Actions

Work Header

Where the wild roses grow

Summary:

Rain your kisses down upon me
Rain your kisses down in storms
And for all who"ll come before me
In your slowly fading forms
I"m going out of my mind
Will leave me standing in
The rain with a letter and a prayer
Whispered on the wind

Come back to me
Come back to me
O baby please come back to me

(Love Letter by Nick Cave)

A story about love and loss in three acts.

Chapter 1: And my fingers bleed from the pieces of a broken dream

Summary:

Where we meet Keith, and Shiro, and Matt...

Notes:

Okay my friends, this is it, an angsty fic full of angst, buckle up and get the tissues ready.

But before we get going, some acknowledgments.

First: My artist @Cookie! Fun fact, this bang was the first official bang I signed up for (and it is the last that I"m posting of the three I joined in 2019. So I was super nervous to work with my artist, but Cookie was a joy to work with and since those tentative messages we have become friends. All my love to you. She did an amazing job, you can find the art here or in Chapter 3. Please give her lots and lots of love!

Second: @muse (on Ao3), who did a fabulous and amazing job as my final beta (every error after was added because I wrote stuff in and messed up). Thank you so very much.

Third: The title of the story is inspired by the song "Where the wild roses grow" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds with Kylie Minogue (1995). It is a song that never really left me, since the first time I listened to it.

Fourth: I thank the mods for organizing the VLD Hanahaki!

And now... have fun~ or... well... ^^;;;

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Why are you not telling him that?" Matt Holt’s voice was curious. Everything was a grand puzzle for him; he just needed to figure it out, the kind of guy that got into a heated discussion about who wore it better: Smerinthus ocellata or Saturnia pyri .

That. It was the kind of ‘that’ that knocked against Keith’s teeth from the inside begging to be let out, the type of ‘that’ that made his right wrist itch.

Keith turned the flyer on their table over, condensation from his soda had soaked into it. He traced the wet spots with his fingers. Printed on it was the usual "miracle" advertisement he saw on billboards, all neon and exclamation marks: Come to us; we"ll find your soulmate! Satisfaction guaranteed! Only $99.99! Keith wrinkled his nose.

Keith knew he was letting the silence drag on for too long. 

"Because—" He stopped, helpless. In truth, there were a myriad of reasons. Every one of them seemed inadequate. Maybe he was scared. He didn’t want anything to change. Everything should stay as it was. Throwing a needless confession into the mix wouldn’t help anyone. Keith chanced a glance at Matt, who watched him with furrowed brows. There was also a speculative glint Keith didn’t like a bit. He needed to distract him, fast. Keith’s gaze shifted, falling onto Matt’s right wrist.

The flower there was quite beautiful.

"How is Lotor these days?" Keith asked.

There was a flash in Matt"s eyes. He knew he was being distracted, but Matt let himself be dragged under. While his curiosity and will to understand the world deep down to its lowest level was unparalleled by any person Keith had ever met, there was one thing that stood on the same footing with it all: Lotor, Matt’s soulmate.

Their soul-flower had been born on a rainy day last summer. Stoic and aloof Lotor had proclaimed his love for Matt, loud and earnest. And Matt had accepted.

Beautiful Lotor now made his way over, elegantly sidestepping the other customers in the small diner. His eyes met Keith’s. Cold and dominating, but as they shifted to Matt, there was warmth and gentleness. Keith was envious. They made an odd pair. Striking, but weird. Matt, with his sandy-blond hair and little ponytail, running around in clothes he’d fished out of the closet in the morning, and expensive Lotor, with his long, nearly white hair and luxurious garments. 

But they fit together. Lotor shoved Matt over on the seat in the booth. He never stopped waxing poetry about his fiance while earning a sharp elbow in his kidney and an eye roll. Fitting, in how Matt just laughed and kissed his fiance on the cheek, which always made Lotor"s cheeks slightly pink.

Lotor"s arrival was the cue. He always came first. Next would come Hunk, laughing at something Lance said---he always crossed the threshold after him. One round and with dark skin and black hair, the other long and gangly with brown hair and olive skin. Different from Matt, different from Lotor. Allura would be second to last. The first time Keith had met her, he’d thought she was Lotor"s sister. While her family and Lotor"s walked the same upper circles of society, they weren’t related. For a long time, they had all thought Matt was jealous of Lotor because of Allura. How wrong they’d been.

