Chapter 1: Fighting
Summary:
Lance and Keith have had a fight. Keith runs to Pidge and Matt’s to calm down.
Chapter Text
The mobile buzzes where it has been discarded on the coffee table, covering the faded rings of spilt drinks, long dried up, left to scar the wooden surface.
Each tells their own tale; be it happy, sad, lonely or joyous. They overlap sometimes, purple, and the stories threads are hard to pull apart back into red and blue.
His head has mixed them too. Some are from his dreams and have never happened. The larger ones, darker ones, are some he wishes to be nothing more than nightmares. Figments of his imagination that ran wild when trapped in fear and uncertainty.
They’re still there though.
As real as every harsh word spoken. Brutal reminders of poorly thought arguments when tempers ran hot and minds didn’t think about the consequences of the harsh words used in vocal spar aimed to hurt and destroy one another. They are the arguments that get out of hand, heavy, loud and crashing until abruptly abandoned in the heat of the moment with slamming doors and the harshest of insults, threats and curses.
The ring of red wine soaked into the wood will remind him it always remain, because it has happened and he doubts he could never apologise enough….
Lance looks over to the phone as it buzzes again. Text, not call, he thinks bleakly around the headache that is banging drums on his skull. He can’t figure out why; his head has locked that memory away for a different time, leaving only pain in the forefront of his mind.
The screen is too bright to look at. It burns into the back of his skull. Lance drops the phone in defeat, his eyes tearing from the efforts, wondering when he had gathered the strength to grab it off of the coffee table. He decided he didn’t care, or perhaps he just didn’t have the energy to just yet, instead pressing his face into the warmth of the sofa cushions. Its cold there, dark and a solace for the thudding of his brain against skull.
But curiosity is niggling on his mind, relentlessly, and he hasn’t kept his eyes closed long before trying to, once again, look at his mobile.
[Received: Friday 22:06 | Sender: Short-Stack]
He’s here. Come and apologise.
Lance stared at the words.
At first, there’s disappointment. Disappointment in the fact it’s not his lover reaching out to him, but his lover’s friend. Now he knows where he is; the suspicion cemented into fact as he reads and re-reads those two words naming the one who is there for Keith when he is not…
The disappointment dries up into prickly irritation, then fiery anger.
Apologise. Apologise for what?
For wanting to be closer? For wanting to understand him more? For getting angry when he was told that it was stupid and it didn’t matter when it so obviously did, when it was about their future together…
Apologise for what?
For loving him?
Loving him too much is what had got him into this mess. Not just now, but before too. Again and again, a hundred times over.
Caring too much is why they argued in the first place.
Why are you home late? Where have you been? You’re bleeding, what happened?
Babe, I love you, just talk to me.
The phone goes off again and Lance doesn’t have to battle with the brightness to read it this time. There’s hope in his chest, but pain when the sender is the same as before.
[Received: Friday 22:11 | Sender: Short-Stack]
Oi. Are you even reading this?
Yes he’s reading this. This is what is making his head hurt more than just… he doesn’t know the reason. Too much drink? Too many tears?
Whatever. His head is hurting and Lance doesn’t want it to hurt, so he drops the phone again, sighing into the faded pillow that smells of spicy tortilla chips and cat. He can just hear Keith complaining about the crumbs when they try and watch a movie, or hear him moaning at Kitkat, who wants to be let out again, or about the fact she takes ups too much room on the sofa.
Then the smile is gone and he can feel wet o his face. It hurts his head to cry, but it’s not like he can control it.
Lance settled for shoving his face further into the couch, away from the pain and the vibrating of his mobile.
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“Do you want another drink?”
Keith nods, lifting his current beer can to shake it, checking the level of anaesthesia. The few drops at the bottom echo back.
He puts it back on the table, looking to the others he’s already drunk, mind flicking to the thought of Lance’s party favourite of stacking them like ‘beer jenga’. The memory makes him smile.
Then he’s scowling, anger flicking the can so it falls over, rolling to the edge of the table and dropping out of sight on the other side.
Pidge watched him with their own scowl, but said nothing as they went to the fridge to fetch another beer for him and another for Matt, who took residency on the second sofa. Once the boys had their beverages, Pidge returned to the kitchen, opting for their own concoction of what could’ve only once been coffee.
“So?” Matt said, trying for conversation for the hundredth time, putting his mobile down for a moment. He looked to the younger Holt, who sat themselves on the couch beside their best friend, halfway through the drink already, like the stuff is water or something. He’s aiming to drink himself into oblivion and neither Holt knows what to say to stop him, or at least slow him down.
Keith isn’t usually a drunkard, but he has days that he can’t handle without the numbing sensation that tunes him out of the real world. It’s better than him hitting Rolo up for a few pills and a trip to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. Again.
Pidge pulled their legs up, sitting cross-legged, sharing a meaningful look with Matt when Keith ignored him.
Try again, they insisted with a head jerk. Matt tried shrugging his way out of it, but Pidge’s eyes narrowed and Matt was quick to surrender. “Keith, buddy, as much as we love you here, can’t you at least tell us why?”
Neither Holt sibling was one for beating around the bush when it came to friendship interrogation, but the older had a knack of being softer regardless.
And something told Pidge Keith needed ‘softer.’ He was extremely volatile at the moment.
“Hey. Keith.”
“Nothing much, I told you.”
“You told us you were fighting with Lance, but that’s a usual pastime for the pair of you.”
Keith didn’t look over from where he was busy downing the remainder of his alcohol.
Matt continued. “This has to be something a bit more major than just the usual spat. Lance normally blows up your phone with calls and texts trying to apologise, but it hasn’t gone off once since you got here.”
Silence draws in again. Keith isn’t looking at them, probably not even paying attention to the questions as he kept his gaze locked firmly on the TV, muted, but still playing UFO documentaries they’ve all watched a thousand times.
Pidge’s impatience reared its little head.
“Oi. What did you two fight about?” They shoved their smelly sock right in Keith’s face, smirking when the boy batted it away, dropping his empty can as he did. “I already told you,” he growled, shoving Pidge’s leg back to the floor. “It was a stupid fight and I needed air.”
“And you decided our air, a good ten minute drive from your house was the perfect solution.”
Keith gave Pidge the middle finger, but they matched it with a look that told him he’d get his finger snapped back if he didn’t start talking.
Alright, screw tact. If Keith wasn’t going to talk, then Pidge would play the “big brother” card. But before they could threaten to call Shiro over, Keith began talking.
“He asked about my parents again.”
Oh. That would explain some things.
Keith’s attitude for one, and the reason that he had chosen Pidge to confide in over Shiro, Hunk and Coran; his main self-proclaimed therapists.
Pidge nodded quickly, noticing the flicker of Keith’s gaze directed towards the second sofa where Matt watched silently. He was best friends with the pair of them, but Pidge was a better secret-keeper. Not that Matt would blab, but tongues get tied when they talk too fast, and things might slip.
Besides.
He didn’t know the truth.
“Matt, give us the room.” Pidge didn’t wait for a reply, snatching one of his arms, hauling him off of the sofa and out to the hall. There’s not much resistance on the older’s behalf and Pidge knows he’s already thinking along the same wave length.
“He’s staying here tonight?” he asked once they were out of earshot, then added, “it’s cool, I can go crash at Shiro’s. Keith can take my bed. I changed the sheets this morning, so it’s all clean-”
“No.” Pidge glanced back to the living room, watching Keith lean over the sofa to snatch up Matt’s unopened beer. They groaned to themselves, turning back to Matt’s worried expression. “If you crash at Shiro’s, he’ll know something is up. He’ll come round and start asking all sorts of questions. Keith needs space right now.”
They shared a knowing look.
“I love him, but even if we tell him not to barge in or anything, it is exactly what he’ll do.”
It wasn’t like it was hard either. Shiro lived in the opposite apartment complex. If he caught wind his baby brother was here, upset after a fight with his lover, he’d be round in his pyjamas and Black Lion slippers before either Holt could say “Quiznak.”
Matt nodded to himself, knowing Shiro was worse than him when it came to “doting older brother.”
“Alright. Looks like I’m going out on a drink-run then.”
It was simply a reason to get himself out the flat, but there was a pattern he was following. This wasn’t the first time Keith had turned up out of the blue, puffy-eyed, miserable and carrying too much alcohol for one person.
“Thanks Matt, you’re the best.”
“Always.”
Before Pidge returned to the living room, they typed another quick message to “Keith’s Dumbass Boyfriend,” opting out of using too many words to tell him he was being an idiot, at least reply to me and when I get my hands on you…
Lance hadn’t replied to any of their earlier ones which, was odd because Lance was always the one to reply before the phone could re-enter the pocket. Pidge stalled, scanning to screen by re-reading her texts. But after the fifth way through and the words “stupid mindless brain matter,” stamped on their brain, Pidge couldn’t leave Keith alone any longer.
They sent one more though, just a quick “please Lance, I’m worried about the pair of you,” and the mobile was shoved in the front pocket of their dungarees.
Priorities.
Broken hearted Keith first.
Idiot boyfriend second.
“I heard the front door,” Keith said when Pidge re-entered the living room. “Matt went out.”
“Where’s he gone?” He was still on the sofa, Matt’s drink in one hand, his mobile in the other, the blank face staring up at the ceiling.
“Nothing?” Pidge asked, instead of answering, determined to keep conversation on subject. Otherwise, what was the point of Matt leaving?
Their mind, however, flicked to Lance though, wondering if the idiot had finally started texting Keith, begging for forgiveness. Maybe, instead of replying to Pidge, he had the smarts to text to his boyfriend and apologise at prodding at the “family” issue.
“Nothing,” Keith repeated, looking to the mobile.
They both stared at it, both hoping it would light up with Lance’s face, as the boy finally, finally, tried to reach out to apologise, or wish Keith was safe, or invite him home.
But still nothing but silence and the sound of the washing machine’s spin cycle.
“He’ll come round,” Pidge assured him, sliding into the space next to the other, leaning into him as they swiped up their coffee and downed the hot-but-not-hot-enough-to-be-scalding sludge. The coffee mug was set back on the table, next to Keith’s beer jenga tower he had made in his mindlessness.
“He always comes round. Maybe his phone is dead or something. Or he’s just giving you some space because of the last time things got this bad-”
“The last time things got this bad was Spring, Pidge, when he finally asked me to move in with him.” Keith threw his body forward, hiding his face in his hands to hide, what Pidge presumed, tears. “The last time we fought I freaked out because I thought we were moving too quickly. And you know I’m no good at expressing myself, and Lance was just so excited after he showed me the house he went and bought, talking as if I had already….”
The words tapered off into a dejected laugh as Keith recalled the argument that, three years of dating wasn’t long enough, and Lance’s argument that he wanted to move forward with their relationship and Keith’s fear of things changing without his ability to control it.
“I said some really horrible things.”
The boy pulled back, glaring daggers at the TV, which had changed to run advertisements. Pidge clicked the power button on her phone, courtesy of hacking, and threw the room into semi-darkness. With the same motion, and a press of her thumb, the lava lamp on the bookcase clicked on, throwing various green and yellow shades into the small apartment’s living room.
“It was harsh, I shouldn’t have said it, but I was just… so angry.”
Keith’s eyes were teary, but Keith always cried when he was drunk. Six cans wasn’t his limit, but the Holt supply was low after their recent weekend party.
Pidge said nothing, letting their friend speak. He wasn’t always the easiest to interrogate, (the term “bleed a rock” applied here), so with Keith offering to speak without Pidge’s questions showed that he was desperate to make amends.
Better said to the person in question, but Keith had to get his thought space in order before he could face his boyfriend with a sincere apology and welcoming arms.
“He was asking about your parents again. We all know that subject is taboo with you.”
“But it’s something that always bothered Lance. I understand why,” he added, finally tearing his eyes off of the floor to meet Pidge’s round-owl eyes.
“He has such a large family, he’s got so many brothers and sisters and cousins and…. I get that that he thinks I’m weird and all because I refuse to talk about my own family, and I get uncomfortable when he is always inviting me around his parents house and…”
Keith sighs, palming his eyes to wipe away the tears. “It was hard when we were first dating; I told him I don’t do well in big crowds and loud people. He was accommodating, fuck, even his family were so understanding with me.” Keith’s got a smile playing on his lips from the memories around Madre McClain’s house.
“They really make me feel like I belong, and I want nothing more than to be a part of Lance’s family, if that’s what he wants as well. But I get nervous when I want to bring it up in conversation, and even when family becomes the subject, he suddenly gets so focused on my family all the time, and he wants to know about them and then I get to thinking if he finds out why I got put-”
“Keith-”
“-in the system and why I refuse to speak about them-”
“Keith-”
“-and oh god, he wouldn’t stop when I asked him to,”
“-dude, you’re hyperventilating, calm down!”
But Keith isn’t listening, he’s rambling his arms constricting around himself as the fear of the truth takes hold of him.
“-god, I was practically begging him to stop and when he didn’t, I got angry, I wanted to hit him and I just had to get away, I couldn’t stay there-”
“KEITH!”
The boy recoiled from the slap to the face, eyes wide as he feels Pidge’s hands on his cheeks, then to his hands that are so tight around himself, it’s like he’s trying to crush his own body.
Pidge eased on his arms, forcing biting pain away from fresh skin where Keith’s driving his nails into his flesh as he gasps for air, not realising that he was running out of oxygen in the fierce pressure to get everything out.
It’s a side effect from his past.
From his family.
It plagues him whenever his mind falls back to them; something he’s never been able to get over, even after so many years of being separated.
Pidge is hugging him now, holding him close as memories and thoughts flood his mind, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. They can’t help him with the pain, but they’re showing him he’s not alone.
Not like then. Not like before.
Not like his life as a child, where his parents treated him like a plague.
His own parents had twisted Keith’s mind; all the fighting between them, the drinking, the job-loss, the poverty, all of it, blamed on Keith. Starved because he was told he didn’t deserve food, locked away when guests came because he was an embarrassment to them both.
He had been told that he shouldn’t have been born, that his existence was just a walking magnet for disaster, that everything was his fault and no one would want a disaster like him.
“Sssh, it’s okay,” Pidge is saying, tears in their own eyes, dripping down cheeks to fall in long black hair that they smooth down gently with one hand. They whisper softly, reminding Keith he’s here, he’s not there, he’s here with them.
“Come on Keith, breathe. That’s it, breathe. It’s okay, it’ll all be okay, I promise.”
And him, his voice breaking as he sobs in their arms. “I love him. I love him Pidge s-so much…. I just d-don’t want him to-… to find out, because I don’t w-want him… I-I don’t want him t-to… to l-leave me.”
It was useless to tell Keith he was being stupid, that Lance wouldn’t leave him, that Lance wasn’t so shallow as to break up with that love of his life because of the past with his parents.
Pidge wanted so much to tell Keith that that future would never happen. But it was useless right now, whilst Keith was drunk. When his head wasn’t in the right place for a serious counselling session from his resident best friend.
Keith was asleep by the time Matt returned.
Later than Pidge had expected, or apparently both of them, because Matt was cussing about the time as he stumbled in through the door.
“You didn’t go to the shops,” Pidge observed, a questioning tone implied as they emerged from the living room. They walked with one of the sofa throws wrapped over their shoulders, looking like a superhero cape. It bunched around their feet, making it difficult to manoeuvre as they kicked shoes aside.
They had come to help with the shopping bags, but Matt bore none.
“Yeah. I did plan to go to the corner shop, but I thought I’d check up on Lance, considering you had responsibility of babysitting Keith.” Pidge scowled, but Matt didn’t see as he shrugged off his coat, hanging keys on the hooks above the thermostat.
“But I think he was already asleep though, all the lights were off in the house.”
Matt dropped his tone, rubbing the back of his neck. “I called him a few times, the house phone, even kicked on the garage door until the neighbour came out. I… He might’ve gone out. I thought he might’ve come here-”
“Well he hasn’t,” Pidge grumbled with crossed arms.
“… His car was still parked on the driveway.”
Pidge frowned. “Did you-”
“I called Hunk to see if Lance had called him, but Hunk’s out on a date with Shay, so I didn’t bother telling him about their fight.” Which was probably best, because Hunk had the same mindset as Shiro when it came to his two best friends fighting.
The siblings scowled at various inanimate objects, waiting for an answer.
Matt broke the silence first. “Did Keith explain it?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve got a good idea where Lance was coming from, but you know as soon as you mention to the word “family” to him, he’s like a powder keg about to explode.”
“How is he now?”
“Sleeping. The alcohol has him out like a light.”
That and the exhaustion of memories.
They both slipped into the living room; tidy after Pidge had occupied themselves, waiting for their brother’s return. The TV had been turned back on, but the volume was low enough that the Friends reruns were simple background noise, and wouldn’t disturb the boy sleeping soundly on the sofa, almost hidden under the pillows and blankets Pidge had salvaged from the clean laundry.
His eyes were red were crying, still sniffling in his sleep and the hangover would kill him in the morning, but for now he was content in dreamland.
“You know Shiro is coming here tomorrow, right?” Matt said, slipping into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He was too wired to sleep, and talking with Pidge was the only thing on his agenda he cared for ticking off.
“Shit.”
“I thought so too. If Keith doesn’t want to let Shiro know that he and Lance fought again, that’s fine, I won’t say anything, but he might want an excuse ready, before the interrogation.”
Of course. This weekend was the last before the pair’s Detective Exam, so they were cramming study time.
It wasn’t like they could study at Shiro’s, even if it was only over the road.
Matt had a burning hatred for Lotor, Shiro’s roommate. He wasn’t one for privacy, thought the world of himself and didn’t understand the terms “shut up” or “fuck off.”
Even if Matt bit the bullet and suggested studying in Shiro’s flat, the six-year old would know something was up immediately. There was a reason he was recommended to aim for Detective after only a year at the city’s Police Station.
“So what excuse are we going to go with? Star Wars marathon?”
“Without Lance? No way.”
“Then how about Lance’s work shift changed. Keith came to hang out because… I don’t know, he was lonely or something.”
“And you think Keith will tell Shiro he was lonely?”
“Yeah, you’re right that would never work.”
Chapter 2: Silence
Summary:
Keith refuses to talk to Lance first. Lance reads too much into it and his depression leads him down a dark path.
