Chapter 10: 10. Everyone Will Love You

Shiro

In my eagerness, I arrived at the shoot of the promo for Voltron too early, so now I’m pacing the hall, trying not to worry my lip between my teeth. Blood wouldn’t look good on camera. Why do all the hallways in the offices here in Hollywood appear the same? Did they all have the same decorator who favors beige color, grey carpets, and cheap plastic chairs? I guess nobody bothers investing in something viewers won’t see. I sit down for a while and check our group chat to see when Katie and Lance should arrive, but Katie only wrote ‘on my way,’ while Lance asked if I thought Allura would like him in blue. He’s moved on from obsessing over Keith to drooling over Allura, making me regret not bringing a spray bottle so I could squirt him with water if necessary. 

I shove the phone back and drum my fingers on my thigh. There’s no need to be nervous, is there? I can—could—do Cuban eight with a forty-five thousand pound jet, so this is… nothing. A cakewalk. A piece of cake. Dammit, why do all these sayings involve cake? Maybe I could treat myself for once to a piece of red velvet afterward as a sort of motivation. Or better yet, bake one. Besides, I should get used to smiling into a camera and politely answering questions, hopefully without embarrassing myself in front of my new colleagues and thousands of viewers. And Keith, who’s constantly on my mind. Despite feeling awkward after messaging with him, the flow of texts never really stopped since.

It’s mostly me asking random questions about acting business, but unless he’s shooting or doing an interview, he answers lightning fast, sharing information along with a healthy dose of snark so acerbic it must melt his cellphone on the regular. However, the biting remarks are never aimed at me, and I enjoy the insight into his quicksilver mind. Why he wants to talk to me is a mystery unless it’s kindness toward a future coworker, but I no longer question it. Instead, the message exchange has become the highlight of my days.

Almost as if I conjured him, I glimpse Keith stalking toward me. Should it even be legal to move like this? With this sort of… fluid grace, like a panther on a prowl? My palms are sweating now, so I wipe them on my jeans. 

Classy. Real classy, Shirogane.

“First one here?” Keith asks instead of a greeting when he’s within speaking distance. 

“Looks that way.”

“Eager?” He quirks a brow at me, and my heart gives a painful thump against my breastbone. Unconsciously, I rub at it, with Keith’s eyes following my every move. As if I weren’t nervous enough.

Pull yourself together, Takashi.

“I guess.” Two can play this close-mouthed game. Clearly, neither of us wants to acknowledge our late-night chats, which seem like something from a different world in the light of day. When we’re on the phone together, I ignore Keith’s celebrity status but faced with him today, it’s impossible to think of anything else. It’s imbued in the way he carries himself with utter confidence. Etched in the otherworldly beauty of his face. How could someone this gorgeous could be anything else but admired by millions? Not to mention the fact his burgundy shirt probably costs more than I used to make in a month. It looks great on him, too, accentuating his wiry form, clinging to him in all the right places. My face flushes, and I force myself to tear my eyes away.

Keith claims a spot beside me, but unlike me, awkwardly squishing my bulk into the rackety piece of furniture, he fits right in. No wonder, considering he’s liquid, making himself mold to anything. 

The silence around us builds until it straddles the border between polite and uncomfortable, prompting us to talk at once.

“So I signed the contract,” I say just as Keith asks, “Everything went okay with the lawyer?” Our gazes catch, and we break into laughter, the awkwardness fading away.

“Yeah, it was alright,” I say when the laughter peters out. “Thanks again for hooking me up.”

“Don’t mention it. So, tell me, how much were you freaked out by the conditions?”

“Hmmm. Is there a scale?”

“One to ten.”

“Well, the excruciatingly detailed passage about what body parts they can film and for how long during a potential sex scene would be nine. For sure.”

“Just nine? Man, what would merit a ten?”

“Cataloging my physical assets in case they want to make me into an action figure. That was crazy, man.”

“Don’t say this to anyone, but I hope you asked for a percentage of the merch sale. It doesn’t seem like much, but those things make a killing.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t, but your lawyer kindly advised me to do so.” I grin at him, and he smiles back; only his smile looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial. It probably starred in one, too.

