My friend has been asking around And... I'd rather not bother Sakura her plate's full already, and until I know for sure that whatever's happening to me is serious, there's no need to take a spot someone else might really need
⟪ hopefully he also didn't bother to read because it was a trainwreck. ⟫
I have when I was really young but I was never really good at sitting still I'd be willing to try though And maybe uhm... Well Think there are certain things you could teach me?
[ keith isn’t a psychology major. he isn’t qualified to take any sort of stance and start nitpicking the thought processes of one takashi shirogane, a man who, frankly, has a mind battered and bruised with too many traumas for anyone to fully understand. keith accepts him all the same and yet, he still can’t help but try to understand, if only to better help his friend. one would think being unintentional soulmates would help on that front: having access to shiro’s thoughts and emotions should make it easier. in some ways, it makes it harder, because the bond is new, yet seamless, the ease of access so free flowing at times that keith often gets confused figuring out what’s his and what’s shiro’s. there’s a learning curve, it seems, and keith is a few steps behind.
he thinks he gets this, though: walking by the bathroom’s open door and seeing shiro, a little too short to see himself in the mirror above the sink, fiddling with a bottle of something. difficult to open it with one hand, huh? so that’s how keith finds himself helping shiro dye his hair black. initially, he found it to be a waste of time; shiro is shrinking by the unmarked day. they should be pouring every minute into finding the remedy before he… he…?
but shiro wants this and keith, now minutes into this thing with his hands in shiro’s hair, thinks he gets it. so much of shiro’s physical anatomy has been taken from him. the missing arm, the shrinking, the beast-like traits… – wanting to dye his hair isn’t vain. it’s therapeutic. empowering. it’s one of the few things he can control right now. the thought is soothing, albeit bittersweet; he’s happy to help, he only wishes he could offer more. ]
Are you thinking of changing the style, too?
[ shiro used to love his undercut. on the thought, keith lifts his gaze from the slickness of shiro’s hair, one gloved hand a mess of black and the other holding the bottle upright as he pauses. first meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he’s once against hit with oddity: it isn’t often he can see himself over shiro. never when he’s standing, either. they’ve piled a stack of books on the floor, to boost shiro’s height, but still, he’s a short thing that keith has to drop his gaze considerably low to meet the gaze of. his stomach roils uncomfortably at that, again concerned that they’re running out of time. ]
Because I can cut it.
[ doubtful of his skills? just look at keith’s hair for reference. ]
⟪ he laughed when he started coughing. just another incongruity in a self-proclaimed afterlife, where even the common cold apparently persists. but then his throat started itching, no runny nose no nothing, only his constricted chest and a matching frenzy on the streets of stygia. he laughed harder. hysterical, even. almost unhinged, until tears trickled down his cheeks and he sat defeated at the foot of a willow tree, the pale light of his house faintly glowing in the distance.
his grandmother used to have such romantic views of the fictional disease. he might have entertained them, too, up until reality hit him hard across the head, no time for reveries. if he wanted to live, or even just survive, he couldn’t afford wasting time on fantasy. hard work made dreams come true, though in the end, maybe that was nothing more than deflection, escaping one reality after another.
well, no matter. this is real, a love unaddressed, transformed, light years from the vestiges of an old friendship turned more. he couldn’t tell when it happened, exactly, though he can sort of pinpoint a moment, after his first resurrection, when he looked at keith from the back of the lion and saw a man he knew and didn’t, and his pulse started doing funny things he refused to acknowledge. the first petal he coughed up in the morning reminded him, and here he is now, a firm grip on his breathing as keith dyes his hair because ah, yes, he’s on the verge of becoming completely useless. regaining a modicum of control over his life feels a little like going to war, though in this case, aside from everything this world has delivered so far, he’s his own enemy.