Chapter Text
The idea came in the post.
It slotted snug in an ordinary plain white envelope, with his name printed in the centre of the letter window, a company logo in the top right corner where the stamp should’ve been.
Car insurance details were ready for verification.
Usually it was done automatically. Usually the system would update it and send another letter telling Lance about the dropped prices and the programme he was paying for, et cetera, but with Keith moving in last summer, his motorcycle and the idea to allow Keith to drive his car when it rains, Lance had changed it to “third party.”
It was for other reasons that the letter had been sent, but the idea came in the same envelope.
The same one that had allowed him to put aside his savings and buy that silver and white sapphire ring he’s been staring at for months.
Oh well. It would work out this way too.
Lance opened the envelope, found the password for his online profile and, using Keith’s laptop that sat charging on the breakfast bar, logged into the Insurance Company’s website and amended the changes to better suit the thoughts running rampant in his head.
Some days, Lance can ignore them. He can wear his smile and joke with his friends, and he’s fine. Keith is his reason to wear that smile and tell him how beautiful he is and how he is perfect. Keith is his reason to get out of bed in the morning, to go to work and earn the money that bought him the engagement ring that sits in his dresser’s top draw next to the bed in which he and Keith sleep together…
The envelope ended up stuck to the fridge with a picture magnet of the pair of them keeping it in place. It was Keith’s birthday, when Lance took him to Disney Land after his boyfriend told him he’d never been to a theme park.
Lance, the drama queen had made a massive deal out of it and took him for three weeks. It had killed his savings for a new car, he’d had to do two months of overtime and even picked up extra work at the football stadium doing security, but it had been totally worth it.
Lance’s eyes lingered, soaking in Keith’s slightly tan face scrunched up in the way that made Lance’s heart soar. Crease line in the corners of his eyes, sun-painted cheeks glowing as Lance showered him in kisses.
They were happy then.
They weren’t happy now.
Keith hadn’t come home last night, nor had he come home in the morning.
Lance’s mobile phone lay dead on the sofa, but he feared charging it up would only lead to see the torrent of hateful messages. Pidge had left plenty of their own, even Matt’s nickname had claimed screen-time at one point, but that wasn’t what Lance feared.
He feared Keith’s name next to hateful messages; echoes of the fight that saw Keith running out the house, taking his motorbike but not his helmet.
Lance wanted to follow, fucks sake he should’ve, but Keith didn’t want him to.
“Why can’t you let it lie? Why don’t you get that I don’t want to talk about it? I don’t need a family, I don’t need anyone. And I sure as hell don’t need a useless fuck-up like you!”
Yeah, Lance had fucked up.
He was trying to curb the conversation around to the idea of marriage, just to see if that was something Keith was thinking about. It had come up before, but Keith had never said outright marriage was an idea in the future, his tone turning taut and cold when Lance tried to push the subject. He shouldn’t have tried to push the subject.
Keith’s refusal to talk about his own family forced Lance into feeling that commitment like marriage and family ties were only important to him, that maybe boyfriends were as far as the pair would go, and dreams of marrying, adoption and growing old together were just to remain as fantasies in Lance’s head.
But maybe it was more than that.
Lance could never control the negativity. Once it took hold, it would drown him in doubts and fears that Keith didn’t want to be tied to Lance so that the second they fought, or Keith got tired, he could leave without anything keeping him here.
A happier Lance would know the thoughts were irrational, but that was just it. Lance wasn’t happy now. He was panicking, internally beating himself up because, god, Keith had left him already. He hadn’t come back home.
He was leaving. He was leaving and it was Lance’s fault.
Keith is his reason to get out of bed in the morning, to go to work and earn the money that bought them their life together. But Keith didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want a family, didn’t want to be family with Lance…
Lance straightened the fridge magnet.
Then he straightened the kitchen. He washed the plates next to the sink, threw away the leftover takeaway, the empty bottle of wine, the smashed glass. He emptied the dishwasher, refilled it, wiped down the sides, fed Kitkat, emptied the dishwasher again.
Lance moved to the lounge. Tidied that up too.
Then the hallway, the study, the kitchen again, and then…
Then the bedroom.
Lance took a moment there, making the bed like he would every morning once waking. Keith would be in the shower about now, complaining about Lance’s excessive obsession with hygiene, but resigned to using the face scrub too. Lance bought it for him after all.
But the bathroom is empty and Keith’s not asking for the towel he’s forgot and Lance isn’t complaining about the trail of water Keith has dripped all over the carpet “I’ve just vacuumed this yesterday, you ungrateful Neanderthal,” and Keith isn’t laughing, grabbing him to pin him to the bed, he isn’t kissing his neck, he isn’t laughing as Lance fights the heat on his skin and the shiver that comes from wet hair touching him….
Lance dropped to the bed, letting the tears roll as he held onto Keith’s jacket for a moment longer than necessary before standing and hanging it up in the shared wardrobe. The many pictures of them smiling, the ones that were clipped on the string of fairy lights above the head board were too hard to look at.
The eyes bore into him with guilt and blame, enough that they were taken down, placed in a pile and hidden in his bedside table drawer. The ring sat there, hidden in the velvet box bought to make proposing ever more romantic.
But Lance shuts it as his eyes cast to the back, to the envelope and silver shine that has offered him an out so many times, but no he is not finished yet.
There are still loose ends to tie up, and Lance can’t.
Not now.
Not yet.
When Lance takes himself back downstairs, he’s greeted with the empty living room.
Keith still hadn’t come home.
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“God, I feel like I’m back in school,” Matt groaned from the couch where he’s leaning far too close to the laptop screen, growling insults at the maths questions that were boring him to death. “If I have to answer another frigging percentage question I- oh, no, there’s one,” he growled, angrily clicking at Option C.
It was practice for the compulsory maths test that made up thirty five percent of the Detective Exam, but considering Matt’s IQ was hitting 128, the basic level was pissing him off. “The first thing I do when I become a Detective is tell the Examination Board that this maths shit is stupid when, in real life, you have Google and a calculator with all the answers.”
“I think they want you to figure it out without Google.”
“I can,” Matt bites, but he’s sighing into a cup of coffee-with-no-sugar as another percentage question appears on his practice exam. Shiro is smiling at him from his own couch spot, but Keith can feel the gaze that has been directed at him too much today. He’s blanking his brother though, wearing a mask of not enough sleep, not enough coffee and not enough sugar as he owns Pidge on Mario Kart.
They had told Shiro some lie about Lance on shift work and Keith needing a drink, and that was the story of why Keith was crashing on their couch and not in his house he shared with Lance ten minutes away.
But Shiro’s a bloodhound when it comes to ‘lies’ and ‘Keith’, so it’s no surprise that after three hours of forced studying and a moment in which Matt has yelled “more coffee!” disappearing in the general direction of the kitchen, Shiro has dumped his law book onto the coffee table and slides into the space next to Keith. Pidge was there until a moment ago, but they’ve left for a bathroom break.
“Keith?”
“You’re digging again.” Because it’s not like anyone has said there’s something wrong. But Shiro can tell by the slightest of character traits that they’re not telling him something. And if they’re not telling him something, that something has always got a focus around Keith.
“And I’ll dig until you give me the goods. Now spill.”
“Spill what? I didn’t want to stay home last night so I came here?” Which was the truth. Omitting the fact he and Lance had had a huge argument, but its truth enough.
“Right. Makes sense. Not like you live with your boyfriend or anything that is at home-”
“He’s working.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Yes.”
Shiro raised an eyebrow. The silence stretched out and Keith turned his attention back to the TV.
Shiro, apparently, wasn’t finished. “So Lance is working. And the reason he isn’t texting you every five minutes is because…”
Was it really so obvious? But then, Lance had this thing where he’d text fifty messages to a simple “wuu2” from Keith.
“Don’t know. You can ask him if it’s bothering you.”
“And you’re not worried?”
“No. Why should I be?”
Keith must’ve said the wrong thing, because Shiro pulls back, scowling.
And it’s not one of those “I’m disappointed, get your shit together” scowl, it’s a full on, “I’m scowling because I’m trying not to shout at your stupid ass.”
“Your boyfriend, who can’t stand to be separated from you for more than five minutes, who always pesters you to the state that you end up turning off your phone, making him text us instead to constantly check up on you-”
“When does he-”
“-hasn’t text you once since I got here. And stop the bullshit that you’re not worried because I can see you staring at your phone every time you take your eyes off of the TV.”
Shiro would make an excellent detective. He’s very observant.
Too observant in Keith’s eyes.
“Shiro, I-
“Coffee~!” Matt sings as he re-enters the room, juggling four mugs on a tray with biscuits taken from Pidge’s super-secret-sugar stash. He stops behind the sofa, looking lost in his own apartment as he looks between Shiro and Keith. “You want me out? Because I can-”
“No, it’s all good,” Shiro says, standing to take one of the mugs and a handful of the shortbread biscuits that Allura has Matt hooked on. “I was just digging.”
“And getting nowhere,” Pidge huffed, bolstering the door open with their foot. They gave the Gane Brothers their best ‘angry Gremlin glare’ taking place back on the sofa. They narrow their eyes at Keith, but he ignores the motion. He had come here knowing Pidge wouldn’t rat him out to Shiro, because he really didn’t want all the questions.
But…. He wanted Lance. He wanted to fix this thing with Lance.
Of course he was fucking worried. His mobile was silent.
His mobile was never silent, except when Lance was running up a deadline at work, but any other time, especially the hour lunch break, Keith’s phone would be vibrating near-on constantly.
But… He’s scared.
He knows it now, knows that he’s going to have to tell Lance the truth. He’s going to have to come clean about his past, about the things that he’s running away from. He hopes Lance won’t leave, hopes to god that Lance won’t even care…
But caring is what Lance does.
Caring is his whole being.
The reason they even talked for the first time was because Lance cared about the mullet that’s been sat outside his dance studio all day in the cold. He invited him in for a warm drink, got to talking and… well. Things happen for a reason, Keith used to think every time he woke up in the morning to find himself in Lance’s arms or Lance in his.
Things happen for a reason.
But what is the reason for all this that is happening now?
Chapter 3: Worry
Summary:
Lance begins to tie up loose ends. Keith begins to worry about the silence.
Chapter Text
Lance was at the Bank, his favourite scarf loose around his neck, worn simply to fight the chill of the late November wind that blew idly around him. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but a habit. It’s a garment he’s worn the second he senses cold weather, just for the sake of showing it off, just for the sake of seeing Keith blush when Lance wraps it around his neck and nuzzles into it, lovingly.
Keith isn’t here to blush at the scarf. But still, it felt wrong not to wear it.
So the scarf is his companion as he ducks into the Bank, pulling the hems of his sleeves down to hide the scars of a nightmare he can’t wake up from.
He doesn’t look his usual handsome self, too tied up in the workings of his worn out brain to fuss over wind-swept hair, a jumper that’s in need of a good iron, and the same jeans he wore last night.
Lance catches himself wondering if he even slept last night, the thought process cut off when he is called up to the next window.
Still, he must’ve been somewhat presentable because the teller is flirting with him from the get go. He’s managing to pull off his act, hiding the weariness he wears as a second skin. He’s able to keep the small talk going as he transferred his savings into his current account.
Normally, Lance would flirt back, offer a compliment or two and strike up pleasant conversation. Because that was Lance and that was the way he’d usually act.
But not today.
It’s with Lance’s second request that the flirting stops. His words, small and shyly spoken, pulls her eyes sharply to his own, her lips curling as she speaks words so many have asked him before. “Sir. Are you okay?”
Wasn’t that everyone’s favourite question?
Yes he’s okay. He’s made up his mind.
So he answers her with a cheery smile; one he’s perfected from years at school, at college, with friends so that can’t see the bruises this smile brings.
He doesn’t know if she believes him, but when he smiles, she offers a smile back.
“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to refill your request. But if you’ll let me, I’ll call my supervisor and we’ll see what we can do.”
Yes, Lance guessed as much.
He glances to the watch on his wrist; habit rather than the urge of passing time, his eyes lingering on the nicks on the face from the countless times he’s dropped it, or it’s been found in his pocket with spare change that leaves scratches on the surface of Keith’s birthday present to him.
Nineteen. Only three years ago when friend became Lover.
“Sir?”
“Yes.”
He follows her from the queue that accumulated behind him, his bank book in his hand.
The woman makes him a cup of tea as they sit in a quiet office away from prying eyes. It’s a small quaint room that is similar to his office at the dance studio. But this place screams professional, not a touch of personalisation on the desk; regimentally ordered with pencil pot, memo pad and colour coordinated folders.
Lance takes the offered chair, adding two sugars to his tea, although he’d prefer coffee. The lady disappears, slipping out the door, closing it behind her.
A feeling creeps up Lance’s spine; a little monster climbing the skeleton like rungs of a monkey bar. He feels like he’s in trouble, as if he’s been summon to the Head Teacher’s office again.
Lance fears the scolding, his eyes on the door wondering if running would be the best bet before his plans were destroyed, but suddenly they are opening and the blonde haired girl is back.
She has a little sticky note with her, a password of sorts that gets her on the computer. She’s telling him it’s not hers, that her manager won’t be long, that she’ll get the paperwork printed off for him to read through so they can begin as soon as she gets here.
Lance is only half listening. He’s glancing at his watch again, watching the second hand tick around the watch face, sipping at his tea that doesn’t suit his tastes, although he’s already added another two teaspoons of sugar.
The girl apologises for the delay. Lance tells her its okay.
They fall into small talk, forced on the male’s behalf, simply passing time as the paperwork is ordered and the supervisor heads their way.
And there she is, bustling into the door with a briefcase and her own mug of steaming coffee. Lance can smell its potency in the air, but he’s not wishing for it anymore. He just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.
The girl remains as Lance repeats his earlier request.
He answers all of their questions, ignoring the unspoken glances they share. He can hear the underlining thought process from the way they carefully word their sentences, the mounting concern that continues to grow with Lance’s weariness that pulls a lilt into his voice. Masks are heavy things to wear, but Lance is able to pull himself through the conversation to the end, where three signatures will mark his release.
But as he is about to sign the last, a hand stops him.
It’s hers; the girl that had told him his scarf was pretty. She’s looking into his eyes, breaking down the wall of teller and customer in one last question that will break everything.
“Mr McClain. Are you sure you are okay? If you are… if this is not your choice…”
She’s digging. She’s doing the same thing Shiro does when Lance gets uncharacteristically silent, when his twitching is more than just a tick, it’s damn near annoying, stop it Lance…
“Mr McClain. Can we help you in some way?”
She watches him expectantly, reaching over to hold his hand now. There’s less space between them, and the look in her eyes tells Lance she knows where his thoughts reside. And yes, she knows, when the motion of her hand turns his over and the faint white of scars are about to be-
“Do I really look that bad?” Lance forced out in laughter, pulling his hand back to wipe his face. “Sorry, it’s just….” Think brain, think.
And he gives the thought that’s been in his head for the last two years. “Just wedding jitters. It’s time soon, and I guess everyone feels a little fear towards the end.”
She hesitates, glancing to her superior for a moment. Woman’s instinct Lance thinks, knowing if they press the subjects anymore, his mask will crack.
And then, “Oh congratulations! I hope you have a wonderful day.”
Lance signs and he’s gone, not caring for the concern that follows him out of the Bank, the hushed whispers and the regret that clouds the minds of Teller and her Manager. But what do they do? Do they do anything?
Can they do anything?
It is only suspicion after all.
Lance stepped out into the first snow of the year. It falls softly, the flakes melting as it touches his skin. It brings back memories of last Winter. And the Winter before that and the one before that, and the one before that…
The Winter when they first met.
A burning urge to see Keith fills Lance deep to his core, but the memories of yesterday’s argument chilled him far quicker than the November snow.
He couldn’t help but dig his hands into his pocket, feeling for his phone, mind wanting to text Keith to see if he can see the snow too.
But the mobile lay abandoned at home, left on the coffee table when Lance had put it as he tidied up.
Somehow, he knows it doesn’t matter that thing is dead, somehow knows that the screen would still be blank of Keith’s name reaching out. To apologise or to forgive, neither would be there.
Maybe it was something trivial, but to Lance it was painful; the worst pain he had ever felt. Worse than their spats over the years, worse than the blooming bruises when they’d actually taken their fists to one another…
Lance is vulnerable at the moment. His own head has taken down his walls, its his own head that stops him from reaching out first, it’s his own fears that stay his feet as they stand on the side of the road staring….
Staring….
Keith’s anger haunted Lance every step home.
The empty house numbed him.
The silence filled his mind.
He had thought of it before. Considered it a thousand times, planned out in details the ins and outs of tying up loose ends. He’s done more than he has ever done before. He’s taken steps that usually a certain purple eyed, black hair boy would bar him from .
Now it feels like Keith is behind him, giving him a nudge.
Go on.
Do this for me.
You’re halfway there.
But the second half would be harder.
Lance took the insurance details from the fridge, took the bank statements, his copies of the confirmed paperwork littered with his signature. He takes the pre-written letter that always stayed in his bedside table too, ignoring the knives he kept hidden beside it.
There’s a lingering gaze to the ring before the drawer is closed.
Not that. It would take too long. It would hurt too much.
No, Lance knows the best way. His feet take him to the kitchen, to the cabinet above the kettle. He takes the basket from the top shelf, staring at the brightly coloured packets in their boxes, the shiny foil where some are half gone already.
His skin tingled when he touched them, his head running the scenario through his head.
Ah, this was it. There wasn’t any point of turning back now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s nearing four o’clock when Keith’s phone lights up. His hand is on it, swiping the ‘pick up’ option before he’s even registered the picture on ID Caller.
Shiro and Pidge look up from where they were sat together, Allura trying, and failing, to subtly hush Matt as they stand together in the kitchen where she’s making a start on an early dinner. It’s Saturday, the day where all eight of them, Hunk and Shay included, meet up for dinner and drinks at the Holt Apartment. It’s spacious enough and they don’t have annoying roommates or finicky landlords.
“Hello?” Keith’s voice shakes where he forces it to come out normal. No emotion, no rush of an apology, no fucks sake Lance get over here so I can say sorry already-
“Keith, hey.”
“H-Hunk?”