And last would come Shiro.

The man Keith Kogane loved.

"Shiro! Who’d you save today?" Lance shouted after he had shoved Keith shoved Keith further into the booth right against the diner window.

Shiro ducked his head sheepishly and dragged a chair over; he always got the head of the table. "A bird fell out of his nest, and there was a cat."

"Naturally," they all muttered in unison, which made Shiro blush and scratch at his neck. Then his gaze met Keith"s, and he smiled.

Shiro"s smiles were like the stars, endless and beautiful and scary. Keith saluted him with his drink before turning to Matt, who was mocking him again about his failure to use social media apps correctly..  

 

Meeting Shiro should never have happened in the first place.

Keith, a creative writing major, had stumbled into the economics TA by accident. The economics faculty was on the other side of the campus, and no TA should be hanging around the colorful and wired labyrinth of the art and linguistic building. Their meeting held all the major plot points of a dramatic romcom: spilled hot coffee, grumpy scowling, twenty apologies, and the exchange of numbers to compensate for the poor, sacrificed coffee.

After that, everything else had fallen into place.

Shiro had brought with him an abundance of life, of optimism, of sunshine, and of light. Even with a fate worse than Keith"s (no parents, a missing arm replaced by gleaming metal, a lost dream of stars and galaxies), Shiro was a gentle storm—one Keith didn’t mind being swept away in.

With Shiro had come Matt, who’d been followed by Lotor, which meant Allura had joined their ragtag group. Allura had brought Lance, who’d then brought Hunk. Keith had hated them all for intruding on his time with Shiro, but slowly he’d learned that he didn’t mind. 

 

Despite Keith being the first to arrive and Shiro being the last, they were always the leftovers, sitting in the diner well into the oncoming darkness, talking and laughing. Shiro, with his hair as white as Lotor"s and Allura"s (Lance still believed they’d formed some sort of cult), twinkling grey eyes and broad form. But his smile was always gentle like a spring breeze. 

"Keith?" 

He blinked. 

"Keith?" A warm palm enveloped his hands. It sent a tremor through Keith that he hoped Shiro didn’t notice.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He raised his eyes to Shiro’s. There was a worry line between Shiro’s brows. Keith"s fingers itched to smooth it out.

"You haven"t been this absent since— Oh." Shiro looked adorable, like a kicked puppy. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Keith smiled ruefully and shrugged. Shiro"s palm still covered his too-cold hands. Keith felt the warmth slowly seeping into him, the calluses on those big fingers catching on the soft skin of the back of Keith’s hand when Shiro shifted slightly. 

"It was a long time ago, and I’d rather spend the day with my friends."

Shiro checked his watch. "We can still make it."

"What?" 

But Shiro was already walking. For a man of his stature, he could move surprisingly fast. He grabbed Keith"s hand while throwing a few crumpled bills on the table. He waved at the waiter and dragged Keith out. 

 

The air was crisp. Keith shuddered as the warmth from the diner slowly seeped out of his flesh. He chuckled slightly at Shiro’s antics, but fuck was it cold . Shiro stopped in front of his car and unlocked the doors. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Keith, who slid in with just the slightest of eye rolls, which earned him another smile.

"Where are we going," Keith asked after fastening his seat belt. 

Shiro answered again with a smile before he started the car and smoothly glided out of the parking spot. The streetlamps had already flickered on, their yellow light flashing over them as they drove through the streets. It was still early, so the road was packed. And yet, it felt as if they were alone. It was a feeling Keith always associated with Shiro. As if he stepped into its own universe, a universe called Takashi Shirogane.

After a few more turns, they stopped in front of an iron gate Keith knew quite well.

"Shiro?" He looked over. Shiro was smiling sheepishly. 

"I promised you, you will never have to go alone again. And I also know you’d never ask for it, so this is giving you a chance. It"s your decision, what to do."

