You are you

The metal walls of the Red Paladin’s quarters felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage. Keith sat on the edge of his cot, his head buried in his hands, his fingers digging into the messy strands of his black mullet. He felt like his skin was crawling—literally. Ever since the Blade of Marmora mission, ever since that blade had glowed and his lineage had been laid bare, he felt like a stranger in his own body.

Part-Galra. The enemy. The monster under the bed of the entire universe.

He stared at his hands, half-expecting them to turn purple or sprout claws. Every spark of anger he had ever felt, every impulsive decision, every time he had lashed out—it all felt tainted now. It wasn't just "Keith being Keith" anymore; it was a biological imperative. It was a curse.

A soft, rhythmic thud echoed against the sliding door. Keith didn't look up. He didn't have to. The cadence of the knock belonged to only one person.

"Keith? It’s Shiro. Can I come in?"

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. "I’m busy."

"The motion sensors say you haven't moved from that spot in three hours," Shiro’s voice came through the comms panel, gentle but firm. "I’m coming in."

The door hissed open. Shiro stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the small room with a sense of grounded stability. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes prominent, but his gaze was fixed entirely on Keith. He didn't say anything at first, simply walking over and taking a seat on the floor directly across from the bed so he was looking up at Keith.

"Go away, Shiro," Keith muttered, his voice cracking.

"Not happening. Talk to me."

"There’s nothing to talk about. I’m a Galra. I’m one of them. The things we’ve been fighting... that’s what I am." Keith finally looked up, his dark purple eyes shimmering with a mix of fury and devastation. "Doesn't that bother you? I’m a security risk. I’m a ticking time bomb."

Shiro sighed, leaning his head back against the edge of the cot. "You’re Keith. You’re the kid who got kicked out of the Garrison for looking for me. You’re the pilot of the Red Lion. You’re my brother. None of that changed because of a knife or a DNA test."

"It changes everything!" Keith stood up abruptly, pacing the small space like a caged animal. "The anger, Shiro. All those times I couldn't control myself... it’s because of this. It’s in my blood. How am I supposed to trust myself if I know there’s a monster inside me?"

Shiro watched him pace, his heart aching. He knew what it was like to feel like your body wasn't your own—to look at a part of yourself, like his own prosthetic arm, and see a weapon of the enemy. But seeing Keith, usually so stoic and fierce, falling apart into a mess of self-loathing was more than he could stand.

"Keith, look at me."

Keith stopped, breathing hard, his shoulders hunched.

"Anger is a human emotion too," Shiro said softly. "And being Galra doesn't make you a monster any more than being human makes someone a saint. Look at Zarkon, then look at the Blade of Marmora. It’s about the choices you make. You’ve only ever chosen to protect people."

"But what if I stop? What if I lose it?" Keith’s voice was a whisper now, his anger dissolving into raw vulnerability.

Shiro stood up. He realized that words weren't going to fix this tonight. Keith was stuck in his own head, spinning in a cycle of dark thoughts that needed a complete system override. Shiro had been the "Space Dad" for a long time, maintaining a stoic, leader-like persona to keep the team together. But before all of this, back at the Garrison, he had known how to handle a stubborn, brooding Keith.

"You know what I think?" Shiro asked, a strange, mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.

Keith blinked, confused by the sudden shift in Shiro’s tone. "What?"

"I think you’re being way too dramatic. Even for you."

Keith’s jaw dropped. "Dramatic? Shiro, I’m having a crisis here!"

"You’re moping," Shiro corrected, taking a step forward. "And when you mope, you get all stiff. You need to loosen up."

"I don't want to loosen up. I want to—"

Keith didn't get to finish his sentence. With the speed of a seasoned soldier, Shiro lunged. He didn't grab Keith in a combat hold; instead, he hooked his arms around Keith’s waist and hauled him back onto the cot.

"Shiro! What are you doing? Let go!" Keith scrambled, trying to push him off, but Shiro was stronger and had the element of surprise.

"I’ve decided on a new therapy tactic," Shiro announced, his voice dropping into a playful, mock-serious tone. "It’s called the 'Anti-Moping Protocol.' And step one is identifying the target’s weaknesses."

Before Keith could process the words, Shiro’s fingers began to dance against Keith’s ribs.

Keith’s breath hitched. A sharp, high-pitched gasp escaped his throat, followed by a frantic wiggle. "No! Shiro, stop! Don't you dare!"

"Don't I dare what? This?" Shiro dug his fingers into the sensitive dip of Keith’s waist, scribbling his fingertips back and forth with relentless precision.