Keith’s shoulders sag and he feels bad for it. It’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to Hunk, sure he does, the big guy is his friend.
It’s just, he was hoping it was Lance, expecting it to be Lance.
The disappointment in his voice is clear to everyone in the room, not just to the wannabe detectives.
“Hey, sorry if this is a bad time, but I thought you’d be here.”
“Here?”
“Yeah, um, I already tried calling Lance but he’s not picking up. I figured you guys are still out or something, or you’re probably already at Pidge’s place, damn of course you are, but I left my laptop charger in Lance’s car, and I kind of need it back.” There’s another voice and Keith can hear Shay asking where Keith and Lance are.
“Hunk, where are you?”
“Outside your place.”
Keith can see Shiro leaning towards him from the other couch, but even he can’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.
But he’s reading Keith like an open book. Everyone is.
No one is smiling.
Keith turns away from the stares, taking interest in the view out the windows. He steels his voice normal, hoping he sounds normal as he continues to talk. “Did he- Did Lance tell you to come pick it up?”
“What? No, we were heading over to you guys, but I’ve got all the programming saved on my laptop, it’s dead, and I haven’t emailed it,” the Samoan rambled, voice hitching at the worry of Professor Iverson chewing him out for a late assignment.
“-but it looks like you’re already there. Did you ride up on your bike or something?”
There’s a chill on Keith’s shoulder. Doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what it is, but it’s there and it’s uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s everyone’s eyes on him, he thinks, turning deliberately on the sofa, making it obvious he’s showing them his back and he wants them to stop staring.
“His c-car is there?” Keith’s voice caught in his throat, it breaking slightly as he asked.
Why is that a bad thing? Why is it scary? Why is Keith’s brain blaring alarms because Lance is still at home, still reeling from last night’s fight that saw them both shouting, both raging at one another-
“Yeah of course it…”
Hunk’s sentence slips into quiet, his mind finding the clue, filling the void that Keith is blatantly ignoring.
“Keith? Is Lance not with you?”
“No. He’s not.”
Geez is it cold in here or something?
What is it? It’s like Keith is standing on the edge of a cliff, staring out across the horizon.
He’s waiting for something, or someone.
He’s waiting for something to happen, doesn’t want the something to happen….
This something is bad…
“But… I tried the bell. He’s not here.” There’s another pause.
“Keith, are you okay?” Because like Lance, Hunk is caring. Hunk is kind and caring and attentive to his friends. He can hear the uncertainty and the fear that Keith is barely holding onto.
What if Lance left? What is he just up and left because Keith said he didn’t need him anymore- No, that’s preposterous.
Right?
Something is wrong.
“Are you sure he’s not in?”
“I’m sure-”
Something is wrong.
“I’ve been knocking at the door for the last ten minutes, and all the lights are off. He’s not here.”
Something is wrong.
It doesn’t matter what the something is, but that something is wrong and Keith can’t help but feel he is responsible.
“Don’t worry, I’ll come home now. Wait there.” Keith hangs up before Hunk can say anything else, off of the sofa that same time Shiro stands. “Keith, tell me now. What is going on?”
“Nothing,” Keith says, waving him off as he scoops up bike keys and jacket. Shiro doesn’t back down though, following him to the hall where he is ramming his feet into his trainers.
Shiro follows him all the way to the ground floor, all the way to the roadside where the sleek red and black motorbike is sat waiting. Shiro is still digging when Keith is astride the engine, keys in ignition, twist, and the bike roars to life. He barely registered the remnants of snow that lay around him; a testament to the cold this Winter Evening has brought.
“Keith, stop-”
“Look, I had an argument with Lance alright.”
The boy threw a glare at Shiro, the emotion aimed at himself though. “We fought, I said some really horrible shit and ran out the house. Hunk is over there now, but it looks like Lance has locked himself in the house in a sulk.” There’s a bite to his tone, but that too is due to Keith’s own stubbornness about his fucking boyfriend who drives him up the wall.
Shiro makes to speak, but Keith gets there first. “Of course I’m fucking worried, so I’m going to go home and I’m going to apologise because I crossed the line.” His words come out in a rush of air, only stemmed when Shiro held up a hand. “Why didn’t you-”
“Look, if you want details, ask Pidge. But right now, I need to go home and I need to apologise.”
Keith revved the engine loudly, missing Shiro’s next sentence, but he’s off down the road before Shiro can try again. He hears him yelling though, stepping out into the road to holler “where’s your fucking helmet?”
It’s not five minutes later that Keith pulled into the estate in which he and Lance live, in their recently purchased two-bedroom house. He’s sped the entire way and the act is making his eyes bleed water, the cold air doing nothing to help his vision in the dark.
Hunk’s Jeep is on the drive, in front of the garage, blocking his usual parking spot, but it’s not like Keith cares or anything. Hunk isn’t sat in it though, instead stood on the doorstep, his mobile pressed to his ear, mouth moving a mile a minute. Shay is stood beside him, typing into her own cellular device as Keith stops the bike in front of Lance’s shiny fucking car that is still on the drive. He is off before the engine has died completely, trying to calm himself as he approaches his home, the house key burning in his hand.
Hunk looks up, bids farewell to whomever he’s venting his confusion to. “Keith hey, I- Keith?” He probably looks a mess.
Keith can’t seem to un-scrunch his face or slow his pounding heart as he vaults the flower bed and jogs up the path to the front door.
Shay offers him a smile. Keith opts to return it, but he forgets to as key finds lock and he’s turning it, listening to Hunk’s concerned yammering.
“We had a fight,” he says answering the question Hunk hadn’t voiced. At that, the Samoan calms himself, eyes meeting Shay’s with a knowing look. She nods, climbing back into the passenger seat as Keith and Hunk enter the dark and, painfully quiet house.
“Lance?”
Hunk lets Keith go first, staying by the front door. The lights are off, like Hunk said, which is weird because neither man likes the house pitch black. But there it is and Keith is staring into the empty abyss before him. He doesn’t want to walk, doesn’t feel he can. But hand on the wall, the light switch is flicked and the downstairs lights all come on at once.
Keith is slow as he walks into the living room, blinking for a moment because, Lance isn’t crashed on the couch, dead drunk like he expected him to be.
It’s nothing like it was last night; red wine stains on the floor, the broken glass, a red faced, wide eyed boyfriend who stands there taking all the emotions abuse of insults and…
The place is clean.
Like, celebrity house show-around clean.
It wasn’t like Lance had angry tantrums, destructive moments like Keith who threw things, broke things, made things worse with all his yelling, but no matter the fight, it was always Lance who had Keith helping him to tidy because you’re not a three year old throwing a tantrum, you bloody ingrate.
But it’s clean.
Too clean.
The front door sounds and Keith turns to look. Hunk is gone, but so are Lance’s car keys off the hook, so it’s not like he’s about to drive off and disappear. He’s gone to get the charger, like he came to do.
And Keith came here to apologise. And that is what he is going to do.
Lance isn’t in the living room. He’s not in the kitchen either, so the only place to look is upstairs. His head is imagining the idea that Lance is passed out on the bed after cleaning the house. That’s why he hasn’t text Keith. That’s why he didn’t pick up the calls.
The bedroom is empty.
He wouldn’t just… disappear. No, he wouldn’t.
But Lance would.
Because he’s done it before.
When Keith was torn between coming clean with Shiro about his relationship with Lance, when he was torn with admitting the affiliation with another man with whom he was engaging in a sexual relationship.
Lance had seen the strain it put on the boy, who wasn’t even his boyfriend at the bloody time, and had taken care of it himself. He had been the one to withdraw.
Quickly, but not quick enough that Keith had noticed what was going on, until suddenly the numbers didn’t work and he hadn’t seen the guy in two months.
When Keith finally caught up to him, Lance explained he had disappeared in order not to break what little ties remained to his new family. Sure Lance hadn’t known the whole truth, fuck he still didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. Keith had called him out on his selfishness, telling him never to disappear on him again because he loved him-
Loves him. No past tense about it.
But the fear of a similar occurrence has that chill around Keith’s neck as he stands in the bedroom, taking in the sheer emptiness. It’s clean, but, immaculately clean, just like downstairs. There’s no clothes on the floor, the bed is made, the laundry hamper empty, the wardrobe-
Keith bolted over the distance between him and wardrobe door, yanking back the painted wood, stomach like lead as he imagined it stripped of everything Lance.
But no, all of the man’s clothes are there, neatly ordered and hung up like always. There’s relief in that. Not enough to quell every fear, but enough that Keith doesn’t feel the chill around his neck anymore.
So, where was Lance?
Keith is downstairs without realising how he got there, staring at the house that resembles his own… but it’s not. It’s not his.
This is someone else’s and he’s in the wrong house.
The coffee table is ordered, the television remotes next to the bowl of potpourri Lance insisted upon. There’s no queue for the sink, no discarded jacket on the back of the sofa, no shoes kicked off in the corner of the room. Even Kitkat is perfectly modelled in her cat bed, sat neat and orderly on the window seat overlooking the garden.
The only thing out of place is a pen on the breakfast bar. And next to it…
Sat on the smooth white marble work surface is a pile of paper work. And on top of that, an envelope with Keith’s name on the front of it.
It burns his eyes when he reads his name, his heart a block of ice when he turns the envelope over.
It’s not sealed. Keith can see the lined paper sat snug in its housing, black print letters pressed into the paper, undoubtedly in Lance’s handwriting.
Keith knows it is an apology before he’s even pulled the letter out, but he doesn’t. Fear stops him. Fear that has him frozen for who knows how long.
His trance only broken by a different sound.
It’s the front door, and the panicked yell from Shiro, echoing through the hallway, into the kitchen.
“Keith, it’s Lance!”
Chapter 4: Leaving
Summary:
Lance finishes tying up Loose Ends. Keith is given an insight into Lance’s mind over the past twelve hours.
Chapter Text
Lance folded the letter back up, slotted into the envelope and placed it on top of the pile of paperwork. Kitkat curled around his legs as he did, distracting him for a moment to grace her with a smile and a hand that stroked her fur. “Hey girl. Here to see me off?” Kitkat mewled, legs wrapping around Lance’s leg before running to the fridge. She threw he head back over her shoulder and mewled again.
“Sure thing.”
With Kitkat occupied by her bowl, Lance cleared the kitchen side once more. His brain was switched off, his body on auto-pilot, following the motions of a thought process he’s fallen into, trapped by it.
The next time there’s understanding inside his mind, Lance is outside. It’s cold, but he doesn’t notice anything further than the press of his hands worming themselves deeper into his pockets, fingers fumbling with the packets, his shoulders shrugging his neck further into the scarf. One hand leaves the comfort of his coat to pull the beanie further over his ears.
It’s then that he recognises his surroundings. It doesn’t matter that it’s getting dark, doesn’t matter that the snow has changed the landscape, that the flurry makes it so he can barely see down the road.
He’s not near home, not near anywhere close by, but instead an hour out, stood at the entrance of a street that is just as familiar as his estate.
Saturday, right.
His body on auto-pilot is taking him to Pidge and Matt’s shared apartment, where they all go for movies and game night without fail. It’s the only time they’re all free at once, and because the Holt’s address is in the middle of everyone else’s. Shiro’s too, but his roommate is weird and no one likes him.
Lance doesn’t realise he’s stopped until he’s starts to shiver. The snow fall around him is whipped into a wild frenzy by the wind, and he shields his face for a moment. His body, cold and tired, wants to go to the apartment. He wants shelter from the bitterness and somewhere where he can warm himself, if only for a moment.
The notion makes his feet move again. He’s aware his toes are numbs in his boots and it speeds his feet up to a brisk walk down the pavement towards-
Lance stops.
Keith’s motorbike sits parked near the entrance to the apartment complex. The sight of it fills him with a warmth that melts the cold, relief the only thing in his mind at the knowledge Keith was here, upstairs, with Pidge and Matt. He’d gone off without his helmet and so late at night that of course Lance had been worried about him.
But he’s okay. He’s fine.
Lance has his hand on it, brushing off the snow that’s piling up, one hand on the door to open the apartment…
And his feet are frozen again.
This wasn’t the plan.
He’s already tied up loose ends.
The apology sits in the letter on the kitchen counter, the car insurance is under Keith’s name. Lance’s savings have been transferred to his accounts and his own have been terminated. He’s called into work, quit security nights at the Stadium, quit the morning shifts at the Café. The deeds to Lance’s dance studio have been placed under Keith’s name and so has the deed to the house, which although they shared, had been entirely Lance’s when he bought it.
Now it was Keith’s.
Everything was Keith’s.
A fear gripped Lance as he stood at the door. A fear of wondering whether this was really the right choice, whether or not he could go through with it. The pills in his pocket felt warm to the touch, the path clear before him.
But the chilling fear of Keith forever hating him took a greater hold. The doubt in his mind, once niggling, was now the voice of his conscious, drumming insults into his weak and battered mind.
It told him to let go of the handle.
It told him to keep walking.
It told him to leave everything behind, because it was better this way.
I don’t have to worry.
Everything will be better when I’m gone.
I don’t have to worry.
Lance doesn’t worry.
Doesn’t think anything else as he back tracks off the patio, down the steps. He lets his fingers trail over the red gloss of his favourite motorbike one last time before he’s walking down the road, away from the apartment complex, across the road.
He resigns himself to not thinking again, letting his feet choose their own destination.
Lance snaps out of his trance when a car beeps at him angrily. He hadn’t been paying attention, didn’t care about that, and almost stepped off the road. The car was driving too fast anyway. The snow and rain was too heavy for driving in those speeds; the sea air making the sleet all the more powerful, the dark of approaching night making him and his dark blue parka almost invisible.
Lance shuddered in his coat, hands digging deeper into his pockets, hands gripping the pill packets as he looked both ways this time and crossed the street.
Why bother, he hears his voice say, but its more out of habit than self preservation.
Self –preservation, ha!
If Lance was all for self-preservation then he wouldn’t be here.
The Beach. That’s what he’s heading for.
It’s always been a source of comfort for him; the crashing waves, the shine of sun reflecting on the Ocean’s waves as they arc and crash in the swell. It’s his favourite place in the Summer, but Winter it’s too cold, and Lance resigns himself to swimming in chlorine tampered pools and swimming bathes.
There’s comfort from the water, but not the true comfort that the Ocean would bring him.
Lance wants comfort from the water. He wants it to wash away this pain he’s feeling.
He doesn’t want to hurt anymore.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keith turns on the spot, head not here but up above, watching his own body move like a puppet whose strings were made of metal, keeping him stationary as he stared at the bustling that made its way down his hallway and into the pristine living room.
Shiro is first, leading Allura and a stranger into the room.
Keith can see Hunk and Shay still on his doorstep. The door is wide open as they talk to the Holt Siblings and a familiar face. They remain outside however, and before Keith can ask them what are they doing here, they’re leaving, showing pity and waving phones as they go. “I’ll swing by home. Shay are you-”
“I’ll go get my car.”
“Okay, yes, and Pidge-”
“I’m hitting the pool, Matt can you drop me off on the way?” Pidge is saying, before the man enters, the front door slams and their voices are cut off.
The living room is still busy with bodies. Allura is sat on one of the sofas next to the woman Keith doesn’t recognise.
“Why?” Keith wants to ask, but his voice is caught in his throat and he feels sick, the letter heavy in his trembling hand. “Woah, easy there,” says another face that had snuck in with Shiro. He manages to grab Keith before he can face plant the floor. “Th-Thace? What the hell-”
Thace’s expression softens, taking in the sight of the boy’s tear-stained face and blotchy eyes. Shiro is there too, a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Keith you-”
“Lance isn’t here.” Because it’s the truth. It’s simple and it shouldn’t be scary, but as Keith stands there, the terror inside him continues to rise. Lance hasn’t text him or called him once. Lance hasn’t turned up to apologise. Lance hasn’t answered Hunk’s call, his best friend who knows all of Lance’s secrets, who knows Lance better than himself-
The letter means something. Something dark, something horrible and Keith wants to throw it up and flush it away… but there’s a rock in his chest that slows his movements and he’s that puppet still, with metal rods in his arms and legs to stop him from running from this nightmare.
The men look to one another, sharing dark scowls. “Keith, come sit down. There’s…” Shiro ducked his head away, looking to Kolivan who has come to sit beside the stranger. “Talk first,” is all he offers.
Keith is guided to his sofa, sat down as a warm drink is offered. He doesn’t take it, the paperwork tight in a white knuckle grip that has it creased and bent.
Allura kisses his brow but then she’s gone, in hushed whispers with Shiro. “You don’t have to give me a lift back, I’ll get Coran to pick me up.” And she’s kissing him too, quick, before leaving with a brisk step and anger on her face.
Keith doesn’t get a chance to ask any questions before Thace is talking. Tone serious, the words spoken like a practiced monologue.
All the attention is on him as he begins. “This is Miss Roamer. She came to the office with concerns for Mr McClain, after he cancelled his bank accounts. We came to check up on him, but with his unknown whereabouts and the uncharacteristic behaviour, we are accepting this as a Missing Person Inquiry.”
Keith’s stomach dropped. Whatever he wanted to throw up disappeared.
The envelope grew heavier in his hand.
Kolivan looked between his co-worker and the boy that he had looked out for over the years. Their superiors would think this a conflict-of-interest, but neither policeman were going to stand back whilst Keith’s boyfriend was missing.
“We had a fight,” Keith says numbly, his mouth dry as if he’s swallowed sand. “And the house…”
He doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to admit his stubbornness, his flare of anger and thoughtless words would-
Keith shook his head. “No, no he’s just taking time to cool down. He wouldn’t, he would never-”
“Mr Kogane.” Miss Roamer spoke up, staring the boy in the eyes. “On behalf of the Police’s official investigation, I informed them that, when Mr McClain cancelled his account, he had transferred all funds into yours. The deeds to his second address has been placed in your name and, so has this house…”
She leaves a silence in the air that no one wishes to fill.
But then she’s talking again. “There was something he said. Before he left. It… struck something with me and I can’t forget it.”
The woman glances between the older three, accepting their nods before once again meeting Keith’s gaze.
“He said, it’s time soon, and I guess everyone feels a little fear towards the end.”
Keith drops his head to stare at his hands, at the paperwork that sits in them. Everyone’s eyes fall there too.
