Chapter 20: 20. The Last Man Standing

Keith

A soft knock on my trailer announces Shiro’s arrival the following day. At least, I hope it’s Shiro or the PA with my coffee order. The night with the gang yesterday turned out to be fun, but the abundance of booze and a lack of sleep pull at my bones, as well as, unfortunately, my complexion. Nyla had some choice things to say about the dark smudges under my eyes. Apparently, I strive to complicate her life. 

“Come in.”

Shiro steps inside, with Curtis carrying a tray with coffee cups in tow. 

“Your coffee, Keith. Extra strong, no milk, no sugar.” 

“We didn’t go that hard on you, did we?” Shiro teases. “You were the last man standing, after all.”

“What can I say? I’m not twenty-one anymore.” 

“Yes, you’re veritably ancient,” Shiro says with a soft smile.

“Do you need anything, Shiro?” Curtis asks, darting his gaze between us so fast I worry he’s going to hurt himself.

“A caramel macchiato with an extra shot. Oh, also, a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese, please. I haven’t had breakfast yet.” 

“With pleasure,” Curtis says, and I have to stop the eye roll that threatens to overtake my face. 

“You have your orders; now run along,” I say, not bothering to mask the annoyance in my voice. Shiro gives me an odd look. I’m acting like a jackass. Again. After all, why couldn’t the cute PA flirt with my co-star? It’s a free country.

Because Shiro is mine. 

The realization rolls through me, a dark wave erupting deep inside my gut and settling over my entire being. Not caring what Curtis thinks or that my behavior will become the topic of crew gossip, adding to my reputation as a stand-offish jerk, I shove the PA out of my trailer and slam the door in his face.

“Guessing you’re not a morning person?” Shiro asks with a cocked brow.

“Not a people person,” I say, retreating further into the trailer to search for my script. I remember the scenes backward and forward, but rifling through the pages soothes me. Finally, I locate the script on the table next to the couch, grasping it like a lifeline that can stop the odd emotions welling in my chest.

“Before we start, do you want something? There should be soda in the fridge.”

“I’ll wait for my coffee,” Shiro says. “So, um, where should we begin?” 

“How about the flashback scene? Akira and Ryou saying goodbye before Ryou leaves for Kerberos.” 

“Okay.”

We run through the scene, the absence of other people and camera already making the process easier, until the moment when Akira is supposed to assure Ryou he’s going to wait for his return and then hug him. There’s a beat of hesitation before I wrap my arms around Shiro. Once I do, he stills underneath my touch, every line of his body rigid, his expression tense. That won’t read awkward on camera at all. We look like two unfriendly colleagues forced to interact, not close friends, on the verge of falling in love. 

“This sucks,” I say, releasing Shiro.

“Yes. Why did you hesitate?” Trust a soldier to zero in on the problem.

“Why did you went all rigid?”

“Answer my question first.”

To gain more time, I slump onto the couch and take a sip of coffee. I forgot it’s still too hot, and it burns my tongue, forcing me to sputter. Shiro laughs softly and takes a spot next to me.

“That’s what you get for avoiding my question.” 

I cradle the coffee cup in my hands as I stare into the distance, not meeting Shiro’s eyes.

“My agent is going to hate it. He was livid when I told him about doing a show that had gay characters. Now that I’m playing one…” I unscrew the lid and try frowning the coffee into cooling down.

“Does it bother you?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Then why do you care what he thinks? Aren’t you his boss?”

“It’s not… It’s complicated.” How much do I want to share with Shiro? Once people learn I grew up in the system, they see me differently. Either with pity or they try to figure out how to take advantage of me as if I never outgrew being a vulnerable kid. But Shiro wouldn’t do that, right? He’s a good guy. And if not, better to learn that now.

“He’s the one who discovered me. I bounced around the system, and he got me out. I owe him a lot. Everything, in fact.” 

Hesitant, I flick my eyes up to Shiro’s, worried I’ll see the shadow of pity in them or the hungry gleam I learned to recognize so well. Instead, I find only a hint of a smile and kindness that travels through the distance between us, sliding behind my breastbone and sending warmth zooming everywhere. And there’s the other problem regarding the tender scenes with Shiro. They hit too close to home, amplifying what’s already rooted in my chest, ever-growing and disconcerting. 

“Yeah, that complicates matters, I get it, but if I may say something…”

“Not sure how I could stop you,” I mumble, but without real ire behind my words, so Shiro continues. 

“You’ve had a pretty successful career, no? So you paid back your debt to him with interest, and, most importantly, his issues are his issues. You shouldn’t make them yours. If this doesn’t bother you, that’s all that matters, and he can stuff it.” 

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Shiro’s right, of course, even if he doesn’t know the second reason why I’m wary about our scenes. He doesn’t know about my insane attraction to him, as shown by the gentle shoulder bump he gives me, about worrying that if we continue down this road, I’ll long for things I can’t have. Although, I might use all this emotional turmoil to my advantage. Our characters should be in love, after all. Maybe I can channel all those feelings into my scenes and leave them on the set. It’s worth a try. What do I have to lose? Except for my sanity.

“Guess I shouldn’t. Alright, let’s give this another shot.” 