keith, as always, remains flawless. behind him, he works diligently, and his gaze on him hasn’t changed one bit. keith has all the reasons in the world to hate him. to fear him. he just never does, and sometimes, shiro really does wish that he did. the question pulls him out of his melancholy, and he blinks a few times until his sight is clear again. ⟫
With a kitchen knife? ⟪ he can’t tell whether it’s just paranoia, but his voice seems to sound a little deeper. raspier, maybe. he very quietly clears his throat, careful not to trigger a coughing fit. ⟫ I’m not against the idea… What were you thinking? ⟪ and that’s a conversation that feels oddly out of place, for how normal it sounds. ⟫
[ so little faith! there may very well be some legitimacy to the insult that keith is part feral, but even this desert gremlin knows better than to take a chef knife to someone’s scalp. too long. too wide. the blade isn’t easily maneuverable, so of course he isn’t going to butcher shiro with that. if keith’s hand wasn’t covered in junk, he’d flick shiro’s ear for insinuating as much. or not, truthfully, because the heaviness to shiro’s voice sobers him.
doesn’t matter what i think, is what he wants to say. this is about what shiro wants, what shiro needs. why should he care to hear keith’s take? because he’s shiro. not even two beats spent and keith already knows how the conversion would go; doesn’t matter, yes it does, no it doesn’t, yes, no, yes, no. inevitably, keith would fold, so might as well save shiro the breath. ]
I was thinking that your hair looks great, no matter what happens to it.
[ black, white, mixed – keith is still of the mind that there wasn’t anything wrong with his bleached hair. it’d been pretty in its uniqueness. otherworldly, almost. it looked particularly nice in twin moonlight. he gives one, tiny clearing of his throat, making the next swallow easier and then puts the dye bottle on the sink counter. ]
But if you want it a certain way, I can make it happen. [ and then, with no regard for his hand, tugs off the throwaway glove. loose around his much thinner fingers, it hinders his movement. so, glove thrown in the sink, he combs his fingers through shiro’s hair, dye still setting. by the way? that whole knife thing? he quirks a small, private grin. ] I’m not called a blade for nothin’.
[ don’t worry. he has a razor. clear upgrade from a kitchen knife. ]
⟪ shiro’s hairline could be catastrophically receding and still it wouldn’t deter keith. he’s always seen him through lenses that nobody else ever really bothered to use, beyond physique and reputation, even if he did put him on a pedestal when he barely deserved it. it’s one of the many great things about him, though; he doesn’t feign niceties. whereas most people juggle white lies on the daily, keith delivers truths unwrapped and unpolished—whatever he says, you can trust, and the fact that he can see past shiro’s mangled and changing body is a potent balm on his many wounds.
he’s considering his options when keith’s throat makes a little sound, and shiro’s attention immediately refocuses there, a thud against his ribs. impossible. and way to jump to conclusions. squinting, he allows his gaze to slowly drift from keith’s reflection in the mirror, a sour tang on the back of his tongue. he makes no effort to silence his shadow; whatever it says isn’t anything shiro hasn’t already told himself. ⟫
So that’s what you guys did, huh. ⟪ one corner of his mouth lifts up for good measure, faintly reaching his eyes. ⟫ You never got stuck on a whale… admit it. You went out there to make a name for yourself. ⟪ and cut alien hair, obviously. shiro takes a moment to look at the dark mess on his head, keith’s fingers soaked black, and nods appreciatively. ⟫ Hey, I guess it paid off. ⟪ you hairstylist you. he’s mostly messing around, but the color really does please him, lips stretching a little wider. ⟫
[ give shiro an inch and he’ll run with a joke. keith’s grateful for that. he may roll his eyes or scoff from time to time, but deep down, he cherishes every shitty joke shiro utters – except, perhaps, the ones centered around his mortality – because it means the universe didn’t destroy him. every horrid thing that’s happened to him. from a disease to captivity to death to vampiric tendencies to shrinking, hasn’t numbed his drive for bringing joy to others. hell, this awful place even has the annoyance of cold congestion; so that’s one more thing that shiro will be dealing with. probably. he hasn’t heard shiro with the tickle in his throat that keith is currently plagued with, but considering keith’s stunk up their whole house with germs, it’s likely he won’t escape.
he’s sorry in advance.
he tries not to focus on that or how standing over him, breathing on him, will only transfer the sickness sooner, and instead, forces a smile, voice hitting the adequate notes to pass as playful. ]
It’s good planning to have a fallback career. [ you know, in case the space assassin gig doesn’t pan out like how being a paladin didn’t. or how becoming an officer for galaxy garrison didn’t, either. wait, actually, this is a pretty dismal joke, isn’t it? he twirls his fingers in the awkward beat that follows, playing with the thickness of shiro’s floof. ]
But you can’t say that yet. You haven’t even seen the end product, you dork.