Keith exhaled and let the stress and tension drain from him. Shiro took this as a positive sign because his smile once again became more open.

"Okay." Keith unfastened the seat belt and climbed out of the car. He didn’t wait for Shiro but marched through the open gate, the little pathways, the trees, and the stone walkways until he stopped. His feet had taken the familiar route automatically.

Keith knelt down, brushing a few leaves to the side before his fingers traced the golden engraved letters. 

 

Tex H. Kogane. Beloved father and comrade.

 

All of the things Tex. H. Kogane had been ended on the day Kolivan brought Keith the news, smelling like ash and with regret in his eyes. 

 A moment frozen in forever. The setting sun, the grief in the older man"s eyes, the rough hand in Keith’s hair. The silence of the room and the ticking of the kitchen clock. Keith couldn’t remember the exact words, only the growing sorrow and the onslaught of denial that had threatened to swallow him up. 

 

After that, life had not been outright cruel, but tough. The state had shuffled him from home to home, from family to family. Some of them had even cared, tried, but their faces were now blurry memories.

It went on until he’d turned eighteen and fought his way to college, freeing himself of the shackle of social conventions and the burden of any type of relationship. 

He’d resigned himself to keeping his head down and making his own way. That was until he crossed paths with Shiro.

The same Shiro who was now thrusting a bouquet into his line of sight. Keith blinked at it. It looked like a sunset, yellow and orange and red and pink mixed together. Their name was escaping him..

"They are called immortelle."

"They’re beautiful. When did you get them?" Keith took them with careful fingers before laying them gently on the grave.

Shiro scratched his neck. "Bought them before coming around."

"So, you perfectly knew what day it was," Keith pointed out with an eye roll.

"Guilty," Shiro chuckled. 

"You think he will like them?" Keith said, looking down at them.

"I"m sure." Shiro smiled.

Keith stood again, finding Shiro"s left hand. He squeezed it, and Shiro answered in kind.

"Take me home?"

As an answer, Shiro entwined their fingers.

 

Their first kiss happened by accident, a brush of lips on lips in the dead of night, courage fueled by alcohol. It was everything Keith had ever wanted. The next kiss came on the wings of laughter and torrential rain, soaked through clothes and shivering coldness. Keith never quite remembered why they thought taking a shower together was a good idea, but they had. The second kiss under the hot stream of hammering water and clouded by steam became the third, and the fourth and the fifth and an endless number as lips glided over lips and hands found soft skin and sleek flesh. 

That day became the first night, became the second, became the third. Spilled into weeks. They fell into each other"s orbit without premise, two pieces finally slotting together. 

And Keith felt happiness for the first time since the death of his father, but it was deeper and unbound. He found the stars of the night sky in Shiro"s eyes, the embrace of galaxies in his arms, and the sonnets of old in the whisper of his name.

 

"Hey, Keith?"

He turned. Shiro was sitting on the bed, watching him. The sun bathed his muscles in a golden glow, leaving sharp shadows and deep lines. His gaze was steady and earnest.

"Yeah?"

"Adam asked me out for dinner." Shiro’s fingers fiddled with the hem of the blanket.

Keith thought back to the lanky and slightly nerdy TA colleague Shiro had introduced to him a few months back. Keith had not been sure what Shiro saw in the stern looking man, but his eyes had twinkled and there was something soft to Shiro’s smile when he talked about Adam. 

Shiro and Keith had talked about it , when one of them would fall in love with someone else. That they would be honest with each other and end their arrangement.

Keith smiled, ignoring the roaring in his ears and the thundering beat of his heart. "And?"

"I said yes." Shiro blushed. His hands twined into each other to keep them still.

Keith walked over and took his hands into his own before he kissed him long and deep. (It tasted like goodbye.)

"I"m happy for you."

"Yeah?" 

There was a new glow in Shiro’s eyes. Keith could count the stars in them. 

"Yeah."