“Keith is that-”
“He wouldn’t,” is all Keith says.
And to prove it, he’s going to read that fucking letter.
Chapter 5: Goodbye
Summary:
Keith reads the letter from Lance. Lance gears himself up to jump.
Chapter Text
Lance sat on the end of the empty pier, awkwardly perched on the railing that holds him above the sea. His feet dangling over the edge, toes and shoes soaked where he took a moment to walk along the shore, on the line of sand and sea.
The grains of the border are gone from his soles, washed away between mix of Ocean spray and heavy rain. The footprints he left there have been washed away by the sea, just like how he will soon be…
He’s looking out to the bleak grey of sky and sea, unable to determine where one stops and the other begins. But there below, he knows is sea, watching large, angry waves crash on the wood and concrete supports of the old beach pier.
Ocean spray joins his face with the rain and tears he is somehow crying. He had thought himself incapable, but there they were and here he sits, contemplating the numbing that brushes on the front of his mind. He thanks the pills for that. They’re gone now, taken on the tongue and swallowed quickly, one after the other in practiced precision that didn’t scratch his throat or burn his eyes.
He had dropped the silver foil packets, watching them bob in the surf like little boats, watching them crash and roll and, once taken by the water, sink to a watery grave.
It can’t be all bad.
Once taken by the waves, they’re free.
Once Lance is taken by the waves, he’ll be free too.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keith didn’t want to read the letter in front of everyone. It wasn’t like he cared, he wanted to prove them wrong.
But there was something that the lines and creases screamed “not here,” and he listened.
So he got up, leaving Kolivan, Thace and the stranger in his living room.
Shiro was the only one that stood beside him in the kitchen, picking up the paperwork when Keith cast it aside. The younger would’ve said something if he wasn’t pulling the letter from the envelope, hands shaking unbearably as he read his own handwritten name, then cast it aside to focus on the first letter, longer letter.
They were only two of them, not many words contained by either, but no matter how many times Keith read that fucking first line, the words wouldn’t go in!
Anger scrunched his hands, in turn scrunching the paper, and he tried again.
To my family,
If you’re reading this, then I am already gone.
Keith wanted to scoff. He wanted to rip this paper into a thousand shreds because, no it couldn’t be true, he wouldn’t dare-
This is a joke. It has to be a joke. A stupid, shitty, not-funny joke and everyone is pulling his leg because…
The chill is back. It wraps its hands around Keith’s throat, fills his stomach with ice and his toes burn from the sensation that makes him want to run a million miles from here.
But no, focus.
Read the goddamn letter that proves that Lance is just skipping town for a few days to cool his head. He’s just angry, like Keith, just a little tired and needs some time, needs a little bit of space….
I’m sorry.
I know, that even as I write this, even as you read these words, you’ll feel pain and I hate myself for that.
Keith’s hands are shaking. More and more as he bows over, knees buckling.
He reads the rest from the floor of the kitchen.
I’ve been drowning for a while now.
Treading water when I can, grabbing at whatever driftwood floats by, but the anchors on my feet have been too heavy.
No, Lance no! You don’t mean-
I know I will drown.
“-th, Keith! Come on calm down,” Shiro is telling him, as if he can calm down.
Keith’s not going to. He can’t. He just turns to look up at his brother, face of tears, voice quiet in his throat as he speaks.
“He’s going to kill himself! He’s gone to the sea!”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rain falls harder now. It’s cold on his hands, large droplets on his eyelashes that mix the greys into colours and lines, nothing distinguishable until lance blinks and the tears run down his cheeks to join the Ocean to below. He wants to jump. Every fibre of his being is yelling jump, but he can’t for some reason. His hands won’t listen, they won’t let go. His body won’t lean forward so that he can just fall, nothing is letting him drop and be free of all this pain inside his chest.
Its fear that has him cling to the railing. Fear of pain of the end to come. He knows it’ll hurt, fuck it’s got to hurt, he’s about to die and….
The end.
Like the credits of the movie, the moment was over. But there was no rewind, no pause no reset button that would let Lance record something else over the top of his shitty life that’s led him here, to the end of the pier, sitting on a metal bar that is his only lifeline between air and winter Ocean.
The end.
This was it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sea. Of course to the fucking sea.
Because not only does Lance want to kill himself, but he’s got to be so fucking emotional and poetic and fucking dramatic about this shit. He’s going somewhere where dying could be an accident, where to anyone who didn’t know him, it wouldn’t mean anything. He’s not going to jump in front of a train, not in front of a car, not even slit his wrists in the bathtub because by fucking god, Lance wouldn’t inconvenience anyone else with his depression.
Enough that he didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t tell his family, didn’t tell his boyfriend, didn’t tell Keith ….
Keith slammed his palms on the dashboard, anger turned to Shiro who slowed at the sign of the red light ahead. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled, not giving a damn to road safety and the laws of the road. “Don’t fucking stop, keep going-”
“Keith, I can’t-”
“Yes you can, just fucking go!”
And Shiro does. He checks the crossing, checks the incoming traffic, deems himself able to make it and, with an acceptable amount of cussing, guns it over the white line and across the other side. They’re a minute out, Keith can see the sea front, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even know the time that Lance left the house, left for the Beach, whether he’s even fucking here-
“Keith, Keith wait!”
The car is on the Eastern Parade, nowhere near the car park, nowhere near stopping, but as Shiro took the speed bump at two miles an hour, Keith is barrelling out of the SUV, across the dirt road and onto the rain-soaked beach that makes running hard.
The Beach is empty.
Lance isn’t here.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I want it to end.
I don’t want it to hurt anymore.
I don’t want to hurt anyone else anymore.
Chapter 6: Searching
Summary:
Keith searches for Lance. Lance is barely holding on.
Chapter Text
Lance isn’t here.
No, no, no no no no no no NO!
Keith spun on the empty beach, hands in fists as he screamed at the heavy winds and torrential rain that cursed him.
Lance, where was Lance!
“Keith, head to the pier, I’ll head to the cliffs,” Shiro is yelling. He’s abandoned his SUV on the track, parked awkwardly on the grass verge so that he’s not blocking anyone, because he’s kind like that but Keith doesn’t care. Keith’s not thinking about that, he’s thinking about lance, and the fear of what it means that he’s not on the beach and maybe already in the water-
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please let it end.
Let me go, let it be over.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Keith! The Pier!”
Keith snapped out of the daze that was dragging him to the water’s edge, glancing at Shiro’s face once more as he hits the sand at a run, mobile to his ear as he calls the others to have them come help look.
It’s got to be this Beach. It’s the place Lance took Keith on their first date, its where they almost spent every day of summer, on the sand or in the surf, night and day, picnics and barbeques and sandy blanket kisses that saw too much hands for a the public’s eyes …
The Pier was at the other end of the beach. It was two miles up the sand, but it could’ve been two thousand for all the difference it made. Keith was out of breath barely a hundred paces towards it, tears stealing his 20/20 vision that he focused on the choppy water surface in case he saw a dark shape of his lover amongst the waves. The thought had his stomach as heavy as lead, the fear about to chew him up and spit him out into a mess, worse than the Keith now, who is choking on tears, sobs and the fucking air around him as he races to the Pier.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let it end already, just let it end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keith is running harder than he’s ever pushed himself before. His lungs feel like they’ve been shredded, his stomach a thousand tonnes, his heart as empty as a black hole and just as cold and-
Keith is still running, blindly running to the looming shape of old weathered wood, rusting metal and the empty Pier that he begs holds his lover still torn in the decision of now and the next life.
Please, please…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was it.
This was the end.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Keith!”
The boy turns, sees Hunk running towards him. His face is streaming with tears, his eyes red and puffy as he kicks up the sand. There’s a coat trailing in one hand where he hasn’t bothered to pull in on as he’s climbed out his truck. Shay is still by the vehicle, locking it as she stands in the car park, waving to the silver Clio that is going far-too-fast for the little slip road.
“He left a letter?”
“And I think he came here, but I can’t find him,” Keith wails, his footsteps catching on sand and he tumbles into the wet dune. He’s on his feet as Hunk reaches him and together they stare at the vastness of the sea. Staring and hoping that, no, they’re not too late, and Lance got scared, chickened out, and now he’s walking home in the rain, soaking wet and looking for his lover to apologise to and fall into his arms with too many tears and snot stained face and-
“Keith, there, in the water!”
Keith can see it.
God he can see it and it makes him want to puke.
It’s Lance’s scarf.
The same shitty, full-of-holes, red and blue piece of crap Keith had worked painstakingly hard to knit after receiving one from Lance on his first birthday they spent together as lovers.
And now it’s floating lifelessly in the surf of the grey Ocean, the waves battering the material as it lies upon the shore, its story as clear as the pattern knitted into the fraying cotton strands.
“LANCE!”
Keith cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, barrelling head first for the surf that arced and crashed and drowned out the bone chilling cry that was his to make as he screamed for the boy again and again and again.
“LANCE WHERE ARE YOU!”
No, no no no no, this can’t be happening, this can’t be-
And oh my god, there he was. Keith’s sob cracks into a laugh and he’s running before Hunk can grab him.
Scarf trailing behind him, Keith can’t make his legs move fast enough. He can see Lance on the end of the pier, see that stupid bulky parka, see the caramel locks he loves to run his hands through, see those long thin legs that he loves to let wrap around him when they cuddle in bed.
He’s sat on the end of the pier. He’s not in the water.
He’s not gone.
He’s not gone.
“Lance!”
Keith slipped on the rain-slick wood, but he’s not going to let that stop him as he barrels up the stupid stairs that act as obstacle and barrier between him and his true love.
“Lance!”
Fuck, he needs to be there, by Lance’s side, holding him, dragging him back off the edge and shouting his name, confessing love until Lance realised that leaving wasn’t an option, that leaving was never an option, that Keith needed him more than music, more than coffee, more than the sun, more than fucking oxygen.
“LANCE!”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There’s a voice on the wind. He hears it, hears the noise of distress dripping with that one word.
“Lance.”
It’s his name. His name, spoken in a voice that has called his name many times, but perhaps not so broken, not so… helpless.
“Lance!”
The voice is louder now. It’s coming for him, and the bearer of all that pain.
It takes a moment, and then another, before Lance can connect voice to memory and the vision of streaming eyes and a face of anguish sits in his mind’s eye.
Keith.
Keith is in pain as he calls for the boy that tilters between here, now and forever gone.
It’s Lance that is making him feel this pain.
Lance is the one to blame.
And Lance will be the one to fix it.
“LANCE!”
And Lance pushes himself off the pier, to the torrent of icy water below.
Chapter 7: Letters
Summary:
The Letters, and the pain, Lance left behind.
Chapter Text
To my family,
If you’re reading this, then I am already gone.
I’m sorry.
I know, that even as I write this, even as you read these words, you’ll feel pain and I hate myself for that. You are my best friends, you are the family I chose for myself and I can’t stand hurting you in this way. But this will be the last time I hurt you. This will be the last time I hurt anyone.
I say this and I mean this:
Do not blame yourselves.
Do not blame each other.
Blame me for being a coward, unable to speak out about these thoughts I have, and these thoughts that I now, surely have acted upon.
I kept these thoughts secret because why should anyone else be forced to feel this pain. No one else should be burdened with my problems.
But I’ll tell you the truth now, because you deserve the truth, if not from me, then this letter at least.
I’ve been drowning for a while now.
Treading water when I can, grabbing at whatever driftwood floats by, but the anchors on my feet have been too heavy.
I know I will drown.
It’s my own stubbornness that keeps my head above the surface, the desperate need not to burden others with the fact that I’m not perfect, that I’m not okay anymore.
It used to be easier, when I could remember how happiness felt, and sometimes yes, I forget the darkness, the water in my lungs and I can breathe and laugh and be myself. But those moments are fleeting.
It’s hard to hold on now. I’m tired of it, I’m tired of trying to crawl back up when the easiest thing is to let go and fall.
By now, I already have.
But take comfort in the knowledge I am free. I’m at peace, I’m not hurting anymore.
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“LANCE! Lance, c’mon baby, please wake up!”
“Baby, no, c’mon breathe, c’mon Lance, just breathe for me!”
“Please, please, come back to me!”
“I’m sorry alright, I’m so so so, so sorry-”
“Lance, wake up, I need you- God just wake up, you’re scaring me- No, no no no no no, don’t do this, please don’t do this. I can’t do this Lance, please wake up!”
“I’ll do anything Lance, I swear I’ll do anything for you. So come back to me baby, please, I need you!”
“Keith? What the- oh my god, Lance-”
“Lance, wake up, please, please-”
“Lance….”
“Please, please…”
“Shiro, is he breathing?-”
“ALLURA! WE FOUND HIM!-”
“Pidge, call an ambulance-”
“No, the car, get him in the car-”
“No, no Hunk, I need to-”
“You can’t-”
“I won’t leave him!”
“He’s not breathing! Hunk, he’s not breathing, what am I going to do, what am I going to do- oh my god he can’t be dead-”
“Keith calm down-”
“Oh my god. He’s dead.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Keith, my beloved,
I wanted to give you my world. I wanted to give you everything, to do anything and everything for you.
I’ve given you my everything.
Not my pain, I have taken that with me.
But everything is yours now.
I’m not there to hold you back or tie you down anymore.
Be free.
Yours Forever,
Lance
Chapter 8: Breathe
Summary:
Keith struggles to resuscitate Lance after pulling him from the water.
Chapter Text
“LANCE!” Keith watched as the boy dropped, watched his body fall limp as it slipped from its perch on the end of the pier, plummeting to the Ocean below. Keith didn’t think twice, didn’t hesitate as he ran, one foot on the bench the other on the rail and he jumped too.
He heard his own name before hitting the cold of the Ocean and fuck everything was burning. The cold forced the oxygen from his lungs and he had a mouthful of water without meaning to let any in.
But Keith’s main focus is Lance.
The torrent of winter currents has pulled him away from the mass of dark that floats out of reach in the water below, and even though all Keith wants to do is reach out and grab him, his brain is screaming oxygen instinct kicking in and he’s clawing his way to the surface, begging himself not to as every action pulls him further and further from Lance.
“Keith!”
But Keith doesn’t stop to shout back once his head breaches the surface. He throws his head back, inhales the icy air, chokes on rain and he’s diving back down, back to Lance, who has done all he can to fight survival instinct and is still sinking.
Keith can see him through the water, just about, see the shadow of darker black far below, close to the sea floor. He struggles to reach him, helped by the weight of heavy soaked clothes, barred by the battering of the Ocean currents that wants to take Keith inshore, while the undercurrents are dragging Lance out.
But fuck mother nature, Keith is going to have Lance back. He’s not about to let him abandon this life when they’ve only just got started. He’s not about to kill himself just over a fight.
Keith wouldn’t forgive him. He wouldn’t forgive himself…
The boy kicked his legs forcefully, fighting the entire Ocean to derive himself closer to Lance. He saw the shadow, saw a definite lfine between grey and darker grey, forcing his hand out and yes! he had him. Keith held on for all he was worth, dragging the boy closer, two legs and an arm not wrapped around Lance to drag them up.
He didn’t want to think about the stillness Lance’s body held.
He didn’t want to think about the lack of effort on Lance’s behalf.
He didn’t want to think.
He just did.
Keith took them both to the surface. It was hard, it hurt, but he fucking did it and now his focus was getting both of them to the shore. They were near the pier, but not close enough the waves would batter them against the pier’s supports. Instead, the waves battered them inland, and Keith didn’t have to fight so hard, until suddenly his trainers were slamming onto wet sand, tripping over limps as he hauled Lance from the water, chest heaving, lungs burning, teeth chattering.
Someone was yelling his name. More someone’s calling Lance too, but Keith isn’t looking for anything, other than a sign from Lance.
But when Keith stumbled back, his grip slipping, lance falling to the sand, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t gasp for air like Keith, he doesn’t cough and splutter and choke on the Ocean that had forced it’s way inside his body like Keith is, doesn’t begin to shiver like the other boy.
He just lays there, head laid twisted awkwardly, sand on his face, in his hair, clinging to his eyelashes and eye lids that remain closed….
“Lance?”
Keith choked it out. He forced himself out the constricting coat that wants to pull him to the sand and lay there as he gets his breath back, but he can’t ,not yet, not till Lance sits up, laughs out an embarrassed “that was a close one, wasn’t it.”
Keith is kneeling next to him, grabbing his chin to force Lance’s face up to him, but there’s nothing but closed eyes and blue skin, ghostly pale and painfully still.
No, no, no, no, no-
“LANCE! Lance, c’mon baby, please wake up!”
Keith shook his shoulders quickly, fingers clawing at the zip of his parka, dragging it down. He laid his head on the boy’s chest, face staring at the parts of the boy’s face that he could see as he listened for a heartbeat.
The voices calling out to the are closer now, but Keith doesn’t care, because there’s no fucking heartbeat, there’s no fucking heartbeat and Lance isn’t breathing!
“Baby, no, c’mon breathe, c’mon Lance, just breathe for me!”
Keith slammed a fist down on the boy’s chest, watching water sputter out his mouth, but another hit to the chest and now his mouth is closed around those perfect lips he’s kissed a thousand times and wants to kiss a thousand times more. “Please, please, come back to me!”
Chin tilted back, nose pinched, Keith forces air into Lance’s lungs because that’s what the boy needs. He needs air to get colour back into those purple lips, colour back into the pale cheeks, life back into the boy who is too-still, too-silent on the sand.
“I’m sorry alright, I’m so so so, so sorry-”
Three breaths and Keith begins pumping the heart. Thank fuck for Shiro teaching him basic first aid training, because Keith can actually do something rather than screaming and shaking this dumb shit before him that needs to open his fucking eyes.
But he can’t.
Because he’s not breathing.
Because his heart is not beating.
“Lance, wake up, I need you- God just wake up, you’re scaring me- No, no no no no no, don’t do this, please don’t do this. I can’t do this Lance, please wake up!”
God, he just needs to wake up.
Because it’s nothing more than a nightmare, it’s nothing more than a bad dream, a poorly thought prank and Lance is about to sit up and pull the biggest shit-eating grin and Keith’s going to slap him for it, before pulling him into the biggest hug and kiss him until he’s about to suffocate-
“I’ll do anything Lance, I swear I’ll do anything for you. So come back to me baby, please, I need you!”