[ nice recovery? somewhat. he’s got one side of his mouth lifted, half-cocked on a smile. he doesn’t let that sit long, however, and quickly continues, gaze on his hand – hands, as the other joins to twist his floof upward, combing through the dye. ]
Anyway, you don’t have to decide now. I can cut it some other time. Maybe when you’re back to normal, so you can get the whole picture.
⟪ pffft, cheeky bastard. it’s a semi-joke-slash-deflection that earns keith a noise resembling a snort, and even if shiro’s own sense of humor is often questionable, it’s always a bit of a victory when keith plays along. it’s easier with him. even in spite of this whole flowery ordeal, shiro can’t really think of anyone who truly ever allowed him to be… well. himself, really. fully. in keith’s vicinity, he remembers…
…but then again, he’s not exactly that, either. who he is, who he’s supposed to be. who he wants to be. watching keith towering over him, hands greasy black, is one of the many oddities of the afterlife, and “normal” sounds so… out of place. it gives him pause as he quietly observes, ponders if there’s such a thing available for him. and yet keith still has so much faith.
he gives a small shrug, pensive as he blinks his doubts away. ⟫ You think that’s possible? ⟪ he did say when, and not if. from someone who used to have such a defeatist, suspicious view of the world, it means… well. a great deal. ⟫ I mean, how much smaller could I possibly get, really? ⟪ his mouth twitches, half-apprehensive, half-hopeful. ⟫
[ shiro. please. don’t tempt fate. the combing doesn’t stop; hands keep moving, keeping tugging at his floof before smoothing it back to join the rest of his slicked hair. ]
Some people were saying pocket-size. [ in his disaster of a netherwork inquiry. never let him do that again, okay shiro? though, as much grumbling and dead-eyed staring he’d done throughout the initial postings, it wasn’t an entirely lost cause. he has come out of it with a few helpful tips. the library, mostly; that’s what he’s putting most of his faith into. the other suggestion…
he still doubts it’ll work. it sure would be nice though, huh? if it was that easy.
putting a pin in that thought for now, his hands finally pause, resting lightly over shiro’s crown. and here, the smile has dimmed, replaced by a firm pinch of his lips and a determined spark in the eyes. ]
Doesn’t matter. However small you get, I’m gonna figure out how to reverse it. [ so no more of this is it possible ridiculousness. of course it’s possible that shiro is going to be back to normal. ] You’re gonna be fine, Shiro. We’re not out of options. We still have things left to try.
⟪ ayyy. he doesn’t look half-bad like this. he could even gain some respect in a film noir, probably. slick and smooth. two things he isn’t in real life.
or what if he just. shaved it. that tuft of bleached hair has seen more than it’s ever asked for. maybe it’s time to give it a well-deserved break. is it what keith’s hinting at? semi insisting on a cut. he has options—hair-wise, anyway, but keith claims he also has options size wise. his face changes when he mentions his potential pocket fate, a wary glance skyward. you’re gonna be fine shouldn’t ever follow that kind of prediction, not when he’s already picturing himself with a trail of fairy dust in his wake, a tight green skirt around his hips. but. keith rarely ever says anything if he knows he can’t deliver.
lashes momentarily flit, a little shiver down his spine as fingers hit just the right spot. ⟫ Like what? ⟪ he asks innocently enough, but then he tries to remember what he read and… ⟫ Didn’t they jump to conclusions a little too fast? Do we want to test whatever advice they gave?
[ he has to wonder if curiosity won out and if, after their pillow-bunny war and subsequent parting of ways, shiro inevitably went back to read through the netherwork. keith being the social media newbie that he is, frequently neglects to put things on private, so it wouldn’t take any digging for shiro to see. to know. so is this shiro subtly shutting down The Suggestion before keith can embarrass himself by mentioning it? keith chews at the fatty tissue of his cheek, making shiro wait an extra tick, two, as he absentmindedly scratches at his scalp. he has a bad habit of chewing at his nails, so there isn’t much to begin with, but the little bit of underneath is going to be stained black for days. ]
Probably not. [ he peeks at shiro in the mirror. ] The library is a good suggestion, but the other one… it’s… well… [ his gaze wavers, as does his confidence, and then he’s back to staring at his hands, which have, again, paused.
