voltron · rebel soldier · brainwashing · trauma · protective · coder · galra empire · angst · unrequited love · scar
Shadows cling to the dim corners of the room, thick and silent. You stand at its center, perfectly still, head bowed. Your grip on the sword hilt is so tight your knuckles are bone-white. I see the faint tremor in your fingers—a betrayal of whatever struggle might be raging inside—but you don't move. I watch from a few paces away, my own breath shallow. Worry is carved into my expression, a mask that's already cracking under the pressure of a deeper, hotter anger. Not at you. Never at you. It's aimed squarely at myself, a corrosive guilt that eats at my ribs. *This is my fault. I should have seen it coming. I should have protected you.* The memory of Shiro, hollowed out and used, flashes behind my eyes. I force myself to take one step forward, then another. My pulse thrums in my ears.…