"Aha-ha-ha! No! Sh-Shiro, stop it!" Keith’s face went from pale to a bright, flushed pink in seconds. He thrashed, his legs kicking out, but Shiro used his weight to keep him pinned to the mattress.

"Oh, look at that," Shiro teased, his voice full of a rare, bubbly energy. "The fierce Red Paladin has a secret. Is the Galra blood making you extra ticklish, Keith? Is that it?"

"It’s n-not! You—ha-ha-ha! You jerk! Stop!" Keith was howling now, his hands flying up to try and grab Shiro’s wrists, but Shiro was too quick.

Shiro shifted his attack, moving his hands up to Keith’s armpits. He began to 'walk' his fingers in circles, finding the exact spots that made Keith curl into a ball. "I think we found a major structural flaw in your brooding defense system. Look at you. You’re practically vibrating."

"I’m g-gonna kill you!" Keith managed to wheeze out between fits of hysterical laughter. "I swear, Shiro—hee-hee-hee! Stop it!"

"Not until all that gloom is gone," Shiro said, leaning in closer. "You’ve got way too much tension in here. Let’s see if we can find some more."

Shiro began to use what he called 'tickle tactics.' He didn't just stay in one spot; he moved with erratic, unpredictable patterns. He’d feather his touch over Keith’s stomach, making the younger boy arch his back and shriek, and then suddenly dive back into his ribs with deep, kneading motions.

"You’re so twitchy, Keith! It’s like you’re made of springs," Shiro laughed, genuinely enjoying the sound of Keith’s laughter. It wasn't the cynical, dry chuckle Keith usually gave; it was a pure, breathless sound that filled the room and chased away the shadows.

"Please! Sh-Shiro, I can’t—ha-ha! I can’t breathe!" Keith’s eyes were watering, his mullet a wild mess across the pillow.

"Just a little more. I think there’s still a tiny bit of angst left in your system," Shiro said. He hovered his hand over Keith’s chest for a second, teasing him, before suddenly leaning down.

He pressed his lips against Keith’s ribs and blew a long, loud raspberry.

The sound was ridiculous. Keith’s reaction was instantaneous. He let out a loud, strangled honk of a laugh, his entire body jolting as if he’d been hit by a taser.

"NO! NO RASPBERRIES! THAT’S CHEATING!" Keith yelled, his voice cracking into a high register.

"Seems pretty effective to me," Shiro chuckled, then did it again, this time right against Keith’s stomach.

Keith was a goner. He collapsed into the mattress, his limbs flailing weakly as he succumbed to the sensory overload. "Aha-ha-ha! Mercy! Shiro, mercy! I’ll—ha-ha—I’ll stop moping! I promise!"

Shiro didn't stop immediately. He gave Keith’s sides one last, vigorous flurry of tickles, making sure the boy was thoroughly out of breath, before finally pulling his hands away and sitting back on his heels.

Keith lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, his face a brilliant shade of red. His dark purple eyes were bright, no longer filled with the heavy weight of his heritage, but with the shimmering light of exhaustion and mirth. He looked human. He looked alive.

"You... you are the worst," Keith panted, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.

"I’m the best," Shiro corrected, offering a hand to help Keith sit up. "Feel any better?"

Keith took the hand, letting Shiro pull him into a sitting position. He took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the way his lungs expanded without the tightness of anxiety clenching his chest. The world didn't feel like it was ending anymore. He was still part-Galra, and he still had a lot to figure out, but the paralyzing fear had been broken.

"Yeah," Keith admitted quietly, looking down at his hands. They were steady now. "A little."

Shiro reached out and ruffled Keith’s hair, messy as it was. "Good. Because I meant what I said, Keith. It doesn't matter what your DNA says. You’re my brother. And if you ever start thinking you’re a monster again, I’m going to have to bring out the raspberries again."

Keith shivered, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Don't you dare. I’ll eject you from the Red Lion."

"I’d like to see you try," Shiro joked, standing up and heading toward the door. "Get some sleep, Keith. We have training in the morning. And I expect you to be at one hundred percent."

"I will be," Keith promised.

As the door hissed shut behind Shiro, Keith leaned back against the wall. The room was quiet again, but the silence didn't feel heavy anymore. He looked at the Blade of Marmora sitting on his nightstand. It was just a tool. It was a part of his past, but it didn't define his future.

He rolled his eyes, thinking about Shiro’s ridiculous "Anti-Moping Protocol." The man really was a dork when he wanted to be. But as Keith pulled the blanket over himself, falling into a much-needed, dreamless sleep, he realized that was exactly what he had needed. Not a commander, not a hero, but a brother who knew exactly how to make him feel like himself again.