one beat, two beat, three, and he pulls in a deep, steadying breath, committing himself with a firm: ]
Okay. [ he lifts his hands and sidesteps, being careful not to brush against shiro as he hunches over the sink to wash his hands. the water runs dirty, filling the porcelain with black gunk that slowly tapers off with time. all the while, keith keeps his focus on his hands as his mouth runs. ] You know that kid fairy-tale with the prince who shrinks down into a frog? Obviously your curse is missing the frog part but… you shrunk and people were saying, maybe, if you got a kiss, it’d break the spell…?
[ by the end of it, nothing else is coming off his hands, black as they continue to be. still, he just keeps rubbing at them, gaze never wavering. ]
⟪ okay so. beyond the repetitive innuendos, shiro apparently missed quite a few things. he can’t shut down an alternative he’s yet to hear about, though he was definitely right to be cautious; keith says kiss and shiro sputters, inwardly, careful to keep his face as straight as possible, lest he starts blinking in disbelief. but keith isn’t looking, not at him. keith is extremely focused on washing his hands, and shiro’s gaze prudently swivels back and forth between the running water and keith’s mop of hair, which conveniently hides a bit of his face.
maybe shiro should grow out his own.
he doesn’t even say, like, one person, either. no, it’s people, which implies multiple persons suggesting the same thing and shiro’s forehead ultimately creases dumbfounded, huffing on a rush of air struggling to leave his lungs. well then.
if he got a kiss, maybe it’d break the spell… ⟫ Or turn me into a frog. ⟪ as keith said, it’s the only missing part, though shiro’s attempt at humor falls flat, the same way he forces out a little laugh, only to promptly close his mouth shut. a kiss. he could have just brushed it off as another mockery the netherwork so kindly offered, but with the taste of blood on his tongue and the bittersweet, powdery texture of a crushed petal between his teeth, his whole brain elects to grapple with the idea, refusing to let go. ⟫
Did they… suggest anyone? ⟪ it’s such a silly thing to entertain. the netherworld is no fairy tale, but then again, he is shrinking, coughing up half-formed petals, and craving blood. his hand stiffens on his thigh. ⟫ An actual princess, or… Keith. ⟪ stop. shiro cuts himself off, brows pinched. ⟫ Your hands.
[ okay. shiro is spitting out a joke and keith can’t decide whether that’s a good sign or a bad sign. on one hand, he’s good-humored enough to say something but on the other… – shiro often counters stressful situations with morbid jokes. so, uh, is the prospect of keith kissing shiro on par with shiro’s habit of courting death? because that’s implied, isn’t it? that the person would be keith?
did they… suggest anyone?
okay, guess it isn’t obvious. he bows his face further, scrubbing harder at the knuckles of his right hand. each wrinkle is filled in with black, making the whole thing ugly and dark, and it’s not like it matters, because he’ll just be pulling on his gloves soon enough and then the dye will be mostly covered and – ]
Right, yeah, okay. Sorry.
[ maybe it’s the angle of being hunched over, but his throat tickles and it’s harder to breathe through the next breath. so he turns off the water and straightens up, still meticulous in his effort to not cross gazes with shiro. ]
Me. They suggested me. [ sorry for that too? he dries his hands on his shirt because a) he’s a gremlin like that and b) the towel is on the other side of the sink and he doesn’t much want to bustle into shiro’s space at this precise moment. ] You know… because we’re soulmates. [ which he didn’t say and they wouldn’t know; jonas said something about love, actually, which isn’t at all untrue on keith’s end. still, a white lie is easier – sorry three times now. ]
[ at some point after shiro stops shrinking and chu wanning's collected measurements, shiro will wake up to find a package left for him: a prosethetic arm, with a guide on how to put it on and how to operate the arm. the following note is attached: ]
I could not find a soul to soul-forge the arm, so it will likely need replacing soon. Contact me with any issues.
( ooc: it looks slightly different than the picture; the arm is somewhat darker, thanks to the material used to craft it, and the fingers look more like fingers and not claws. )
Hey! I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am Thank you, really. It's even better than I imagined it would be If there's anything I can do for you Anytime, anywhere, anything Just ask
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text | un: yuheng
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That was incredibly fast, wow!