Keith is crying as he forces air into Lance’s lungs again. He moves for compressions, his arms aching painfully from the first twenty, or however many he managed to get through, but suddenly, there are hands there first and Keith can’t remember anytime he’s ever been happier to see Shiro. Matt has arms on Keith, holding him up right from the exhaustion as another bout of sobs wracks his body and he threatened to slip under, just like Lance.
“Keith? What the- oh my god, Lance-”
“Lance, wake up, please, please-”
Keith’s sobbing now, not sure who’s holding him as his body is jostled, pulled back as Matt takes over compressions. He stops, Keith’s about to scream at him, but then they’re turning him to the side and water drains from his body. He’s on his back and Shiro is filling Lance’s air with lungs, and then they’re back to working on his heart that is still not beating by itself.
“Lance….” Keith feels another set of hands, looking up to see himself being supported by Hunk and Shay respectfully.
“Please, please…” He’s still calling out for Lance, trying to get Hunk to let him go back to the boy that needs him, god he needs him, but Keith needs Lance too. He needs him to not be unconscious, to be lying there, with water filled lungs.
He needs him awake, laughing, smiling, safe.
“Shiro, is he breathing?-”
“ALLURA! WE FOUND HIM!-”
“Pidge, call an ambulance-”
“No, the car, get him in the car-”
So many voice, everyone all talking at once, but Keith can’t follow Hunk, who’s trying to once again pull him away from the boy that is grey and lifeless on the beach they had shared their first date, lying still and lifeless a stone’s throw away from the place that they shared their first kiss…
“No, no Hunk, I need to-”
“You can’t-”
“I won’t leave him!”
Keith fears taking his eyes off Lance. He can’t, he can’t leave him.
Lance isn’t on the sand anymore. He’s in Shiro’s arm, princess style as the older races up the beach, Matt and Pidge on his tail as they barrel for Allura’s car that is waiting on the boat ramp, reverse parked, boot flung open so Shiro can continue to perform CPR as she drives to hospital.
But Lance is still not moving, legs dropped, arm swinging from the movement that takes him up the beach, trailing behind, dripping with water, but not life. Because Lance was-
Pidge is yelling something to Allura, who’s stood by her car. They’re both crying, fuck they’re all crying.
Because Lance was…
Keith needs to go with them, but his legs are jelly, his spine stuck with a metal rod and he can’t move further than a step before his legs crumple, pulling Hunk and Shay to the sand with him.
“He’s not breathing! Hunk, he’s not breathing, what am I going to do, what am I going to do- oh my god he can’t be dead-”
“Keith calm down-”
“Oh my god. He’s dead.”
Chapter 9: Wake Up
Summary:
Lance has been pulled from the water. Everyone meets up in the Hospital.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Is he-”
“Just drive Allura! Lights on, beep your horn, just drive, please,” Matt half yells, half screams at her as he holds Lance’s head back, watching as his body begins seizing, the muscles figuring out that there’s water in the lungs, there shouldn’t be water in the lungs, and now the body is fighting to get it all out.
“Get him on his side. Get the water out,” Shiro orders, and Matt has never been happier to let Shiro take the lead, because they do, and buckets of sea water are draining out of Lance’s body. He’s coughing, spluttering and “oh my god he’s awake,” Matt laughs, because there’s Lance, retching on the Ocean he’s taken with him. Limbs stiffly force his body off of the boot floor and although he’s bringing up bile as well as water, he’s awake and fuck, he’s out of it again.
Matt grabbed as the boy fell limply into his lap, rolling his head so it still faced down.
“That should be all of it? Right?” It’s like he’s begging Shiro to tell him that, yes, that was all the water, and yes, Lance will be fine.
“He’s awake? Is he awake?” Allura asks, eyes in the rear view mirror, but she can only see her boyfriend’s hunched body.
“He’s alive,” Shiro gasps. He strokes his arms, stretching his fingers where they ache from CPR on this douche of a motherfucker that thought to drown himself. “He’s breathing.”
Matt let out giddy laughter. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like he thought this was funny, but the tension in his chest seemed to dissolve with every bubble of laughter that slipped softly from his mouth.
Allura got them to A&E within five minutes of leaving the beach. She parked it in the “Ambulances only” parking bay, was out the door in a shot, not even bothering to close the door as she raced into the waiting room. Matt could hear here from the car, calling for help, “help, my friend is dying,” and there she is, white haired, caramel skinned Goddess, brining with her blue scrubs and a gurney.
Lance is on it quickly, smoothly and he’s gone before Matt can make out how many people are around him. Everything is a blur.
There’s familiar faces from his own trips to the hospital for work business, but now those familiar faces are forcing him into a wheelchair and he’s been whisked along behind Lance.
They’re in a room, a waiting room of sorts but the seats are fabric and soft and the lights are dimmed here. He’s drinking from a plastic cup, his hands are shaking and – oh, I’m in shock.
Matt has seen it in the people he’s helped in car crashes, seen it in the mother’s faces when he has to announce their accident, announce them missing. But now, he wears the cloak of shock, skin pale and a nurse beside him. It’s Felicity Rabbi; a familiar face, and Matt takes comfort with her. “Lance,” he says, not knowing why his voice won’t work properly. Its dry crackly, but he’s sure he’s just downed as much water as Lance has in an attempt to keep himself grounded.
“Mr McClain is stable for now,” Felicity tells him. Matt turns his head, taking the hand that holds his. “He’s-?”
“The pair of you, and Miss Allura saved his life.”
Saved his life.
Lance was going to make it.
Matt feels weak. He’s a police officer for fucks sake, he’s fought off armed robbers, and he’s dealt with stolen cars, home invasions, fuck he’s even done his part when a fire burnt its way through an apartment block near a college he was giving a talk at. But why is it he’s struggling to keep his bearing when he’s sat in a hospital room, worrying about Lance.
It’s because it’s Lance.
It’s not some stranger he’s helped bring back to life, it’s not some member of the public he’s watched be dragged from the surf, lifeless, clinically dead. It’s not some stranger whose heart he has pumped, whose lungs he has filled with his own air.
It’s Lance.
His best friend. The kid that steals the last slice of pizza from the fridge, the loud and boisterous kid that plays music too loud, who’ll serenade anyone if you give him a guitar and an audience. He’s Matt’s friend, who came into their lives through Shiro’s younger brother, who feels as much a part of the family, as if he’s always been there.
He’s Shiro’s groomsman, he’s the kid that picked Pidge up from the station when the storm hit in the summer, he’s the idiot that won’t let you wallow in your own problems because he loves you too much.
The always-smiling, life-of-the-party, always-got-your-back Lance, who’s laid in a bed, somewhere in this hospital, because he’s just tried to kill himself.
The boy is about to ask about Lance again, wants to know more as he tries to ignore the fussiness of shock, but then suddenly he sees Shiro through a window in the wall looking out to the corridor. He doesn’t look shocked, he looks angry and he’s yelling at a doctor in a white coat, Allura on his arm to keep him from socking the man.
“What’s that about?” Matt asks, pulling at a blanket that’s been draped over his shoulders. But before Felicity can speak, matt’s phone does. It’s Pidge’s face that takes up the screen and it’s against his ear before brain can catch up.
“Matt? Where are you? Are you with Lance? How is he, where is he? Is he alive?”
It’s a rush of questions, spoken too quick, too mashed together that Matt can only choke out their name. “P-Pidge, I…”
No, it’s not good enough, he knows it’ll scare them.
“Lance is stable.”
Stable is good.
Stable is alive.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Family only,” the Doctor says sternly. He’s shorter than Shiro, but age takes precedence with wrinkles and a tiredness only age can show.
“We are family,” Shiro says, squeezing Allura’s hand for comfort. No one has told him anything yet, because Lance was taken from them quickly. All he’s been told is Lance is alive, they’re checking him over and will keep him under monitors for secondary drowning.
Matt’s been taken somewhere too because he’s freaking out a little. Shiro is freaking out too, but he can do that later. Firstly, he wants to see Lance. It shouldn’t have been too long till the doctors and nurses finish what they can, and they’ll have him in a room where everyone can meet up and see him.
But there’s an obstacle barring them.
“Relation?” Dr. Francis drawls, his bad temper doing little for Shiro’s patience.
But the man hesitates. He wants to say Brother, but that’s not accurate. Neither is Step-Brother, because Keith hasn’t summoned the guts to propose yet. “He’s… uh, I mean-”
“I’m sorry Sir. But family only,” Dr. Francis spits. He’s about to turn, but Shiro catches his arm. “We are family. Look, if I can’t see him, at least tell me how he’s doing.”
“Doing?” The man, actually had the nerve to scoff. “You pulled him from the sea, you tell me how you think he’s doing?”
Shiro recoiled, more shocked than angry now as the man began a tirade of incoherent mumbling, but there were some words he did catch.
“What are you talking about, sin? We’re talking about whether Lance is alive or not, and you’re talking about a failed suicide?”
Shit, Shiro wants to punch this man. If he was Deadpool, he would’ve done a lot more, and Shiro is hoping for the Merc with the mouth to wing in an decapitate this bastard. But it’s not Deadpool who appears, but another, who is searching for the boy that already tried to leave him once, twice.
It’s Keith, running down the corridor. Perhaps not running, but his feet carry him quickly, he looks pale, his eyes are red and he’s not listening to Hunk who is trailing behind him, calling him to slow down. They see Shiro, and Hunk is just as quick as the younger in getting to their friends side. “Lance, where is he?” he asks for Keith, who can’t seem to get any air because he’s panicking. “Pidge said- said that Matt said he’s stable,” he grinds out, digging nails into his arm to keep himself grounded.
“He did? Did you speak to him?” Allura’s asking because she didn’t see Felicity grab him when the three of the barrelled through the emergency doors behind Lance “No, um, he was on the phone to Pidge, but I left them with Shay because Matt said he’s heading there. I was just chasing…” Hunk’s sentence trails off as he nods to Keith, who has turned to Mr Bad-Attitude.
“Lance. Do you know? Is he... is he awake?”
“I don’t know-” But before he can finish, Keith is butting in. “Can I see him? Where is he?”
The disgruntled expression of a man who thinks too much of himself stepped away from the boy with too many questions. “Mr McClain is sleeping,” he said, answering only the basic. Then, “and your relation to him?” Still harping up the political tree, of which he sees himself sat at the top.
“I’m his boyfriend. I want to know. How is he?”
Dr. Francis glared angrily, a huff of derision given in a moment meant for care and sympathy. “Visiting hours are over-”
“Guys!”
They all look. It’s Pidge, Shay and Matt, with them in the corridor that shrinks with every new body added. They need to get out, get to lance’s room and take the moment to breathe. “Lance?” Pidge asks, worry for their self-proclaimed brother.
“Yes, where is he?”
Dr. Francis stops. He doesn’t speak at first, looking to all of them, eyes deliberately stopping on Keith for a moment before finishing with, “wait a moment.” Because yeah, that answered questions.
No one has a chance to voice any more as the man turns on heel and struts off down the corridor like a peacock in-need of a broken neck.
Felicity guides them to a waiting room and they each flop into the chairs, all except Keith, who begins pacing a circle around the room.
Allura tries to pull him into the chair beside her, but he shakes her off. “I can’t just sit and do nothing. I’ve got to… I’ve got to…” He falls silent, continuing his pacing, fingers digging into his arms. It’s not so much a comfort thing, as it is an anchor.
“Got to be a dream,” he mumbles and with every hope that this wasn’t real, it breaks Shiro’s heart. It’s his baby brother who is falling apart, his boyfriend, lover, his soulmate who is somewhere in this hospital because….
Lance had tried to kill himself.
Lance, smiles and full-of-laughter Lance, had tried to kill himself.
It was… hard to think about. It didn’t seem right, didn’t feel real, because that… it just wasn’t Lance.
But then. Maybe it was. Maybe this was a Lance who had reached the end of his tether, who couldn’t power through anymore, couldn’t keep the mask on anymore.
Shiro felt his hand slip into his jacket pocket, ignore the keys, ignore the wallet and pull out the crumpled paper he’d taken with him when Keith had cast it aside in his haste to chase after Lance.
To my family,
If you’re reading this, then I am already gone.
Yes, this was Lance. This was the truth he hadn’t shown before.
I’m sorry.
I know, that even as I write this, even as you read these words, you’ll feel pain and I hate myself for that. You are my best friends, you are the family I chose for myself and I can’t stand hurting you in this way. But this will be the last time I hurt you. This will be the last time I hurt anyone.
I say this and I mean this:
Do not blame yourselves.
Do not blame each other.
Shiro lifted his head, looking to his baby brother who was wearing a trail in the carpet. He wondered if Keith was blaming himself. He wondered if anyone was blaming themselves. All, heads down, eyes closed.
Except Allura, by his side, leaning against his chest as she read the letter Shiro held in his hands.
Blame me for being a coward, unable to speak out about these thoughts I have, and these thoughts that I now, surely have acted upon.
I kept these thoughts secret because why should anyone else be forced to feel this pain. No one else should be burdened with my problems.
And there, Shiro could see the true Lance, who refused to let others see his pain. Kind and caring Lance, who put everyone else first, even before himself, who was dying on the inside.
And no one noticed.
But I’ll tell you the truth now, because you deserve the truth, if not from me, then this letter at least.
I’ve been drowning for a while now.
Treading water when I can, grabbing at whatever driftwood floats by, but the anchors on my feet have been too heavy. There is too much for me to carry, there’s too much emptiness and I’m growing tired. It’s getting harder.
I know I will drown.
It’s my own stubbornness that keeps my head above the surface, the desperate need not to burden others with the fact that I’m not perfect, that I’m not okay anymore.
Lance was self-less. Perhaps selfish in this abrupt way of ending things, but it was clear Lance was lost and looking for a way out in which, he could fix what was broken.
And he thought himself broken. He thought himself the problem.
Always had, no matter the problem, if he was involved, he’d go out of his way to solve it.
It used to be easier, when I could remember how happiness felt, and sometimes yes, I forget the darkness, the water in my lungs and I can breathe and laugh and be myself. But those moments are fleeting.
It’s hard to hold on now. I’m tired of it, I’m tired of trying to crawl back up when the easiest thing is to let go and fall.
By now, I already have.
But take comfort in the knowledge I am free. I’m at peace, I’m not hurting anymore.
But it would leave his family hurting. And although Shiro didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but feel anger, his body shaking, hot, silent tears running down the length of his cheeks, wiped away by Allura, who took the first letter. She took his chin in her hand and peppered kisses on his cheek, not hiding her own rivers of silent tears.
“Don’t blame yourself. He told you not to blame yourself.”
She misunderstands. She thinks Shiro is angry at himself, but it’s to Lance he feels this burning that makes him want to punch the little fucker that’s putting everyone through this.
Shiro wants to read the letter again, to analyse it, to decipher hidden meanings Lance may have left.
But Shay has the letter, shoulder to shoulder with Hunk they read, fuelling their tears.
It takes a moment, but Shiro realises Keith isn’t pacing anymore.
He’s not in the room.
He’s gone to find Lance.
Notes:
Also, I've finished the first page of the comic that will run alongside this. I've uploaded it the first Chapter, and it's also on my tumblr: ididntdoit-blameitonthedragon
Enjoy :)
Chapter 10: Please, Wake Up
Summary:
Keith searches for Lance in the Hospital.
Chapter Text
It’s been almost thirty minutes by the time Keith finds prick in the white coat. He refused to speak last time, but Keith is going to make the bastard tell him where Lance is. He’s in one of these bloody rooms, but getting lost is no longer an option.
At least he’s found a familiar face.
Keith found the Doctor in the corridor. His clipboard is still in his bloody arms, and Keith still has to fight the urge to grab it and whack the fucker around the head with it.
He’s fed up with waiting, he’s fed up with pacing these too-clean halls that only lead in circles. He’s tried to find Lance’s hospital room, but he was behind several thousand locked doors and identical corridors that had him going up, down, round and round until he was about to throw up from more than just fear.
If that didn’t suck, he can’t even find the others in their corner of the waiting room he left. It wasn’t like he meant to. His head was just filled with Lance and suddenly his feet were taking him to the love of his life. Or, they would’ve, if he had known where Lance was…
Keith hadn’t been in Allura’s car. He hadn’t come to hospital with Lance, not like Shiro and Matt who had been taking it in turns to keep his heart beating and lungs filled with oxygen. According to them, according to what Matt had told Pidge, they had brought Lance back to life on the drive to the hospital.
He’d woken for a moment. A mere moment, but he had woken.
They had saved his life. Saved Lance.
Lance, who had tried to kill himself, who had tried to drown himself, who was having his stomach pumped and blood cleansed from the pills he popped, the seawater he inhaled.
Keith hadn’t come in with Lance, and now because of the motherfucking shit stain that called himself a doctor, Keith wasn’t allowed to see his boyfriend. He’d already answered questions at the front desk, filled in a thousand pieces of paperwork, already listened to Hunk and Shay try to calm him. He’d refused their offers of hitting the hospital café, getting away from the Emergency Room waiting area where the plastic seats were making his butt numb.
He’s meant to be sat with them all, but he can’t.
He can’t sit down.
He can’t stay still.
And when Dr. Fuck-face, with his upturned nose and too-good-for-you attitude turns around, with his clicky-pen and bloody clipboard, Keith is in his face, furrowed brows and broken voice asking the same question he’s thrown at this man a hundred times already.
“Lance, is he awake? Where is he? I need to see him-”
“Visiting hours are over Sir, only immediate family is accepted. You’ll have to-”
“FUCK THAT!” Keith yelled, fists clenched. He can hear a voice telling him to calm down, but he’s not listening to it. “I want to see Lance!”
The man doesn’t give a shit. He’s got that same condescending look as do-gooders and the shits from traditional, religious families that used to treat Keith like shit because he preferred men to women. The thought has Keith’s blood boiling, but he’s too worried for the boy that is laying in one of these hospital beds, alone, possibly even dying, and fuck if Keith is going to go home knowing Lance needs him right now.
“Sir-”
“No! I’m not leaving until I see my boyfriend!”
