[ No, says Keith, and something darkly possessive inside Shiro that was there long before he knew of this kicks and screams in protest. But a no is a no, and Shiro starts consciously breathing through his mouth in the hope of stalling the feeling that's already starting to boil within him. He uncurls his fingers from Keith's arm in a forced, staggered movement, like it hurts to do it, and when he smiles there's absolutely no joy in it. His laugh is a dark thing, bitter as aloes. ]

That wouldn't be why. I'm not that good.

[ He takes a step back, and when he scrubs his hand over his face it lingers for a moment over his nose and mouth, like the metal could block out the scent of Keith. It would be so easy to blame Keith's heat, the connection the Lions give them. Chances are he'd never have said anything on his own, never have risked his love for Keith and Keith's respect for him, their friendship, on something so selfish. That should absolve him at least a little, surely.

It still hurts to have his belief that it'd never happen confirmed. ]

I should go. Get to medical, call Coran. I'm sure he can put together something to help your symptoms, at least.

If -

[ If you change your mind, he wants to say, but every moment he spends near Keith, breathing him in, is a moment closer to begging. He won't make Keith watch that. He tries another smile, more genuine, this time - no hard feelings? - and turns for the door. ]