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You’ve ignored every argument I’ve given you, every logical reason why you shouldn’t go to Kerberos… you’ve even ignored my feelings in this. Fine. If you’re going your own way, then I’ll accept this new posting in Washington.
But Adam… what about us?
If you’re really gonna do this, Takashi… then there is no ‘us’.
It's not like he technically had a birthday this year, anyway.
This isn't a leap year, so February 28th merged seamlessly into March 1st. The absence of a day that is expressly his birthday should make skipping any kind of celebration of his life or acknowledgement of another year’s passing easier.
It doesn't.
Shiro stares at the ceiling the morning of his not-birthday and considers the advantages of staying in bed. It’s comfortable under the covers, and there’s no one around that he’d have to muster the energy to deal with. Not getting up to face the day is really rather tempting.
“Can’t lie here forever though, Takashi,” he tells himself. “You’ve got work to do. Get up.”
His movements are slow, robotic, as he reluctantly shoves the covers towards the wall and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Stumbles into the shower and turns it on.
The apartment is quiet as he makes breakfast, too quiet. He misses the easy banter with Adam as they both got ready for work, the friendly insults and sincere reassurances, the support afforded by sharing his life with someone else.
He tries not to think about it too much, tries to avoid how much the very thought of his ex leaving hurts him, but it’s there in the badly stacked fridge, the coffee machine filled with old, cold coffee, the emptiness and quietness of the apartment. It's there in his every incompetence, the places Adam had made up for the gaps in his abilities. It's there and he can't ignore it.
Now that he’s getting ready to go, he just wants to get out.
The desert air is fairly cool; the rays of sunlight which fall on his face promise of a temperate day, which is good because he’s got to work on the bikes today. It’s another menial task, a way of keeping himself occupied when his thoughts want to drift, like a miserable person’s, to how alone and pathetic he is.
“I chose to go to Kerberos,” he reminds himself. And Adam chose to leave me, his mind whispers in response.
There are no briefings about the mission today. This is because Iverson’s assessing the cadets’ flight skills. Shiro remembers when, not so long ago really, he was one of the cadets being assessed, palms sweating in anticipation as he waited for his name to be called.
Not that he’d ever really needed to worry about getting low marks; valedictorian was a title that had come easily to him, with barely any effort needed on his part. Almost without his asking for it, but then Shiro had always been one for ambition, had always been ready to overwork enough to secure his place in history.
It was almost greedy, how he’d added hard work to talent to being likable enough that he’d be given the benefit of the doubt even when he did get things wrong; almost greedy how he’d claimed all the achievements in every field and never left any for others; almost greedy how he was never shunned for being too much but was instead celebrated and admired for being so capable.
That effort and talent were what had gotten him to this point though. To a bright future, heading out the furthest from Earth that humans had ever been; to records already secured and more to come.
(To an ex-boyfriend who left him ‘cause he’d been too focused on his career.)
Shiro tries to bury himself in the delicate adjustments he’s making to his bike, rather than dwelling on his dissatisfactions and He just replaced the alternator, because the energy conversion efficiency’s been dropping and it means he’s burning through the reactor’s core faster than he’d want. It’s a fiddly job; takes a while to take the bike apart, get everything aligned just right, and then replace everything he moved so the bike works like before. (It also doesn’t help that Shiro’s not the best at DIY to begin with— one of the few things that don’t come naturally to him, ironically. He’s sure that if he had Keith to help him (or even, let’s be honest, do most of it for him at this point) it would take half the time it takes him on his own, maybe less.)
He’s so immersed in focusing on the last sheet of metal getting screwed down and the sun shining off the bike into his eyes, making him squint, that he’s not aware of his surroundings.
“Shiro?”
Shiro startles, looks up. Keith’s standing a couple metres away, hands on hips.
He smiles out of practice, though he’s confused by why Keith’s here. “I thought you had an exam today?”
“I did,” Keith shrugs. “I finished early and came to find you. I was worried– you weren’t at breakfast.”
Oh, yeah. “Sorry, I slept in.” It’s not technically a lie. Those extra minutes he had in bed this morning and the time he wasted throwing out old food and making breakfast for himself came on top of sleeping through his alarm; he was never going to make it to the mess hall on time and he decided to give himself a pass for once. Keith shouldn’t have to have him there all his free time.
The moment he’d thought that, though, he’d felt awful. Keith was his friend, and friends didn’t turn time spent with each other into a commodity to be measured out.
Still, it had been too late then. He’d already missed breakfast, and there was nothing to be done about it except mope a little more as he got up.
“You slept in? But isn’t there something special about today?” Keith raises his eyebrows.
Something special? Shiro trawls through all the possibilities. Is it a holiday in some obscure country? The anniversary of their meeting? An anime’s release date? Something historically significant? Or could Keith be referring to…?
