’s alright,” he says. “She wants to say hello to them, too.”
“I – alright, then,” Shiro says, though he still looks panicky, and a door opens in the stone wall where there was not one before. Two figures step through – one, a short woman with brown skin and bobbed black hair wearing a simple red dress and a spiky necklace of chili peppers and cactus spines, the other, a tall and slim young man with fine features, finer clothing, and dark eyes and skin, with wildflowers woven through his curly brown hair.
“You got a body?” is the first thing Keith says to Xochipilli.
The Prince of Flowers looks at him askance. “I see you are still a rude boy,” he huffs. “I did not get a body, thank you very much; I grew it all by myself.”
“No sacrifices,” Chantico says before Shiro can protest. “Not really. Well, maybe a little. Nobody was hurt who didn’t deserve it. And your Madame Allura helped, so, don’t get high and mighty. Anyway, that is not why we’re here.” She steps forward and points at Keith. “Is it true? Is she in there?”
Keith folds his arms, and Shiro steps half in front of him. “Keith is my husband,” Shiro declares, “and you will treat him with respect.”
Chantico frowns. “I am being plenty respectful. Look, I did not even arrive in dragon form! I just – please, answer me. Madame Allura had mentioned – but we didn’t want to hope –”
“But hope is one of the few things we have left, these days,” Xochipilli adds. “So? Is she here, or did we travel all this way for naught?”
“She’s here,” Keith says before Shiro can reply. Shiro looks at him, a line between his brows. “It’s alright,” Keith murmurs, and takes his hand, stepping forward. “Yes, she’s here. She can hear you.”
Chantico’s lower lip trembles. Xochipilli even manages to look somber as she approaches Keith, one hand half-outstretched, like she cannot quite believe it. “Prove it,” she whispers. In that moment, she does not sound like a goddess, but simply like a woman, a woman who has been in mourning for centuries after the death of her best friend in this world and the next.
“She’s here,” Keith repeats, and closes his eyes, and inhales the scent of summer and cornfields, of fertile earth and rabbit stew. When he opens his eyes, he knows they are aglow, and he feels afloat in his own body, though not in an unnerving way, for he is still himself, even if Xilonen is speaking. They are one in the same, two sides of a shared coin.
“Chantico,” she murmurs. “My dear Chantico. I have missed you – so much.”
Chantico covers her mouth with a sob, and throws her arms around Keith with such force that Shiro almost stops her, almost, until she buries her face in Keith’s neck and weeps in relief that washes through both of them. “You’re alive,” she breathes, “Xilo, you’re alive.”
“Yes,” she whispers, they whisper, and Keith hugs her tight. “We are not so easily killed, you and me.”
“No,” Chantico whispers back fiercely. “No, they will not kill us, and we will never make it easy for them.”
Xochipilli approaches, too, his lips parted. “Never took you for the possession type, Xilo. But, desperate times…”
“It isn’t possession,” they say, together. “It is more like a shared soul,” Xilonen adds. “And he is most of it, anyway – human souls are so bright. But I am safe, here, with Keith, and of course, the Jaguar.” They smile at Shiro. Shiro, as he often does in these moments, looks flustered. Keith can hardly blame him. They don’t talk much about Keith’s shared body. There isn’t much to talk about. It just is. That’s all.
“Hmm,” Xochipilli says, and smiles back. “Well, then. A shared soul is better than floating around as an interdimensional ghost.”
“It certainly is,” Xilonen agrees. “Come here, princeling.” And that is how Keith ends up hugging two gods with all his might. Xochipilli laughs with delight, and when he pulls away, there are wildflowers crushed between them.
Chantico takes a little longer, and when she does step away, she stays close, and touches a strand of Keith’s cornsilk-white hair, her lips quirked. “Blonde is a good look on you,” she chuckles.
“Oh, hush,” Xilonen exclaims. Keith can feel her happiness. She loves Chantico as much as she loves Shiro. “You always had the best look of us all, Lady of the Chili Pepper.”
“I resent that,” Shiro says, finally relaxing. “I thought I had a very good look.”
“It was a little much,” Keith and Xilonen say together. Shiro splutters at them.
“Ah,” Chantico says, suddenly sheepish, “speaking of chili peppers...I have something for you, Xilo. And – and Keith, too. It is a gift for you both, to protect you both, from whatever the future may bring.” And from thin air, she pulls a strand of small chili peppers, shining like polished rubies, strung together to form a fine necklace. At the center is a golden pendant, a sun which looks aflame when the light shifts. “Here,” she says. “Turn around.”
Slowly, Keith does, and she carefully fastens the necklace around his neck. It is warm against his skin, like it has been sitting in the sunshine for hours. Keith touches it, wondering. What is it? he asks Xilonen.
Magic, Xilonen tells him. Precious, powerful magic, given by a dear friend to a dear friend. Chantico is not known for giving gifts, but...when she does, hers are always among the best.
“If you are ever in danger,” Chantico says as she closes the necklace’s clasp, “you need only to pluck one of the peppers from the necklace, and it will become a blade in your hands, one that will fell most every enemy, if your aim is true.” Keith turns around, and she ducks her head. For a goddess of fire, pain, and pleasure, she can be awfully shy. “And if you are not in danger – in the meantime, it will bring peace and prosperity to this place – to your home. And your husband.” She looks to Shiro. “Though, these days, I think you are as prosperous as you have ever been.”
“It’s true,” Shiro says, his smile soft. “Fate has been kind to us, in the end.”
“Then let it be kind to you forevermore,” Chantico declares, hands on her hips, back to her old, commanding self. “Or I will personally fight Fate with you both.”
“We thank you,” Keith and Xilonen say. “But, for now...would you be content with sharing breakfast with us?”
Chantico eyes the fry bread. “Only if you have jalapeño jelly,” she hedges.
“Saved some just for you,” Shiro says, and nods to the jar on its nearby shelf. Without further invitation, Chantico shrieks in delight and darts towards it.
Xochipilli sniffs. “Well, see, if I knew we were going to be giving fancy magical item gifts, I would have brought something, but nobody ever tells me anything.”
Keith rolls his eyes and points to the chair next to him. “Just sit down, and think about how you’re going to pay us back while you eat our food, hm?”
“How generous,” Xochipilli drawls, but he sits, and wastes no time in devouring the bowl of porridge Keith brings him. “What sort of gifts do you like?” he asks through his mouthful of corn mush. “Jewelry? Amulets? Knives? Potted plants? Blood sacrifices?”
“Xochipilli,” Shiro warns, and Keith doesn’t know if he’s noticed, but in the other gods’ presence, he looks more like his old self, bigger and badder and more like the great and powerful war god he is, but at his heart, Keith knows he is as soft as he has always been. His eyes glow gold, and when they fall on Keith, they look like the light in the paradise in the east, in the land of the eternal rising sun.
“I don’t need more gifts,” Keith says, quietly, so only Shiro can hear. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted, right here.”