I hope it wasn't too much of a bother
There's just uhm
One... small problem
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I've been shrinking, to put it bluntly
It's probably not an ideal time to take accurate measurements
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I've... no idea
It began a few days ago
approximately
I've yet to find a cure
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Have you been looking?
There is that medical person, Miss Sakura.
Perhaps she can assist.
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And... I'd rather not bother Sakura
her plate's full already, and until I know for sure that whatever's happening to me is serious, there's no need to take a spot someone else might really need
Do you think... meditation could help?
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[ he'd assumed it was medical and not bothered to respond ]
Meditation might help. It certainly can't hurt. Have you meditated before?
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I have
when I was really young
but I was never really good at sitting still
I'd be willing to try though
And maybe uhm...
Well
Think there are certain things you could teach me?
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a few days into The Shrinking
he thinks he gets this, though: walking by the bathroom’s open door and seeing shiro, a little too short to see himself in the mirror above the sink, fiddling with a bottle of something. difficult to open it with one hand, huh? so that’s how keith finds himself helping shiro dye his hair black. initially, he found it to be a waste of time; shiro is shrinking by the unmarked day. they should be pouring every minute into finding the remedy before he… he…?
but shiro wants this and keith, now minutes into this thing with his hands in shiro’s hair, thinks he gets it. so much of shiro’s physical anatomy has been taken from him. the missing arm, the shrinking, the beast-like traits… – wanting to dye his hair isn’t vain. it’s therapeutic. empowering. it’s one of the few things he can control right now. the thought is soothing, albeit bittersweet; he’s happy to help, he only wishes he could offer more. ]
Are you thinking of changing the style, too?
[ shiro used to love his undercut. on the thought, keith lifts his gaze from the slickness of shiro’s hair, one gloved hand a mess of black and the other holding the bottle upright as he pauses. first meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he’s once against hit with oddity: it isn’t often he can see himself over shiro. never when he’s standing, either. they’ve piled a stack of books on the floor, to boost shiro’s height, but still, he’s a short thing that keith has to drop his gaze considerably low to meet the gaze of. his stomach roils uncomfortably at that, again concerned that they’re running out of time. ]
Because I can cut it.
[ doubtful of his skills? just look at keith’s hair for reference. ]
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his grandmother used to have such romantic views of the fictional disease. he might have entertained them, too, up until reality hit him hard across the head, no time for reveries. if he wanted to live, or even just survive, he couldn’t afford wasting time on fantasy. hard work made dreams come true, though in the end, maybe that was nothing more than deflection, escaping one reality after another.
well, no matter. this is real, a love unaddressed, transformed, light years from the vestiges of an old friendship turned more. he couldn’t tell when it happened, exactly, though he can sort of pinpoint a moment, after his first resurrection, when he looked at keith from the back of the lion and saw a man he knew and didn’t, and his pulse started doing funny things he refused to acknowledge. the first petal he coughed up in the morning reminded him, and here he is now, a firm grip on his breathing as keith dyes his hair because ah, yes, he’s on the verge of becoming completely useless. regaining a modicum of control over his life feels a little like going to war, though in this case, aside from everything this world has delivered so far, he’s his own enemy.
keith, as always, remains flawless. behind him, he works diligently, and his gaze on him hasn’t changed one bit. keith has all the reasons in the world to hate him. to fear him. he just never does, and sometimes, shiro really does wish that he did. the question pulls him out of his melancholy, and he blinks a few times until his sight is clear again. ⟫
With a kitchen knife? ⟪ he can’t tell whether it’s just paranoia, but his voice seems to sound a little deeper. raspier, maybe. he very quietly clears his throat, careful not to trigger a coughing fit. ⟫ I’m not against the idea… What were you thinking? ⟪ and that’s a conversation that feels oddly out of place, for how normal it sounds. ⟫
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doesn’t matter what i think, is what he wants to say. this is about what shiro wants, what shiro needs. why should he care to hear keith’s take? because he’s shiro. not even two beats spent and keith already knows how the conversion would go; doesn’t matter, yes it does, no it doesn’t, yes, no, yes, no. inevitably, keith would fold, so might as well save shiro the breath. ]
I was thinking that your hair looks great, no matter what happens to it.