This time when we act out the scene, the energy from our auditions comes crackling back, suffusing the surrounding air with electricity. By the time Akira pulls Ryou into a hug, I’m deep in character and don’t hesitate for a heartbeat. Shiro responds, just as he should, enveloping me in his massive arms, and his scent infiltrates my nostrils. I recognize the make-up and something spicy underneath that’s probably his aftershave. It filters into in my lungs, refusing to let me forget that it’s Shiro crushing me into his solid body. He lets go all too soon, shaking his head.

“Well, I’m not the pro here, but that seemed better?” 

“Yeah. Another one, to confirm it wasn’t a fluke? The scene after Akira kidnaps Ryou from the Garrison soldiers?”

“Alright.” 

We both get up, and Shiro turns his back to me, crossing his arms over his chest—not to ignore me, but because the scene requires it. Once again, it’s smooth sailing until we reach the moment when our characters almost kiss, but they end up being interrupted by Pidge.

“What happened up there?” I ask as Akira.

“Wish I could tell you,” Shiro mumbles into my shoulder. “My head’s still pretty scrambled. I was on an alien ship, but somehow I escaped...” Shiro’s voice trails off, as dictated by the scene. 

“Akira,” he says after a while and pulls away. One of his large hands cups my face gently, the long fingers splaying across my cheek. There’s a heated look in Shiro’s eyes. Dammit, the guy’s a natural.

“Akira,” he repeats, a thumb skating across my cheekbone. 

This. This is when Katie should come running, yelling something about setting Akira’s home on fire. Instead, we’re alone here in my trailer, with no one around, and it’s getting impossible to ignore the static electricity jumping between us. The press of Shiro’s body against mine. He’s all hard planes contrasting with bulky muscles, and the contact makes my cock twitch. I can’t be the only one feeling this energy between us, can I? 

Shiro’s quiet, his thumb stroking my cheek. We’re acting, right? This means nothing. But then Shiro angles his face closer, fanning my lips with his warm breath. We’re just pretending. This is all a part of the scene. Shiro’s gaze dips down to my mouth, and an undignified whimper that isn’t in the script tears out of my throat. It takes all my willpower not to lean into Shiro, not to let him feel how much his proximity affects me.

“Keith,” he breathes out. Keith. He used my name. Not the name of my character, so perhaps I’m not the only one caught in a web of this weird spell binding us together. When I hear it, the sparks of electricity dancing around us burrow under my skin, a thousand glowing flecks setting my blood alight. Shiro’s eyelids are at half-mast, his mouth parted a fraction. Oh, fuck the scene. If I don’t get my lips on him, I will combust. 

 Thankfully, Shiro follows the same line of thought. He plants one hand on my hip while wrapping the other around the nape of my neck to haul me flush with him. Our lips are almost touching, so close the space between us consists only of our shared breath. I can taste the minty scent of his toothpaste, and my entire body is buzzing with the need to push closer and shove my tongue deep into his mouth.

“Shiro,” I whisper, unable to stop myself. Neither of us is acting anymore. Neither of us is pretending. 

The quiet knock on the door of my trailer might as well be a gunshot for the effect it has on us. We both spring away, Shiro with his eyes downcast and I with red splotches no doubt spreading from my neck into my cheeks. 

“Come in,” I say, voice scratchy with annoyance.

Curtis steps inside, carrying another tray with coffee cups in one hand and a brown paper bag in another.

“Here’s your coffee, Shiro. And your bagel.” He pairs the words with a dopey smile, irritating the hell out of me. 

“Thanks, Curtis.”

“They didn’t have cinnamon raisin, so I got you blueberry, banana with chocolate chips, and cinnamon sugar to pick from. Hope that’s okay.”

Ugh. Could the guy be any more obvious? 

Shiro laughs, the sound warm and vibrant but annoying because he directs it at Curtis, not at me. “Sure. It’s enough to open my own bakery. Thanks, Curtis.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Anything else?” I ask when Curtis seems cemented to the spot, eyeing Shiro as if he’s the last cinnamon-raisin bagel on display.

“Right, yes. Acxa says you’re both needed on set in fifteen.” 

“Next time, start with the important information first.” 

“Of-of course, Keith. Sorry. Won’t happen again.” 

“Great. Now off you go.”

Curtis leaves, glancing over his shoulder at Shiro, who’s too busy scarfing down his breakfast to pay attention to the mooning PA. Thank god. Otherwise, I’d have to consider reassigning him.

“So, I’d say that went well. Um, definitely not awkward anymore.” Yeah, only in an entirely different way. 

“Sorry if I got a little carried away,” Shiro says, not dancing around our near-kiss. 

“Happens sometimes when you get too deep. Let’s do a lightweight version of this on set, and we’re golden.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sound. Disinterested. Not as if my heart is plummeting to my stomach, pulse racing and chest too tight. But we've definitely solved the lacking chemistry. If we had any more of it, my trailer would be on fire. My trailer, the set, the entire city of Toronto. I watch Shiro’s throat work as he washes his breakfast down with the liquid diabetes of a coffee. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple is hypnotizing, and I want to trace the sharp point with my tongue.

He notices my stare and shoots me a shy smile. My mouth, the traitor, curves up in response.

I am in so, so much trouble.

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