“Still, seeing all my physical traits and every one of my scars listed and described to the last bump was… yeah, pretty weird.”

Keith’s eyes dip down to my arm and follow the path along the jagged scar spanning the length of my bicep. To spare him the awkwardness of being curious but too polite to ask, I answer the unspoken question.

“Total shoulder replacement, twenty-four titanium screws, and two titanium plates in my humerus. It’s essentially a cyborg arm at this point. The doctors considered amputation for a while, so this,” I say, balling my hand into a fist, “is lucky.”

“You have shitty luck, Shiro.”

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“You can say that again. But I survived something that most people don’t with just a couple of scars, so… what’s some nerve damage compared to that? I shouldn’t complain, right?” 

“This policy ‘accept everything life throws at you with a smile’ is such a load of crap. I hate it. You had an awful thing happen to you; of course, you can complain. Doesn’t mean you’re not grateful to be alive, but things are not always clean cut, and no one should label us ungrateful because of our feelings.” 

Keith’s eyes glitter. His irises flood with blood, turning almost purple, and angry spots dust the sharp slash of his cheekbones. Fuck, he’s beautiful. Unless I’m careful, I’m going to be in so, so much trouble. Falling for a coworker—a straight coworker—is a recipe for disaster. This acting job might not be something I imagined doing, but I’m excited about the opportunity. It’s so different from my previous life that I’m actually looking forward to it, and I can’t afford to mess it up. But then my eyes snap to Keith’s, and I’m lost again.

“Sorry. Not exactly a PC answer. That’s why Kolivan—my agent—insists I prepare for the interviews ahead. Fuck. Not something I should be saying, either.” Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair, brushing the silky strands out of his forehead. The effort of not reaching out to twine one of them on my finger hurts deep in my bones. I don’t remember feeling such a physical pull toward anyone for a while. Maybe never, and it’s not just physical attraction, either. It’s how angry he got on my behalf, ready to protect me, even from myself. 

“No, um. Thanks for saying that. Sometimes it’s tough, keeping up the positivity.” 

“I prefer to let out my frustration by punching. A bag, not a person! Geez, don’t look at me like that.” 

“Gotta admit, that’s a bit of a relief.”

“Why? Are you scared of me, Shiro? You look like you could snap me in half with your ears if I tried anything.”

“Never skip ear day, Keith.” 

He huffs out a laugh, and I feel oddly accomplished for making it happen. 

“All my personal trainers were wrong, then. I want my money back.” 

“Perhaps I could help you put together a decent training plan,” I say. “One that doesn’t skip anything. At least I’d put what I learned in therapy to good use.” 

Keith opens his mouth to answer when a familiar voice interrupts him.

“I wouldn’t take him up on that. Sure, he gets results, but you won’t be able to walk straight for a week. Hey, Shiro. How come you’re here so soon?”

“Lance, hi.” 

My friend collapses into the chair on my other side and leans over to offer Keith a hand.

“We haven’t formally met yet. I’m Lance McClain. Excited to be working with you. I’ve been a fan for years.” 

“Keith. A pleasure.” 

He drops Lance’s hand as fast as socially acceptable, and a professional mask replaces the amused openness we enjoyed until Lance’s arrival. Odd. As far as I can tell, there’s no reason for Keith to be uncomfortable around Lance—not yet, anyway—and he must be used to interacting with fans and colleagues, but judged by the tightness in his shoulders and the way his gaze sneaks sideways, he’s not happy about being stuck here with us.

Thankfully, the remaining cast and the interviewer—a famous YouTuber, Lance tells me—appear soon and save us from further awkwardness as we’re shepherded inside the room where the shooting will take place.

I let everyone go ahead, so we’re left in the hallway with Keith.

“Any last advice for a newbie?” I ask.

Alone again, his cold armor melts away.

“Just be your charming self, and everyone will love you,” he says, brushing past me in the doorway. Our arms touch for the briefest moment, and a little spark of electricity leaps between us, sending my pulse into overdrive.

He was just being polite and didn’t actually mean anything by it.

But when our eyes meet after we’ve settled down in the squishy chairs arranged into a circle, and his mouth curves into a shadow of a smile, my heart is intent on ignoring reason, working overtime as it tries to hammer out of my chest.

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