[ black, white, mixed – keith is still of the mind that there wasn’t anything wrong with his bleached hair. it’d been pretty in its uniqueness. otherworldly, almost. it looked particularly nice in twin moonlight. he gives one, tiny clearing of his throat, making the next swallow easier and then puts the dye bottle on the sink counter. ]
But if you want it a certain way, I can make it happen. [ and then, with no regard for his hand, tugs off the throwaway glove. loose around his much thinner fingers, it hinders his movement. so, glove thrown in the sink, he combs his fingers through shiro’s hair, dye still setting. by the way? that whole knife thing? he quirks a small, private grin. ] I’m not called a blade for nothin’.
[ don’t worry. he has a razor. clear upgrade from a kitchen knife. ]
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he’s considering his options when keith’s throat makes a little sound, and shiro’s attention immediately refocuses there, a thud against his ribs. impossible. and way to jump to conclusions. squinting, he allows his gaze to slowly drift from keith’s reflection in the mirror, a sour tang on the back of his tongue. he makes no effort to silence his shadow; whatever it says isn’t anything shiro hasn’t already told himself. ⟫
So that’s what you guys did, huh. ⟪ one corner of his mouth lifts up for good measure, faintly reaching his eyes. ⟫ You never got stuck on a whale… admit it. You went out there to make a name for yourself. ⟪ and cut alien hair, obviously. shiro takes a moment to look at the dark mess on his head, keith’s fingers soaked black, and nods appreciatively. ⟫ Hey, I guess it paid off. ⟪ you hairstylist you. he’s mostly messing around, but the color really does please him, lips stretching a little wider. ⟫
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he’s sorry in advance.
he tries not to focus on that or how standing over him, breathing on him, will only transfer the sickness sooner, and instead, forces a smile, voice hitting the adequate notes to pass as playful. ]
It’s good planning to have a fallback career. [ you know, in case the space assassin gig doesn’t pan out like how being a paladin didn’t. or how becoming an officer for galaxy garrison didn’t, either. wait, actually, this is a pretty dismal joke, isn’t it? he twirls his fingers in the awkward beat that follows, playing with the thickness of shiro’s floof. ]
But you can’t say that yet. You haven’t even seen the end product, you dork.
[ nice recovery? somewhat. he’s got one side of his mouth lifted, half-cocked on a smile. he doesn’t let that sit long, however, and quickly continues, gaze on his hand – hands, as the other joins to twist his floof upward, combing through the dye. ]
Anyway, you don’t have to decide now. I can cut it some other time. Maybe when you’re back to normal, so you can get the whole picture.
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…but then again, he’s not exactly that, either. who he is, who he’s supposed to be. who he wants to be. watching keith towering over him, hands greasy black, is one of the many oddities of the afterlife, and “normal” sounds so… out of place. it gives him pause as he quietly observes, ponders if there’s such a thing available for him. and yet keith still has so much faith.
he gives a small shrug, pensive as he blinks his doubts away. ⟫ You think that’s possible? ⟪ he did say when, and not if. from someone who used to have such a defeatist, suspicious view of the world, it means… well. a great deal. ⟫ I mean, how much smaller could I possibly get, really? ⟪ his mouth twitches, half-apprehensive, half-hopeful. ⟫
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Some people were saying pocket-size. [ in his disaster of a netherwork inquiry. never let him do that again, okay shiro? though, as much grumbling and dead-eyed staring he’d done throughout the initial postings, it wasn’t an entirely lost cause. he has come out of it with a few helpful tips. the library, mostly; that’s what he’s putting most of his faith into. the other suggestion…
he still doubts it’ll work. it sure would be nice though, huh? if it was that easy.
putting a pin in that thought for now, his hands finally pause, resting lightly over shiro’s crown. and here, the smile has dimmed, replaced by a firm pinch of his lips and a determined spark in the eyes. ]
Doesn’t matter. However small you get, I’m gonna figure out how to reverse it. [ so no more of this is it possible ridiculousness. of course it’s possible that shiro is going to be back to normal. ] You’re gonna be fine, Shiro. We’re not out of options. We still have things left to try.