The prick looked startled, eyes wide, mouth slack underneath the trim moustache that makes him look like Ben Stiller from that crappy dodge ball movie Lance loves. He makes to deny Keith again, but then the door opens, and it’s Shiro.
“Keith?”
Keith’s by his side in a second, hand on his heart that’s beating too much, as if it’s trying to beat for Lance too.
“You left-”
“I didn’t mean to. I just need Lance.”
He’s feels the same dread that filled his body on that Beach, running on uneven sand, searching for Lance who was about to jump. Lance should be safe here, should be safe here in the hospital, but that doesn’t meant Keith can stop, can take a moment to breathe.
It isn’t over yet, not yet and Keith knows it.
Shiro pulls him closer, gives a glare to Dr. Francis that Keith misses and they’re leaving together. “Lance,” Keith whimpers, being led away from a man that knows-
“Felicity found out for us. He’s in the ICU. He… Lance doesn’t look good.”
It’s not the words Keith needs right now. But he’ll accept them because it’s about lance. Doesn’t look good doesn’t mean dying. It just means he’s not going to be getting better as quickly as they all hope.
He’s going to get better, he’s got to, but for now Keith will accept “doesn’t look good” over “dead.”
With every step closer to the ICU, Keith feels like his heart is about to explode. He can’t focus on much, feeling like he’s trapped in a dream as he floats beside Shiro own corridors and halls. No; not a dream. It’s a fucking nightmare. He’s in hell. This is hell.
At the very least, it can’t be real. These are the boy’s thoughts as he topples out the elevator, only supported by Shiro who catches him under the arm with his hand, keeping him upright. Giant ICU letters hang behind the desk, underneath directions with X-RAY pointing left and NURSE OFFICE pointing right.
All Keith can see is the room behind the desk, divided with curtains, filled with patients, doctors and nurses alike. But instead of going through, they stand in front of a reception desk, manned by one person. She looks up at the pairs’ arrival, offering a sympathetic look to them both. “Matt said he’s gone with the girls to get food. Hunk and Shay are still in there though.”
“Thanks Felicity. Has Thace said anything-?”
“He’s coming back tomorrow. You might want to ring him though, and let him know if there’s anything else. I can’t, hospital policies and all that, but he was pretty concerned.”
It all goes over Keith’s head. His impatience rears its ugly head with fresh tears and s terrible beg for the boy he’s been looking for, for too long. “Shiro, where is he?”
Keith glances to each bed, heart seizing at each stranger hidden under oxygen masks, bodies still as they lay with IVs on drips, blood bags and solemn faces of worried families gathered at their bedsides.
None of them are Lance.
Shiro is gesturing to a room to his right, and Keith is in there, ripping back the curtain that hides the bed with from him, rips it back with a ferocity he’s surprised it hasn’t pulled it off the rings.
Actually, he doesn’t care, and who should care, not him, he’s too busy staring at “Lance!”
Shiro was right.
It didn’t look good.
Lance is motionless sin bed, only half his body visible where it’s not buried in blankets, the other half underneath a loose hospital gown. Of the skin Keith can see, its golden glow is gone, replaced with a dullness, a discolouration that says more than the stillness.
Keith can’t take it all in: the numerous tubes of fluids, water, blood pouring in one side of his body, the bag of fluids pouring out the other….
Lance’s hair is still wet in places, where he hasn’t been dried from his dive into the Ocean, but no, it’s not, its sweat. Fever has taken his body, trying to fight the medication that burns into his stomach, clotting and thinning his blood all at once.
There’s a tube down his throat, attached to a machine that’s draining water from his lungs, or stopping them collapsing, Keith isn’t sure. There’s another attached to a fucking slit in his throat. Air valve.
There’s more down his nose, there’s a thousand coming out of Lance’s body, god he can barely see his arms from underneath the wires and tubes, heart monitors and…
The slow, methodical beat of the heart monitor.
The green line that jumps and dances with every high pitched tweet, chirping at the movement of the boy’s worn out heart.
His heart.
Was beating.
“Lance.”
Chapter 11: Please, I Beg Of You, Wake Up
Summary:
Everyone waits for Lance to wake up.
Notes:
So I think we can all realise I'm not so good at writing fluff.
Angst, heartbreak and pain yeah, I think I can sort of manage, but as soon as it comes to sweetness and enough sugar to rot your bones, I'm shit. And it sucks, because I just love reading fluff but can't seem to absorb everyone else's brilliance.
I apologise for the shittiness, but from here on out, hopefully things are going to get better for Lance and Keith. And everyone really.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hey, we brought you guys back some breakfast,” Allura said softly, kissing Shiro’s temple, before massaging the tight knot of tension in his shoulder. He sat up, yawning, summoned into the conscious by the sound of her and the others returning to the room from their trip to the Drive Thru.
“Any change?” Matt asks as he comes in with bags of fast food, still hot. They had gone home for a shower, change of clothes and sleep, much like Hunk and Shay, but those two had yet to return.
Keith had refused point blank to leave Lance alone, in case he woke up. Shiro didn’t want to leave him either, and he wasn’t about to leave his baby brother alone while he was feeling vulnerable.
So Shiro stayed too. He had spent the night in the chair in the corner of the room, almost keeping guard. The bad sleeping position gave him a stiff neck and bad back, but that was to be expected. It was a small price to pay to watch over the boys.
Shiro looked to them.
Curled to mould his body against Lance’s cold shoulders, Keith lay on the bed beside him. He lay on top of the covers, although blanketed by a spare Shiro had asked Felicity for.
He lay next to Lance, with his head on his chest to hear the heartbeat that had grown stronger ever since he had climbed in bed beside his boyfriend. He hadn’t moved since falling asleep; even unconscious knowing he wasn’t to move, as not to hurt Lance any further than his own self-inflicted damage.
Both were motionless, the only movement the flickering of Lance’s closed eyes. His heart raced for a moment, the beating growing in intensity, but just as it had done before, softened to the same resting beep that filled the quiet hospital room. Whatever thoughts and nightmares plagued him where yet to drag him from the peace of sleep.
“Still not awake?” came a voice from the door and in came Pidge, dragging with them a chair from outside. They took it closer to the sofa where Matt and Allura placed themselves, making room for Shiro, whose limbs seized on standing. He tried to stretch it out, but everything ached, not just from poor sleeping, but the stress of pumping Lance’s heart for a good ten minutes or so.
Allura’s soft hands soothed him as he leaned into her shoulder, curling his arm around her, head nuzzling into the crook of her neck.
Sleep was more wanted than food, and he was lulled closer with the background noises of quiet voices and the constant beep of the heart monitor.
Yeah, sleep was good for now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Are we going to wake Keith, you know, so he can eat something?” Pidge asked as they slurped on their third syrup drink, eyes on their best friend who was just as pale as they boy who nearly drowned.
“No let him sleep.” Allura looked over to him, knowing just how exhausted and how drained he was. She’d gone through the deaths of Mother, Father and older Brother, so at least she had a little understanding to Keith’s current fears.
Keith wasn’t alone in this, he had to understand that. They were all here for him, all of them here to support the pair of them once Lance woke up.
Sure it was going to be hard, suicide isn’t something to brush off with happy pills and a sick note from the doctor. They were all on the long road to recovery, and the journey was going to be uphill from here on out. But at least it wasn’t downhill anymore.
They knew the pain Lance was suffering with and they’d be there to haul him out the water before he slipped under again.
Conversation was a forced affair, broke by the constant turn of heads, looking to the heart monitor that was slowing. But now, that was their imagination, surly. Pidge even timed it because, god forbid they let anything happen to Lance, even if he was out of the water now.
The food was cold before it was finished, at the arrival of Coran. He brought a huge bouquet of flowers from his store, and he’d been on a mission to find the biggest dolphin plushie possible. It was almost as tall as Lance, but they all knew he’d appreciate it.
Hunk and Shay swung back around at lunchtime, leaving Allura and Shiro to go home. Thace came to check on Keith, but the boy himself refused to leave Lance’s side until he had woken.
From the Doctor’s predicament, he should be awake in the afternoon, although he’d probably be out of it and perhaps groggy. It was a little unnerving how insistent they were being about being called when Lance did gain consciousness. It was like they were concerned for something…
“Oxygen deprivation,” Pidge mumbled from her chair, mobile in hand, a thousand Google tabs open. “I think they’re worried about brain damage. There shouldn’t be because Keith, Shiro and Matt were doing CPR pretty much straight away.” The men raised their heads at their names, passing approving smiles to one another. They did good. They saved lance’s life.
But the looming fear of secondary damage wasn’t going to go away, until Lance woke up.
“He’ll be fine,” Keith said. He was sat on Lance’s bed, on hand holding his, the other stroking hair from the boy’s face. His fever had gone down and colour had returned to his cheeks. He was still warm in places, but nothing to be concerned about. He was getting better.
“Lance will be fine.”
Whether those words were for himself, or those gathered, no one could tell. They agreed though, each of them falling back into silence, memories in their minds as the beeps filled the room again.
His cough was what turned their heads.
Everyone’s eyes on Lance as a hand reached up to cover his mouth and he coughed again, eyes flickering as conscious began to climb up from sleep.
They were all on their feet, crowding his bed, trying not to, but failing, to keep their distance as Lance’s eyes, gorgeous blue eyes fluttered under his eyelids and slowly, slowly, he focused them on his family, surrounding him with smiling faces.
Keith’s face wore the biggest, brightest watery smile.
“You’re awake.”
Notes:
God, I really wanted some big impact with Lance finally waking up but guh I can't get it to flow nicely.
Sorry for the shittiness and the short length.
Chapter 12: Awake
Summary:
Lance wakes up.
Chapter Text
“You’re awake.”
“So it seems,” Lance jokes, but his lips can’t quite make it believable. His eyes drop away, staring to the entwined fingers.
Lance is groggy, blinking more times than necessary to focus on the creeping fingers that rest on the blanket near his hip. Keith wants to grab him, hold him, god how he wants to lay beside him and hold him tight and never let him go again.
But Lance has put up a wall.
Keith is frightened of why. He hadn’t given thought to the now, to the time after Lance woke up. He just knew that Lance had almost died and now he was awake…
The Doctors and everyone had been concerned about brain damage, but Lance knew who he was, clear from the way that he responded to Keith, how he wasn’t freaking out like he didn’t know who was here.
But he wasn’t looking at Keith.
“Lance?” Keith moves slightly, thumb rubbing circles on the boys hand, to give him comfort.
But none is taken and Keith tenses when he feels Lance try and pull his hand away. He looks scared, he doesn’t want to meet their gazes.
Red creeps up his skin and, with a final jerk, Lance pulls his hand from Keith’s and wraps it around his body. He’s embarrassed, but it’s more than that.
Confusion, fear, doubt. The emotions pull his mind in different directions, and he can’t help but squirm in the quickly dying happiness. He didn’t want to be there, the centre of attention.
He didn’t want to be there…
“Lance…?”
Lance looked up, the same fearful, uncertainty in the blue Keith had begged to see not hours before.
He doesn’t want this blue, dull, faded, dark. He wants the blue of sunshine on water, the bright blue sparkle of mischief because he’s put salt in the coffee instead of sugar, the soft blue filled with love when their eyes meet just before, and just after a loving kiss.
Not this blue.
Keith feels fear, unsure if Lance knows who he is.
“Lance, you… you know who I am… right?” His heart is in his throat, but with a nod from his boyfriend, Keith sighs in relief, the tension in his body melting away into nervous laughter. But he feels a little better.
“Come on guys,” Shiro says, hand on Pidge’s shoulder. He has a hand on Hunk’s too. “There’s too many of us.” It takes a firm eyebrow raise to stop their immediate arguing. They both offer Lance another smile, but he’s not looking and suddenly Pidge is wiping away tears and Hunk’s face falls, back to the fear and hopelessness that held him before they had found the boy.
“Hey Lance,” he tries again.
Lance looks up. His eyes widen at the tears, the tiredness, the uncertainty…
“Uh, yeah. Hey.” His voice is scratchy, dry. Talking forces coughs from his throat and he’s grabbing at it because it hurts him. The other hand buries his face, the movement slow because he still has an IV drip in one arm and more in the other.
Lance stares at it, the colour of blush quickly fading to a yellowish stain that covers his face until it looks like the boy is about to puke.
Allura and Hunk are the last to leave the room, the girl leading the other with an arm around his shoulders. She closes the door behind her, but not before calling for Lance. He looks to her, almost unable to keep himself from turning to his family with every word they call to him. “It’s good to see you awake. We were all very worried.”
Keith and Lance sit in silence for a while.
The other looks tired, and Keith wants him to sleep. But he also wants to talk. He also wants to shout and scream and cry at him for being so bloody stupid, what were you thinking! Were you even thinking?
But Keith doesn’t.
He stands.
Lance flinches at the motion and it takes everything for Keith to ignore it.
He sits himself in the chair beside the bed. Not too far from Lance, but far enough that hopefully, they can be a bit more comfortable together.
It’s awkward.
Keith, torn between a rising anger and so much relief he wants to break down in tears.
And Lance, fearing the onslaught of harsh words to follow from their fight.
When they speak, the both speak at once.
“I’m sorry-”
“I’m sorry-”
The words make them face one another and they’re smiling. But the notion falls flat, as Lance waves Keith on. Stepping down. Stepping back.
It makes Keith angry.
“What?” he snaps, fingers digging into his thighs. Lance flinches and looks away but Keith’s not about to drop his anger. “What is it that you’re sorry for? Sorry for scaring the hell out of me, sorry for running away from all your problems, sorry for not telling me that you want to kill yourself?
“Sorry that you fucking tried?”
Lance is looking down.
Keith’s crying, but he’s not finished. “Or are you sorry that your suicide failed? Sorry, you’re still here, to tie me down?” The tears crack his voice and suddenly he’s on his feet. Lance’s heart monitor is quick now, there’s a voice telling Keith to stop, he’s scaring Lance, but a bigger part doesn’t care right now.
“You’re so fucking stupid, do you realise that? If I didn’t fucking love you, then why the hell are we boyfriends? Why are we living in the same house, why do we share a bed?”
“I know-”
“No, you obviously don’t know!”
Keith thrust his hand into his jacket pocket, grabbing the paper and threw it at Lance. It was the letter, addressed to him. That stupid, sixty word letter that didn’t even say sorry once.
“What the hell is that! ‘Give me everything?’ When the hell did I ask for everything?”
Lance reads the words he’s probably read a thousand times. Keith has read them a thousand times too, each time a different emotion taking hold.
“To Keith, my beloved,
I wanted to give you my world. I wanted to give you everything, to do anything and everything for you.
I’ve given you my everything.
Not my pain, I have taken that with me.
But everything is yours now.
I’m not there to hold you back or tie you down anymore.
Be free.
Yours Forever,
Lance”
He can see those last three words from here, the ‘Forever’ blurred at the end slightly where tear drops have warped the pen ink. They are his own, but Lance’s had fallen there first. They fell now, streaming down his cheeks, down his chin and onto the crumpled paper.
Lance looks like he wants to speak. His mouth is open, his brain trying to sort words into a sentence, but Keith acts first. He closes the distance, taking the hands that hold the letter, pulling them closer, pulling Lance’s gaze to meet his.
His hands are warm. It’s a reminder that yes, Lance is alive. Different to the hands he had grabbed on the beach, back when there was no heartbeat, no air in his lungs, no life in his body.
“God you’re such an idiot. I love you. I want you.” They’re both crying. Lance moves his feet and Keith joins him on the bed, sat closer, torn between telling him how much he loves him and showing him.
“I don’t need money, I don’t need the house. I don’t need the car or anything. I’d give everything up, as long as I get you.”
“But I-”
“Are the love of my life. You are my everything.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keith is staring at him. There’s a smile ghosting his lips and, man, he’s beautiful.
Lance wants to kiss him. Lance wants to. How easy it would be to reach up, to circle his hands around the boys neck, weave his fingers through the soft fluffy mullet and hug him till his arms fall off.
But the fear in his chest keeps his hands to himself. Keith has one though, fingers twisting, painfully so. It’s scary, and Lance has the fear that he can read his thoughts just by sharing touch.
Lance doesn’t want Keith to be able to feel this fear in his chest, the rock that swallowed his voice box and won’t let him apologise, even as everyone stares at the pair of them.
Lance doesn’t like it. They’re scrutinising him, their stares boring holes into his brain, trying to pull apart the reasons why he’s still here.
Why am I still here? I was sure I would drown. I was sure the pills would make me sleep, make my limbs weak so that I didn’t have to fight the tide as it took me. So why…
That stupid part of Lance that makes him want everything to be normal makes his mouth speak and he hates himself for trying to gloss this over. Of course it’s not okay. Of course he can’t pretend he’s okay anymore.
He’s surprised they’re all here, that they all are bothering with a useless fuck-up like him who can’t even commit suicide properly.
“You’re awake,” Keith says, as if he’s not quite sure.
That stupid part of Lance that makes everything want to be normal makes his mouth speak. “So it seems,” he says, forcing a smile, trying to force his voice casual. There’s pain on everyone’s faces when he does, and the poorly constructed mask falls off before he can patch the holes.
He’s tired. Trying to kill oneself will do that to a person.
Lance doesn’t want to sleep. Not there, under their observing eyes. He can’t help but squirm, it’s hard to look them in the eye.
So he looks to the touch on his hand. Keith still holds his, those long slender fingers he has kissed, the warmth he has sought so many times when they walk down the street, the comfort he used to take from the closeness…
He used to take those hands for granted, but now that he’s still there to hold them….
It’s cold. It hurts his heart and he doesn’t want it.
“Lance?”
But oh god, pulling away makes Keith’s eyes widen and Lance can feel the strength in his digits trying to hold on.
Let go.
Let me go.
Keith lets his hand fall from his boyfriend’s and Lance wraps it around himself before he, or anyone else, has a chance to grab onto it. It’s cowardice, he knows that.
They all know it too from the way that Lance refuses to look at them.
I hate it.
I hate this.
“Lance?” Keith isn’t giving up. He’s calling out, and Lance just can’t refuse him. He can’t hear anger in his name, and a flicker of hope in his chest makes him turn to face Keith.
He wants to see Keith smile. He doesn’t like seeing him like this-
You’re the one that made him look like this.
You’re than one that’s making him feel all this pain.
