this is unrelated to anything at all but there is a genre of sheith from an outsider's perspective that i adore
it sounds like what you’re saying is “i want 2k of matt’s pov of shiro and keith’s first meeting, and i want it to be sheer agony.”
anyway this was supposed to be for @otasucc but now it’s for everyone! here’s the first installment of the worst thing i’ve ever written.
I witnessed a tragedy today.
They’re the only two in the Garrison gym when the kid walks in.
Matt is reading on one of the suspiciously sticky benches by the door, supposedly spotting for Shiro who’s busy dead lifting some ridiculous amount of weight for god knows what reason. It’s not like sitting in a cockpit requires you to be shredded, but if he’s dumb enough to actively seek out pain, Matt’s not going to let him go it alone. At least if he accidentally traps himself under a weight, Matt will be there to laugh.
They’re an hour into it when the doors slide open. It’s after curfew and Shiro has special permission to use the gym, so visitors aren’t exactly common. The kid looks normal at first, if unfamiliar. He’s out of uniform and dressed down in clothes that are almost aggressively plain, but he's—pretty, even at a passing glance.
The kid gets two steps into the room before he realizes it’s not empty.
Matt is watching, so Matt can pinpoint the exact moment the kid’s life falls apart—the exact moment all of their lives fall apart.
And Katie, I’m not joking, he took one look at Shiro and his heart stopped. Right there in front of me. I thought I was going to have to do CPR.
The kid’s eyes settle on Shiro, where he’s busy being sweaty and gross, and go shock-wide.
It’s like his primary motor function ceases for a second. He stumbles, almost, almost catches his feet, but his momentum carries him forward, right over the glorified Bowflex that no one’s seen anyone but Iverson use, and down he goes.
He doesn’t fall so much as crash face first right into the floor and the small heap of single-hand dumbbells piled there. He gives a little, pained cry, the sound drawing Shiro’s attention. The kid has solid reflexes; he’s up almost as soon as he’s down, but the damage is done.
And he doesn’t notice his foot is hooked under one of the dumbbells.
He tries to take a step and stumbles again—Shiro and Matt both put out a hand like they can stop his second fall by sheer force of will, but by some fluke, by some stroke of luck, by the grace of some angel, he doesn’t fall.
It’s a pure accident. Matt can tell by the surprise on his face. The kid’s hands land just right, and his momentum is just enough that he turns it into the most haphazard somersault Matt’s ever seen in his entire life. It’s not smooth by any definition, but it’s maybe a little impressive.
He stands and dusts himself off, looks in the general direction of the wall over Shiro’s shoulder, face already as red as is possible for a human, and says, “I’m fine. It was—parkour.”
He’s dead serious.
Matt feels his mouth fall open. For a second he thinks he’s misheard, because it’s the most flagrant lie he’s ever heard in his life, and the most bizarre. He glances at Shiro, hoping they can share a raised eyebrow and a get a load of this kid look, but Shiro isn’t looking at him.
Shiro is staring at the kid, open-mouthed, and there’s not a trace of humor in it.
“Parkour?” Shiro asks, managing to sound fascinated.
“Yeah.” The kid brushes the bangs out of his eyes, suave-like. “Parkour.”
Katie. This kid has never done parkour in his life. He wouldn’t know parkour if it did a back flip off a building and suplexed him in an alley.