Keith has never been good at pretending he’s not angry.

It’s always been there beneath the surface, that sharp, restless fire he keeps carefully contained behind clenched teeth and crossed arms. He’s spent years learning how to control it, how to swallow the instinct to lash out, how to remind himself that he’s more than the temper that rises in his chest when things become too much. But tonight, he’s pushed too far.

The argument isn’t even important. The words have blurred together, replaced by the pounding of his own heartbeat and the frustration burning through him. His hands curl into fists at his sides, shoulders tense, his breathing growing rougher as his control starts to slip.

“Don’t.” The warning comes out lower than he intends. The whites of Keith’s eyes begin to bleed into gold, his pupils narrowing into sharp, predatory slits. The familiar intensity in his expression twists, and a low growl rumbles from his throat before he even realises he’s making the sound. For a moment, the Galra side of him is impossible to ignore.

And then Keith freezes. The anger vanishes so quickly it almost leaves him dizzy. His eyes widen as he becomes aware of what just happened, of the sound that came from him, of the way his body reacted before his mind could catch up. He takes a step back, staring at his own hands like they belong to someone else.

“I…” His voice falters. Keith looks genuinely startled, shaken by himself. “I didn’t mean to- I’m not…” He exhales sharply, looking away, the words coming like they’re more of a reassurance for himself than you. “I’m not losing control.”