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or what if he just. shaved it. that tuft of bleached hair has seen more than it’s ever asked for. maybe it’s time to give it a well-deserved break. is it what keith’s hinting at? semi insisting on a cut. he has options—hair-wise, anyway, but keith claims he also has options size wise. his face changes when he mentions his potential pocket fate, a wary glance skyward. you’re gonna be fine shouldn’t ever follow that kind of prediction, not when he’s already picturing himself with a trail of fairy dust in his wake, a tight green skirt around his hips. but. keith rarely ever says anything if he knows he can’t deliver.
lashes momentarily flit, a little shiver down his spine as fingers hit just the right spot. ⟫ Like what? ⟪ he asks innocently enough, but then he tries to remember what he read and… ⟫ Didn’t they jump to conclusions a little too fast? Do we want to test whatever advice they gave?
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Probably not. [ he peeks at shiro in the mirror. ] The library is a good suggestion, but the other one… it’s… well… [ his gaze wavers, as does his confidence, and then he’s back to staring at his hands, which have, again, paused.
one beat, two beat, three, and he pulls in a deep, steadying breath, committing himself with a firm: ]
Okay. [ he lifts his hands and sidesteps, being careful not to brush against shiro as he hunches over the sink to wash his hands. the water runs dirty, filling the porcelain with black gunk that slowly tapers off with time. all the while, keith keeps his focus on his hands as his mouth runs. ] You know that kid fairy-tale with the prince who shrinks down into a frog? Obviously your curse is missing the frog part but… you shrunk and people were saying, maybe, if you got a kiss, it’d break the spell…?
[ by the end of it, nothing else is coming off his hands, black as they continue to be. still, he just keeps rubbing at them, gaze never wavering. ]
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maybe shiro should grow out his own.
he doesn’t even say, like, one person, either. no, it’s people, which implies multiple persons suggesting the same thing and shiro’s forehead ultimately creases dumbfounded, huffing on a rush of air struggling to leave his lungs. well then.
if he got a kiss, maybe it’d break the spell… ⟫ Or turn me into a frog. ⟪ as keith said, it’s the only missing part, though shiro’s attempt at humor falls flat, the same way he forces out a little laugh, only to promptly close his mouth shut. a kiss. he could have just brushed it off as another mockery the netherwork so kindly offered, but with the taste of blood on his tongue and the bittersweet, powdery texture of a crushed petal between his teeth, his whole brain elects to grapple with the idea, refusing to let go. ⟫
Did they… suggest anyone? ⟪ it’s such a silly thing to entertain. the netherworld is no fairy tale, but then again, he is shrinking, coughing up half-formed petals, and craving blood. his hand stiffens on his thigh. ⟫ An actual princess, or… Keith. ⟪ stop. shiro cuts himself off, brows pinched. ⟫ Your hands.
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did they… suggest anyone?
okay, guess it isn’t obvious. he bows his face further, scrubbing harder at the knuckles of his right hand. each wrinkle is filled in with black, making the whole thing ugly and dark, and it’s not like it matters, because he’ll just be pulling on his gloves soon enough and then the dye will be mostly covered and – ]
Right, yeah, okay. Sorry.
[ maybe it’s the angle of being hunched over, but his throat tickles and it’s harder to breathe through the next breath. so he turns off the water and straightens up, still meticulous in his effort to not cross gazes with shiro. ]
Me. They suggested me. [ sorry for that too? he dries his hands on his shirt because a) he’s a gremlin like that and b) the towel is on the other side of the sink and he doesn’t much want to bustle into shiro’s space at this precise moment. ] You know… because we’re soulmates. [ which he didn’t say and they wouldn’t know; jonas said something about love, actually, which isn’t at all untrue on keith’s end. still, a white lie is easier – sorry three times now. ]
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let's pretend that netherworld hair dye only has to stay in for, like, 5 minutes LOL
nether magic is the best magic
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I could not find a soul to soul-forge the arm, so it will likely need replacing soon. Contact me with any issues.
( ooc: it looks slightly different than the picture; the arm is somewhat darker, thanks to the material used to craft it, and the fingers look more like fingers and not claws. )
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Thank you, really. It's even better than I imagined it would be
If there's anything I can do for you
Anytime, anywhere, anything
Just ask
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