It’s true and Lance hates it. But before he can become buried by his thoughts once more, Keith is speaking again and he has his sole attention.
“Lance, you… you know who I am… right?” God he sounds so scared.
For a second, a split second, Lance debates a shake of the head. No, I don’t know who you are. Sorry.
It’s a way out. A way out to a new life, where he can vanish into the crowd. He can free his friends of the chains he’s bound them with, he can disappear and never burden anyone again…
Lance nods.
He watches Keith relax, the tension washing off with the slight head jerk that makes Lance feel like he’s just dug himself a six foot pit. Keith’s laugh still holds stress of the now, and Lance feels himself dig another three foot.
The pressure in the room keeps building, and Lance feels like he’s drowning all over again. He’s scared, echoing on the ridiculous heart monitor that tells everyone he’s not calm, that he’s panicking on the inside and he can is still hiding it from them all.
Not very well, but he’s still keeping secrets from them.
Someone clears their throat, and Keith jerks his head back, as if he had forgotten they weren’t alone in the room. Shiro flashed him a smile, one for Lance too, before he takes lead in emptying the room. “No,” Pidge begins, breaking free from the hand that was on their shoulder, fingers curling into the blankets that hides Lance’s legs. “We want to stay,” they say, just as Hunk folds his arm and glares, daring Shiro to forcibly remove him from the room.
A glower buckles their will instantly and Lance forces himself to look away. God, he can’t see Shiro turn that expression on him. The thought makes his heart rate speed up.
Shiro is angry, Lance can see it. He’s always been able to read emotions under each other’s masks, although never allowed them to see his own. He’s mastered the art of disguising emotions, and although Shiro’s voice is soft and he is smiling, there’s so much anger in the stiff way he walks, the darkness in his eyes, the fake smile he’s forcing that Lance hates himself all over again.
They hate me too.
“Hey, Lance?” Hunk is forcing his voice natural too. Lance offers him comfort, what else can he do, by turning to face him, shocked by the tears on his face he had been able to hide from his steady voice. If Lance hadn’t looked, he would’ve thought the man perfectly accepting of Lance’s excursion to the beach.
Yeah right. Hunk would take this just as personal as Keith.
“Uh, yeah. Hey,” Lance says because, what else do you say? He wants to say more, say sorry if he can’t think of anything else, but the dustiness of his throat has him coughing. He covers his face on instinct, hiding the firmness of his jaw when needles move under his skin. God it’s disgusting it hurts, but it’s karma.
Bitch you better pay what you’re making your family feel.
Hunk wants to say something too. He’s doing that thing with his hands that say he doesn’t know what to say. Lance doesn’t even and the silence holds thick in the air.
Allura ushers him out. She’s the last to leave, and the last to offer words she hope will comfort her friend. “It’s good to see you awake. We were all very worried.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you all.
I didn’t want it to happen this way.
I didn’t want you to see me like this.
That was why I left…
The door closes and silence fills the room. It’s heavy, heavier than the fear and the pressure from before. Lance isn’t looking at Keith, he doesn’t have the confidence to meet the boy’s electrifying purple eyes. He’s too scared to read the hating emotions he’s hiding deep inside.
You idiot.
You can’t even kill yourself properly.
And now I have to hold your hand and baby you until you figure out how to get it right the next time.
Keith stands.
The motion is sudden that Lance flinches, expecting the barrage of hurtful slurs, perhaps a fist or two because, you useless fuck what are you even doing with your life….
But nothing.
He sits himself in the chair beside the bed, scooting it closer so that he can sit closer. If its closeness he wants, then why did he get up of the bed. But it was Lance who pushed him off with the withdrawal of his hand.
Lance watches him, and once he’s settled, stares at his hands instead of his boyfriends face.
Are they still boyfriends? Lance hadn’t considered the consequences of a failed attempt. He didn’t think he’d be saved, he just thought it would be over and…. End of story….
Lance wonders who found him, who pulled him from the water, who is keeping his story going.
He wants to ask, but he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to.
So it’s in silence they sit, until Lance can bare the tension no longer and needs to apologise.
“I’m sorry-”
“I’m sorry-”
They spoke at the same time. They’d do that all the time at home, when they were dating, whenever they were holding a conversation. A sense of familiarity is a comfort and Lance smiles. Keith does to and, oh, he’s beautiful. But it’s a sad smile and they vanish just as quickly as the moment had brought them out.
Lance waves Keith to speak first and can’t help but watch as the lines of his face work firm and suddenly, there is the anger he had been fearing.
“What?” he snaps, leaning forward into the chair. Lance wants to run, he doesn’t want to fight anymore. He’s not going to fight.
He’ll let Keith work his anger out, he’ll let him get angry, explode and-
“What is it that you’re sorry for? Sorry for scaring the hell out of me?-”
Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to hurt you like this.
“-Sorry for running away from all your problems, sorry for not telling me that you want to kill yourself?-”
I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to feel the same pain I felt.
I didn’t want to burden you with my unhappiness.
“-Sorry that you fucking tried?”
Lance is looking down. He can’t look Keith in the eye. He’s scared to face this anger he knowingly deserves and he hates himself for being so weak. He has his own anger underneath his skin, but now, he’s not going to rise, he’s not going to fight.
He doesn’t have the right.
Keith keeps going. “Or are you sorry that your suicide failed? Sorry, you’re still here, to tie me down?” His voice cracks and suddenly he’s standing. Lance forces himself not to flinch from the punch, but it never comes and, although he doesn’t want to, he looks to the boy that stands beside him, crying. He could hear the tears in his voice and he hates that he is the cause to all this.
“You’re so fucking stupid, do you realise that?”
Yes I do, I’m sorry.
“If I didn’t fucking love you, then why the hell are we boyfriends?”
Heat spreads through Lance’s hands at those words, but he can’t be happy, not when Keith is this upset, this hurt.
When Keith is this upset and hurt because Lance was the one to upset and hurt him.
“ Why are we living in the same house, why do we share a bed?”
“I know-”
“No, you obviously don’t know!”
Keith is shouting now, his voice loud enough that Lance expects someone to come rushing into the room any moment. But no one does and it’s still just the two of them and a piece of crumpled and ripped paper that Keith has thrown on to the bed.
It’s the letter.
One of them at least, one of the many Lance has written in his attempt to tie up loose ends.
“What the hell is that! ‘Give me everything?’ When the hell did I ask for everything?”
Lance reached for the crumpled letter, staring at the water marks that have smudged his writing. Keith’s tears. Tears he had cried when he read this stupid letter that should’ve said so much more. It should’ve said so much more than these poorly thought excuses that Lance pulled from a broken and bleeding mind that couldn’t go on. Written when his head remained tampered by alcohol, written again because the blood stains of the knife had covered words he needed to say, but couldn’t say out loud.
Words that poor from him now in streams of tears.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I know I’m useless, I know I’m stupid, a waste of space, a failure, I know I’ve hurt you and I don’t want to, but I hurt you too much, I try to love you and look at what it has done to us, to everyone around us.
I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to love you properly. I don’t know how to make you happy, I can’t be happy myself, I’m just a plague, a walking parasite that sucks the life and love and happiness out of everything I meddle with….
I’m sorry.
And suddenly, there are hands on his. Warm hands that spread love from the tips of his fingers, into the broken heart and the broken mind. Keith leans in, closer and closer, pulling Lance closer.
Look at me.
Lance looks. It’s the same boy he’s fell in love with. The same man who he is madly in love with.
“God you’re such an idiot. I love you. I want you.”
Could it really be true?
There’s a want there, and Lance moves the obstacle that allows Keith to reposition himself so that they’re closer. He sits where his legs had laid, their hips closer, their bodies close enough that open arms will bring hugs and warmth.
But there’s something holding them back.
For Lance, the fear of rejection. For Keith, it’s something else.
“I don’t need money, I don’t need the house. I don’t need the car or anything. I’d give everything up, as long as I get you.”
But are you sure. Are you sure it’s me you want.
Me, who is stupid and useless and an idiot and a loser and a fool and-
“But I-”
“You are the love of my life. You are my everything.”
Lance didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t really fight the motions of his arms that took hold, took Keith and pulled him closer, into a kiss mixed with tears and heavy breathing. Keith laughed into it, a sad sort of laugh, and the motions were soft and gentle, reflecting the uncertainty of their first kiss years ago, when they were just two boys getting to know each other…
This was different, the same and a thousand times more precious.
This was a promise that Lance wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t take Keith’s everything from him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know, you idiot. But please, never do that to me again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Chapter 13: Truths
Summary:
Keith goes home and finds something in a small box, in Lance’s bedside drawer...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You okay? You haven’t said a word…” Shiro pressed, dancing with his words as Keith huffed a blatant “Stop digging.” Shiro wasn’t one for holding back the flood however, and with Keith’s confirmation his attention was here and not on the passing world out the window, he began.
“Lance is awake. That’s good.”
The way Shiro spoke, it was clear there were mixed emotions there. Fuck, there were mixed emotions from everyone.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t wanted Lance to wake up, but the happiness they all felt for him was quickly marred by the anger and frustration on his choice of actions. Even Keith wasn’t above them.
Shiro, the older mature adult, had a knack of hiding most of it; Keith could see the tightly clenched wheel and the set jaw line where he kept himself from spitting profanities at Lance, who wouldn’t hear them regardless. Keith understood though.
With the initial relief passed, still present maybe, but dulled somewhat, Keith’s anger was making a comeback. With a vengeance.
“Yeah it’s good. And the fucker has no repercussions other than the Psych Evaluations, so that’s another win for him.”
Every syllable dripped with sarcasm, the tension twisting Keith’s arms so that they folded across his chest; his body language screaming leave me be. But the tears in his eyes displayed a different message.
“He’s just so… I mean, we just… and he…”
“Yeah. I get it.”
Good. Because Keith couldn’t really figure words out right about now.
He knew what he wanted to say, to Lance and Shiro alike, but dealing with everything was wearing thin at patience and his steadily decreasing supply of energy. Three nights sleeping at the hospital was dealing damage, and no matter how much the others; Lance and hospital staff included, told Keith he should go home, he wasn’t going to.
Even now, Keith was only going home for a shower, a change of clothes and to get clothes for Lance, who was going to be staying in for monitoring. He had a scare a few hours after he woke, where the lining of his lungs hadn’t worked properly and fluids in his body had gathered there, or something or other. Pidge’s explanation was quick and short, but Keith was panicking. You can’t blame him for not taking in every single detail.
Luckily nothing damaging was in lasting effect, but the sound of Lance choking on his own lungs had freaked Keith out enough not to leave his side for too long. Besides, he couldn’t exactly let him out of his sight after the weekend….
“We’re here.”
It took Keith a moment to realise that the truck was off and they were parked on his drive, facing the house.
Keith hesitated in getting out, the fear he felt the last time he was here building inside him like water behind a dam. Shiro watched him from outside the truck, eyes following every slight emotion that might tell him Keith’s reaction; fight or flight.
It seemed neither was accepted, and instead Keith offered truce with his feelings. He sighed, swallowed the bile in his mouth and climbed out the truck, standing in the chilly air.
Shiro unlocked the front door when Keith made no attempt to do so, but refused to be the first to step inside. After a moment, Keith went first, steps small and light as his tiptoed down the hallway. He hated it, hated the fear towards a friggin house, but no. It was to the monster inside it.
The house was still unnaturally clean. Aside from the marks left from Shiro and Allura coming to feed Kitkat and let her out, the house remained immaculate and…. Foreign.
Keith didn’t linger downstairs. He forged his way to the bedroom, fighting limbs that screamed “no” with every step taken. But with Shiro blocking the escape route back downstairs, Keith had nowhere else to go but the bedroom.
Still clean. Still untouched.
“Have you got a suitcase or something?” Shiro asked from the doorway, doing that awkward lingering thing he did when he wasn’t sure if Keith needed his brother or just some space.
It was Keith’s decision to make.
“We can use Lance’s dance bag. It’s in the guest room.”
Shiro gave a curt nod, and left. The door remained open, the path out suddenly open…. But Keith didn’t take it. He just stood in front of the wardrobe, fighting the thought of a Lance-less cupboard. But, just as the house, the wardrobe was untouched, just as Keith had left it before he had chased after his boyfriend four nights ago.
Four nights? It felt like yesterday Keith was in here, panicking, even before he knew the true depth of the darkness that had swallowed Lance whole...
Keith and Shiro packed clothes in silence. There was something odd about it.
Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that everything Lance was disappearing, and that this would be something he would be doing if Lance had really died-
“Keith?”
His face is hot.
It’s burning hot.
“Keith, hey, hey it’s okay.”
No it’s not okay. None of this is fucking okay!
Shiro abandoned the packing and pulled his little brother to sit beside him on the bed. “Hey, Keith. C’mon, please talk to me.”
Keith just let the tears stream out, resting his head against Shiro’s chest, listening to the man calm him, repeating words meant to comfort. Yeah, I know Lance is alive. I know he’ll come home. It’s just….
Everything was a big knot of emotions. Relief that Lance was alive. Anger that Lance had tried to leave.
Happiness that Lance wasn’t gone. Sadness that Lance had wanted to leave.
Regret that Keith hadn’t seen the scars and the hurt Lance wore every day.
Regret he hadn’t seen sooner, regret that he wasn’t trusted to be told…
“They’re gone.”
“What?”
Keith stared, his thoughts suddenly empty as he stared at the wall above the head board. He’d felt it when he walked in, hating the cleanliness of the room, but it hadn’t meant much more than the echo of Lance’s farewell to him….
But no, it was there, staring at him as plain as day. And Keith hadn’t seen it.
“They’re gone?”
“What’s gone?”
“The photographs.”
The fairy lights and the photographs that Lance and Keith had hung above the bed, snippets of their life together, moments precious to them, or funny, or beautiful or…
Had Lance… thrown them away?
The idea burnt though Keith like lightning in the sky. He wrenched himself up off the bed, tearing across the room to the bin by Lance’s dresser. He grabbed it, emptying it on the floor, only to be greeted with facial mask wrappers, lint and other garbage. But no photographs. Where were they?
Keith tore into Lance’s dresser, swiping aside all his beauty products for the Polaroid features, the little moments that had hung like a timeline of their love on their wall, proudly displayed just like their affection for one another. Where were they?
Shiro watched, torn between calming Keith and hoping he finds what he’s looking for.
Second drawer down and there’s no photographs.
Third drawer down and there’s no photographs.
Fourth drawer down and there’s no photographs.
“Keith-”
“He wouldn’t,” is all the boy can choke out, anger welling up in his eyes. He kicks the suitcase aside as he rounds the bed, yanking on the beside drawer, pulling the entire drawer from its housing, nearly dropping it on his foot.
And there they are.
Photographs spilled out on the floor; snap shots of smiling faces, stills of moments precious to the pair of them. Polaroid squares with silly little captions, and silly doodles drawn on in Sharpie. There’s more tears as Keith stares at his own dozing face, seeing Lance’s cheeky grin at the cat whiskers he’s drawn on the boy whilst he’s sleeping. There’s picture of Kitkat as a kitten, several of the house on the day Keith first moved in, a “naked apron” secret shot, a billion selfies, more pictures of Kitkat, group photos, beach photos, photos of the two together, one stealing kisses, scrunched up faces of two idiots in love.
They lay like sunshine on the dreary wooden floor, the bright colours contrast to the bleakness of their time now.
Lance was going to leave this all behind…
It’s Shiro who moves first. He bends down, fingers brushing against a photo of them all smiling together, the words “Christmas Day, 17” written on the white. Then they close around the handle of a craft knife, half hidden from where Lance had wrapped it in a black cloth.
Oh god. It had been there the whole time. Inches away from Keith when he slept, within his grasp to take and throw away and…
“Oh god.”
But there’s something else that takes Keith’s breath away. He loses sight of the knife, and instead eyes fall upon a midnight blue box tucked into the corner of the drawer, tangled in the fairy lights. A little blue box Keith hasn’t seen before.
Oh. God.
“Is that a…” Even Shiro didn’t know what to say, remaining where he was; sat on the bed after tossing the craft knife into the bin.
“I… I think it is,” Keith stammered, his heart in his throat for entirely different reasons now. The box is in his palms now, being passed from one hand to the other, tempted to open and see, but it feels like he’s snooping and he doesn’t want to snoop because….
“Is it?” Keith asks, passing the box to Shiro, closing his eyes when he hears the snap of the lid. By Shiro’s gasp, Keith guesses, yes, yes it is what he thinks it is.
It’s a…. it’s…
“If he was… if he wanted to… then why did he?” Keith asks, staring at the photographs, staring at the smiles that hurt him. Are they fake? He doesn’t believe they are, but what if… what if they are…
No. They’re not. They’re all real because Lance is happy here. Lance is only upset when he’s alone, he’s only sad and fragile when they’re fighting, when he lets the darkness cloud his thoughts, when he lets him believe he’s not good enough to stand beside his family.
Keith swallows thickly, sorting out his head so that when he speaks, he can actually get out a full sentence. “If he was planning to propose to me, because I’m pretty sure that’s a ring,-” he adds, nodding along with Shiro who confirms, he adds, nodding along with Shiro who confirms again, yes it’s a ring.
“- then why would he back out of it. Why would he…?”
It wasn’t like Shiro would have the answers. Keith would have to ask Lance himself for the exacts.
But his brother was there for him, and Shiro would do his best, even if he didn’t have all the answers.
“Well, it’s a big step. Maybe he got scared about asking you. Remember how you reacted when you thought I found out you guys were together?”
Keith dropped his head into his hands, groaning at the memory. “Don’t remind me. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“And remember how you reacted when he asked you to move in with him.”
Another painful memory.
“Are you trying to make me feel better, or worse?” Keith snapped, side-eyeing Shiro through his fringe. The older laughed, not unkindly, dropping a hand onto Keith’s shoulder, passing back the engagement ring.
“You don’t have a good track record when it comes to commitment. Lance has been your first in practically everything, so he should have some confidence there…” Shiro trailed off, the smile taken from his voice. “… But remember what he wrote in his letter?”
How could Keith forget?
“He talked about holding you back. Tying you down.” Shiro’s prompting bought pain.
Keith didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t make himself tell the older to shut up either. So he kept his gaze averted, letting them sweep over the photographs again and again as Shiro continued.