 

No one was to blame for what came after. First, it was Shiro. He came later to their small gatherings and left earlier, occupied first with exams and his budding relationship, then with graduating and finding a job. Then Hunk, who changed track and went for a culinary school on the other side of the country. Lance moved with him, getting accepted into his top choice med school. Allura followed because she had fallen in love. Last it was Matt, his work as an engineer taking him all over the world, and where Matt went Lotor followed. So it was no surprise to Keith that he found himself alone in the diner at their usual time. The waitress’ smile was sympathetic, but he just shrugged as an answer, finished his milkshake and fries, and watched the people outside.

He sent Matt a lonely pic from the empty seats around him and put a heart, and a "Wish you were here!" in glitter letters on it. He received two replies at the same time. Lotor was telling him off for flirting with his fiance, and Matt told him he should just ignore anything Lotor wrote. Lotor got a smirk as reply and Matt a tongue-out-smiley.

 

Later, much later, when Keith was alone in his apartment and the night had doused it inky blackness, he received another message from Matt.

"I"m here if you need to talk."

The words followed him out into the desert, to the little shack his father had left Keith. They haunted him on the days he looked at his wrist and traced the growing vines with a kind of disassociation. An arm he didn’t register as his, the flesh where black veins with tiny thorns and small buds slowly crept along. This wasn’t his body that was slowly preparing to die. 

 

Keith had known what a soulmark was from the day he was capable of understanding something if it was explained to him. A black dot in the middle of your inner right wrist, that was a soulmark. The seed that bore the wrath of the gods if you didn’t connect to your soul partner, or at least that was the folk tale.

The wrath—people called it Hanahaki— could appear on anyone. But a rejected soulmark would always and forever create trapping thorns and deadly flowers.

 

So when Keith saw the small black seed on his father’s wrist, he had asked. His father had explained, about Keith’s mother, and how while she loved them both dearly, she wasn’t able to be with them. The seed had proven it, still intact, a dark spot on the wrist. Their love had never blossomed, but was also never rejected. Their time had been too short, but the seed, the possibility, had stayed.

That same night, tucked in his bed, the room checked for monsters hiding in the shadows, Keith had recounted the story of his parents. His renditions had sounded more and more fantastic. Keith had sworn to have the same type of love one day: devoted, all-encompassing. Either with a mark or without.

A year later, the soulmark had formed on his wrist. Keith had been ecstatic. Now he could have a friend, a person just for him, curbing the loneliness that already grabbed after his heart. For years, Keith looked and searched and waited and looked some more. But he’d never found someone who fit his mark, which would make it bud and bear the soul-flower.

When he’d turned fourteen and Kolivan had brought the news of ash and fire and death, Keith had already hidden his mark under gloves and long sleeves, never turning his hand up. He had given up on the dream of a naive child in the safety of his own bedroom.

The day Keith met Shiro, he believed in the mark on his wrist again.

Shiro was. That"s it. He just was . Larger than everything Keith had ever experienced. Nothing compared to him.

Not a thing.

Nothing.

 

But Shiro would never know. 

 

Watching the lightning storms gather over the desert, the lighting covering the landscape in flickering lights and eerie silence, Keith smoked at the open window. He asked himself how to fall out of love.

 

Shiro had asked him to help him move in with Adam, following Adam"s work to another city. Keith knew Matt and Lotor would be there and maybe also Hunk, but for the first time in his life, at least the part of his life that revolved around Shiro, Keith had declined. He hadn’t bothered to find a flimsy excuse, but in his usual short manner, had excused himself. Shiro"s reaction had been an onslaught of sad smileys, but he had not pressed. 

Shiro never pressed. 

Then and there, Keith had desperately wished that he had. 

Keith allowed himself to grieve the life they would never have, the things they would never feel together, the body he would never feel under him again. The kisses he would never taste again.

And that gaze from those gray eyes, that encompassed his entire being and just hugged him.

Keith let it go. He screamed his pain into the thunderstorms bursting over the desert, he whispered it to the stars when midnight was long past and the sun not quite there, he told it to the wind, rattling at his windows like a friend searching for him.

He found calmness in his exile. And in the solace of the still nights full of starlight, he found his own peace.

Keith began to heal.

 

So, when the knock came, Keith had already made himself a new home in the desert, in the shack his father had left him.

Notes:

Open lock whoever knocks ... Continues in: The thorns etched in flesh and bones