That’s got to be it; his birthday. It’s childish, but Shiro can’t help himself. He feigns ignorance. “Not as far as I know, no. Why?”
“Oh, it’s just a month until you set off for Kerberos,” Keith says, looking mildly disappointed. “Not that that matters much, really– I don’t know why I said it.”
Shiro tries to keep his face from falling too far. Why’s he so disappointed? He doesn’t have a birthday, what was he thinking?
“Shiro,” Keith says disbelievingly, breaking into his reverie. “Did you honestly believe I’d forgotten your birthday?”
Shiro looks up. Keith’s half-smiling, half-concerned, and he’s brandishing a cupcake like some kind of weapon in between them. “Happy birthday?”
“Um,” Shiro blinks, still processing the fact that Keith remembered and that someone cares, “thanks.”
“I got you a present too,” Keith adds, words speeding up as he sees that Shiro’s reaction isn’t what he’d hoped for, “but it’s in my room still. The cupcake’s red velvet- you said that was your favourite once, and I went to a bakery to get it ‘cause they don’t have any in the canteen, and I know you’re still cut up about Adam but I thought that, since it’s your birthday— or, well, not technically your birthday I guess but close enough— it would be nice if you still had someone to celebrate with, and you’re like a brother to me, and I know it’s not the same but—”
“Keith,” Shiro cuts in, a smile working its inevitable way onto his face because he hasn’t seen Keith this disorganised in his speech in months, not since he was tentatively figuring out how to trust Shiro. Not since the words had come spilling out in a way that made it clear to him that Keith had needed to say these things for a long time but hadn’t had anyone to say them to. “Thank you.”
He takes the cupcake and examines it. It’s got one of those old-fashioned crunkly red wrappers, the ones that are satisfying to look at but retain so many crumbs that Shiro ends up scraping them off so he can eat every last bit of cake. (Keith, on the other hand, tends to just stick the entire empty wrapper in his mouth and chew, which Shiro finds frankly disgusting but Keith obviously hasn’t had many cupcakes in his life so he doesn’t say anything about it.) There’s a little ring of reddish sponge visible between the wrapper and the cream-coloured icing, which is piped in an elegant swirl to top the whole thing and sprinkled with maroon powder to match the sponge. “This looks so good. You must’ve gone to a proper bakery, not just the grocery store.”
“Well, yeah.” Keith smiles awkwardly but genuinely. “I got you a present too if you want to see it?”
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Shiro says automatically. He knows how much allowance Keith gets from the Garrison as a scholarship student, knows how much of that gets spent in the canteen or on field trips. There’s precious little left over for Keith to treat himself with, usually only enough for a chocolate bar or some candy every week. That shouldn’t be getting spent on Shiro, especially not after he’s already spent what must be this week’s lot on a nice cupcake.
“I didn’t have to, but I did.” Keith smiles more widely at Shiro and produces a small package, wrapped in brown parcel paper. “Happy birthday.”
He unwraps it, ripping the paper and abandoning all decorum as he reveals the gift inside. It’s a book, an old-fashioned one with a hard cover and a gilded title.
“A Brief History of the Current Era: from the 21st Century to the Present,” Shiro breathes as he strokes the raised letters. “Keith, this is… wow. You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to,” Keith says, and he looks so pleased with himself that Shiro can’t bring himself to push issues about budgeting and priorities. This gift is… well, Shiro’s always been something of a book nerd. It’s beautiful, it’s antique, and it’s perfect.
“Thank you so much,” he says simply. Keith beams, and he adds, “Do you want to come back to the apartment for supper? I’ll get pizza.”
And so it is that Shiro spends the evening of his birthday not with his significant other, and not on his own, but with his best friend. They sit on the sofa in front of the TV with three boxes of pizza (far too much for them to be able to finish in one go, but Shiro protests not being able to choose between the flavours) and watch the anime movies Shiro remembers from his childhood. The tragic romances make Shiro cry with how sad they are. (Keith, on the other side of the sofa, seems unaffected, watching with dry eyes and only mild concern for Shiro’s predicament.) The comedies make them (well, again mostly Shiro) laugh, and after the end of the thriller they discuss the moral principles of the antiheroes and the villains, a deep conversation that goes long into the night.
Shiro finally turns Keith out into the hallway with a worried glance at his clock, because it’s a few minutes hours after curfew and Keith’ll be in big trouble if he’s caught walking back to his room. “If anyone asks you why you’re out, blame it on me,” he tells him.
“Got it, will do.” Keith grins. “See you tomorrow then.”
“Night.”
The door closes between them and Shiro turns back to the apartment.
Once everything’s cleared up, he heads to bed, and for the first time since Adam left, having the room to himself doesn’t feel lonely, doesn’t feel sad. He falls asleep quickly.