“Maybe he thought he was restraining you, even in your relationship. Maybe that’s why he did what he did. He thought in doing so, he was letting you be free, as if he’s been stopping you from doing something or… I don’t know.”
Know, neither does Keith. But he thanks Shiro for trying nonetheless.
The pair sits in silence, even when Kitkat comes in. Shiro picks her up before she can walk on the photos, stroking her as he lays on the bed, doing that overly kind thing where he waits for Keith to decide if he wants to talk more, or if he wants space.
Keith is thinking. About Lance, like always, but more specifically, the fight on Friday night.
The tipping point.
Notes:
The next chapter will be the fight on Friday, but I want to know if you want it in Keith's perspective or Lance's.
I can do both, but isn't it a little repetitive???
Please let me know xxx
Chapter 14: Friday
Summary:
Friday night with Lance was meant to be relaxing. Friday night with Lance was meant to be perfect.
Friday night was when everything went wrong. Friday night was the tipping point.
Notes:
*Format Updated*
Chapter Text
Keith wiped the back of his neck, tiredness clawing at his legs as he dragged them off the bike, already feeling better now he was home. Work could’ve gone easier, but like all days Rolo wasn’t in the best of moods. It did nothing to Keith, who kept out his way; preoccupied with the idea tonight was date night.
Lance had declared it last week, making a big deal of Keith being home on time, reminding him last night, this morning, sending him a text.
Keith hadn’t got annoyed, but he had played a prank on his significant other, texting him that something had popped up at work, he’d try to be home on time, but he might be late.
It wasn’t nice, yeah, a bit mean, but it would make Lance that much happier when Keith walked in the door at quarter past six.
And of course, Lance was beaming when the door opened, their greeting stammered when Keith saw his boyfriend looking drop-dead gorgeous, casually lent against the wall.
It wasn’t like Keith was constantly horny, or that they hadn’t touched each other in a while. But wow, Lance looked perfect and he wanted him bad.
But they had plans for tonight and Keith’s want for touching would have to end with kisses, a quick squeeze and plenty of watching as Lance did that thing with his hips as he walked away. He’d get that body when they got home tonight.
Kitkat came running at the sound of Keith’s keys being placed on the hook next to Lance’s, and he bent to pick her up quickly. “Hey girl,” he cooed, pulling her into his arms where she melted, purring loudly.
“So how was work?” Lance asked, grabbing himself his mug off the side, moving to the fridge to start making one for Keith, when he took the cup and swigged a bit. “Work was as usual. Rolo is grumpy and the customers think they know best,” Keith sighed, turning his hands over, double checking there was no grease from the engines he had been working on all day at the Garage.
He knew Lance hated cleaning it up; the damn stuff was worse than wine when it stained the carpet.
“Any new cars come in?”
“Nothing flash. Just a few MOT checks. But Kaiden and his brother, you know the twins that do racing,” he says, unaware his pace is picking up as he begins to get excited. “Well he rang up today, and wants a check on this new speeder he bought. The prick didn’t tell me what car it was but you could hear it in his smug little voice it’s another top-end car.”
Keith kept going, playing with Kitkat still in his arms, letting himself fall into comfortable conversation as Lance moved around the kitchen, a small smile on his lips as he listened to Keith ramble about engines and cars and bikes.
“So where are we off to tonight?” the darker-haired asked, moving Kitkat off his lap as he prepared to go upstairs and shower. Depending on where they were going would deem what he would be wearing once he got out. Lance twirled on the spot, flicking on the kettle. “It’s a surprise.”
“Oh?” Keith raised an eyebrow. Lance wasn’t one for keeping secrets. Or, he’d try really hard and it would slip anyway.
So Keith thought he’d try a different tactic, slipping Kitkat onto the stool beside him. “What’s the occasion?” That at least might suggest what type of venue they were heading to.
“You don’t…?” Lance’s voice quietened, the rest of the sentence vanishing in the mixture of sounds from the kettle boiling and Kitkat suddenly meowing loudly, demanding food like the Drama Queen she was. Anyone would think she hadn’t been fed in years, with the way she rushed after the Mullet, lacing herself around Keith’s legs as he bent down to get her food out the cupboard.
The pair’s conversation stopped slightly. Keith looked up, surprised Lance wasn’t moaning dramatically at him because it seems he’s not on the same wavelength, or something like that.
Maybe he’s forgotten something. Lance’s birthday is in July so nothing there. So what–
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Lance says, turning to the living room. Keith follows, noticing a lack of former energy. His tone is pressed, like how he gets when he’s staring at the paperwork for bills and the numbers are laughing at him. It’s pressed like the times Lance is running late to work and he’s got a bit of toast in his mouth and his coffee lid isn’t quite on his mug and he’s late and he’s rushing and-
Yeah, Keith’s forgotten something, and it’s made him upset.
Keith watches him, eyes sweeping up lithe, muscled legs clad in tight, skinny jeans. New, his mind supplies. So is the baby blue shirt, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a bit more skin and yep, Keith can smell his favourite perfume ghosting off the freshly showered Adonis who’s modelling a tight ass in their living room.
Nice bit of eye candy. Hand candy too, as Keith joins him pressing hands to the other’s hips, moving in to his space.
“Lance, what did I forget-?”
“Thai, Indian, Chinese, what do you fancy?” Lance asks. He has grabbed his mobile off the couch, already thumbing in his pass code. “We’re having take-away?” Keith asks, questioning their plans to go out. He doesn’t mind a night in, he’s exhausted, and maybe that is the let down that has Lance changing his mood slightly.
Of course Lance wanted to go out. He’s wearing new clothes and everything.
It wasn’t often they went out for food. Lance preferred his own cooking for dietary purposes (he’s a professional dancer of course he has to watch his diet), or it’s only a real stretch when the two are absolutely shattered and don’t have the energy to cook, happy to sit in a quiet restaurant, making eyes at one another across the table before the game of “footsie” gets out of hand.
Keith slid his hands around Lance, pulling him into a hug. He pressed a kiss to the man’s neck, dropping his chin on his shoulder so they can scan Lance’s contacts together. “What about your plans?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t book anything,” Lance said, flicking through, finger hovering over “Piece Of Pizza Pie,” which was Lance’s saved contact for the Pizzeria over on the Avenue.
“Pizza?”
“I fancy Wagamama’s,” Keith says suddenly, arms curling tighter when Lance jumped at the brush of air on his ear. “You up for that? I know they’ve got some nice vegetable curries which shouldn’t be too high on the calorie count.”
“Sounds good,” the other hums, leaning back into Keith’s arms, the two of them dropping to the sofa where Keith’s hands can wander without having to worry about making Lance’s legs go weak. “I want pork buns, and spicy squid. And ramen.”
“Alright Naruto, coming right up.”
The Cuban isn’t talking much as he searches online for the restaurant’s menu, both hands occupied with typing whilst Keith’s play with the skin on his stomach. He’s pulled the front of Lance’s shirt out his jeans, giving himself access to the tan underneath. After a while, he ignored Lance’s phone screen, his thoughts more to the kisses he leaves and the heat under the pads of his fingers that are dipping closer to the buttons that will free up more to play with.
Lance’s hair smells of strawberries, and Keith buries his face into his hair, breathing deeply, working off the stress of a long day. His Rolo moans way too much, and the new hire on work experience needs eyes on him at all times, enough that Keith felt like he was doing two jobs at once all day. Still, he had a month left until Rolo’s last day at the garage, and then Keith was taking his place. A pay rise and less people standing over him. He had yet to tell Lance, but he was going to wait and surprise him with something fancy.
Things were going good.
“You stink,” Lance says, breaking the good mood, halting Keith’s lips as they suckled on his earlobe. Lance turned his head, smirking over his shoulder at his boyfriend, who raises an eyebrow. “Go shower. By the time you’re done, the food will be here.” He lifts his phone screen at Keith’s confusion, showing a little chibi character waving, a loading symbol underneath showing their order was placed and would be with them shortly.
“Kill joy,” Keith grumbles, shoving a finger, perhaps a little too hard, into Lance’s side. The boy yelps and practically dives off Keith’s lap.
“Keith! That’ll bruise!” Lance screeches, cringing from the stab of pain. Keith failed to hide his smug grin. “Oh come on. You don’t complain when I leave marks on you.”
That shuts Lance up, stopping any comeback. But he’s tucking his shirt into his jeans again, making a point that playtime was over.
“Why the new clothes?” Keith asks, holding a hand out. Lance takes it and hauls him effortlessly to his feet. “I had a half day and had something to pick up in town. I go there early, so I fancied shopping.”
“And you only bought new jeans?” Keith asked. He moved his hand slightly and laces their fingers together, leading up the stairs. “Now I didn’t say that,” Lance teased. Keith smiled, knowing Lance loved shopping, loved prancing from store to store for a nice shirt or a jacket, or perhaps snazzy shoes. Sometimes he’d find knick knacks, or something for the kitchen, or a cushion for the sofa.
Lance’s uncertainty was easier to see in the bedroom, watching him in the reflection of the dresser mirror, not looking at Keith whilst he stripped, throwing clothes in the hamper.
“Lance?” He looked up towards the concern, to the note pulled from the uncharacteristic behaviour. Usually Lance would be the one going on and on about personal hygiene, urging Keith to shower, perhaps teasing him with the idea of joining him there. He’d be the one teasing him with suggestive stripping, the one to help Keith wind down and relax before dinner, be it sex in the shower or just comfort in touches.
Naughties in the bathroom weren’t a daily thing, and of course Lance would withhold sex when they were fighting, but it wasn’t like-
Hang on. Were they fighting?
“Lance, did I… have I done something?” Keith asks, only in his boxers now, watching Lance who is sat on the bed, slipping his watch off and putting it in his bedside drawer. Lance looks over his shoulder, but he doesn’t look angry or sad or anything. Still Keith wasn’t sure…
“What? No, no,” his boyfriend says quickly, jumping up, shoving the drawer closed. “Sorry, it looks like I wore myself out with shopping. Just jump in the shower. I’ll go get the plates and stuff sorted for the take away.”
Keith’s scowl didn’t disappear. Lance pulled one of his own.
He joined Keith by the bathroom door then, leaning in to kiss the corner of the Mullet’s lips when he didn’t respond. “Hurry up, then we can chill out on the couch.”
Lance’s smile is back. His beautiful, beautiful smile that Keith makes wider when he shoots a hand up through his hair, hooking around the back of his neck to pull him in for a deeper kiss. And shit, he’s hard.
“You better get going before I drag you into the shower too.”
“And ruin my gorgeously styled hair? Keith you fiend!”
Lance laughed, slipping out of the hold, ducking away from another grab. He flipped Keith the bird playfully before he was out the bedroom, cooing to Kitkat who must’ve come to find the pair for some attention. Keith laughed at the sounds of Lance calling her “his pretty girl” promising to cook her up some salmon.
“And I wonder why she is so spoiled,” Keith mumbled, climbing into the shower.
He blasted hot water from the shower head, shaving quickly while the water warmed up.
The notion of showering became a quick affair. Although Keith loves it when the hot water washes over him, soothing aching muscles, the warmth spreading through his body like he’s set himself on fire, there’s more comfort from lying in Lance’s arms, legs intertwined on the sofa.
Keith’s shower ends quickly, a towel around his waist as he comes out the bathroom, cursing himself when he leaves wet footprints on the carpet. Keith slips into a clean pair of jeans, shoves on socks because he hates the cold of the kitchen tiles, and roots around for a shirt in the wardrobe. He opts out of snagging a cardigan, giving himself more of a reason to snuggle with his boyfriend. “I’m cold,” was a personal favourite excuse, and it always worked.
Keith came downstairs, just as Lance was finishing a phone call. “-huh, oh sure. And yeah, I’m sorry again, but you know… yeah, ha, totally!” He was laughing with someone, absentmindedly stroking Kitkat who was sat beside him on the barstool. It looked like he hadn’t heard Keith come in.
“Yeah, I will. And thanks again Zoë, I owe you big for this.”
Lance wasn’t looking his way, so Keith crept closer, unable to suppress his grin when he lifted his arms to grab him from behind. And god did he scream.
Keith cackled to himself, holding on tight to avoid Lance from hitting him, blushing as he apologised to the girl on the end of the phone that “no, I’m okay, it’s just Keith giving me a heart attack.” He hung up quickly after that, before turning his attention to the mullet-headed moron as Lance so sweetly declared.
“-scared the crap out of me!” he said, swiping at the space behind him, trying to get a hit in. “Was funny as hell,” Keith sniggered, losing his grip for a second to lower it, before tightening around Lance’s waist and up, he goes.
“Keith put me down!” He didn’t, scooting towards the couch, dumping Lance on it, who wasn’t wriggling as much for fear of being dropped. “How’s this for down?”
“Good, now get off,” Lance huffed, trying to squirm away when Keith moved closer, mouthing along the boy’s jaw line. “Get you off?” Keith asked, purposely whispering in Lance’s ear, licking afterwards, chuckling at the hitching noise of the boy beneath him.
“N-no, get off,” Lance tried again, but there was no strength to his words. No anger, perhaps tiredness drawing the ‘Fs’ into a lowly hum. Keith kept it up with the nipping and suckling, his body kept up on all fours, deliberately lifting a knee to allow Lance an escape if he wanted to. It wasn’t taken, but hands did appear on Keith’s chest, not quite pushing, but not allowing him any closer.
Red cheeked, slightly dazed, Lance pulled his face away from his lover’s lips. “The food’s going to be here any moment.”
Keith smirked at the “not now, later.”
“Whatever you say,” Keith growled suggestively, teeth clamping down a little until Lance gasped, then he was up, off, and snatching up the TV remote off the coffee table. Trying to act like he wasn’t in the mood to do it wouldn’t fool Lance, but it was all a part of the game. He was side eyeing Lance through his hair, watching the boy squirm, trying his hardest not to show the tent in his pants as he climbed off the sofa, leaving his mobile on the table.
“Neanderthal,” came the quip and Keith was chuckling to himself as he settled back on the now-empty couch. Kitkat jumped up beside him, curling up on the end as Keith laid out on the full three seats, legs crossed, toes pointed up as he began flicking through the channels.
Lance made noise in the kitchen, pretending to make himself busy or whatever. Keith settled on ‘Lord of the Rings’ which was just beginning, and just as the firework dragon exploded on screen, Lance climbed onto the sofa, laying down and snuggling in, pulling the throw off the back of the sofa so they could stay warm together.
“The food’s going to be here any moment,” Keith said as Lance pushed in closer, earning him a pair of narrowed eyes, to which he shrugged. “Hey, I’m just saying.”
Food arrived when the Nazgûls did, at which point both of them crawled off the sofa. They separated the dishes onto the warm plates and took it on the coffee table. Keith snagged them a bottle of wine; a gift from one of Lance’s students after they graduated, and two glasses as they tucked into a spicy dinner whilst watching the Fellowship play out.
Lance was… off.
There was something about the movie that was bugging him, body squirming at little things that shouldn’t give the guy ants in his pants.
But still…
Keith watched Lance out the corner of his eye, watched his chopsticks move robotically into his mouth as Arwen made her debut. There wasn’t a doubt that she was a favourite of his, as was Aragon and Legolas. But there was something off, especially when they shared their own serene moments surrounded by magical waterfalls and serene music that made the moment all the more romantic.
“You’re not thinking dirty thoughts about Arwen are you?” Keith asked, watching lance turn, laughing when noodles slipped off his chopsticks, landing in the broth that splashed on his face. The Mullet raised an eyebrow. “Or was it Aragon?” His tone was light, nothing meant to be accusing, only a chance for perhaps some play fighting and a little dirty talk.
But Lance didn’t hear the joking tone, sitting up straight, eyes back to the television. “No, no… I was just…” He trailed off, his thoughts more serious than Keith’s previous assumption.
“Babe?”
Lance was staring at the screen, almost transfixed by the pair that stood together, in their own world. “She loves him enough, she’ll give up everything for him,” he says softly.
Keith looked to those that had Lance’s undivided attention. “Because she loves him.”
“Do you love me?”
That came out of the left field.
Keith tilted his head to the side, watching the slight insecurity in the way Lance was scrunched up, trying to take up the smallest space on the sofa, as if encroaching on Keith’s space was forbidden.
But Keith is a dense idiot and he doesn’t notice specific details. He sees Lance looking at him, putting the bowl back on the coffee table, the flicker of eyes, hands busying themselves by picking up his drink. He holds the glass with two hands, watching Keith as he made the pretence of drinking the wine.
“Why do you ask?”
Lance’s eyes widened. Nothing like shock, but the tiny motion had Keith’s full attention.
But he wouldn’t speak until Lance did.
Quiet stretched between them, broken by the Frodo yelling “I will take the ring to Mordor!” Keith clicked his tongue, snatched up the TV remote and jammed his thumb on the power button. Silence soaked into the room, darker now without the TV lighting the room.
“Well?” Keith wasn’t one for patience. He didn’t want to fight either, but he could deal without Lance pussy-footing around him. If he’d done something wrong, he’d rather be told, have the spat out on the table, quick, easy, done.
“If I’ve done something wrong-”
“You haven’t,” Lance said hurriedly, straightening up, legs curling about him, between the pair like a barrier. He was staring at the glass in his hand. “I don’t know, it’s just me,” he says, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still not looking at Keith. “I guess, I was kind of hoping to talk to you… about…”
His eyes flickered to the TV that was off. “About what.”
“I don’t know… the past… the future.”
Again with the pussy-footing.
“Stop being a poetic shit and spit it out,” Keith growled, snatching up his own glass. He wanted to get back to the movie, but he wasn’t about to ignore this little blip that Lance was having.
They’d had such a wonderful morning, it had been a decent day, he’d got back from work hoping to go out and it hadn’t happened. That hadn’t bugged him as much as it had for Lance, but he’d been quick to bow out of a night out. If he was blaming Keith, then that was unfair because he was pretty sure he hadn’t fucked anything up.
Lance met his gaze. “I want to talk. About us. About you.” Keith said nothing.
Lance continued. “We’re… together. We live together and we… love each other.” His voice caught on that word, but Keith didn’t pick up on it. He was pretty sure he knew where this conversation was going and already, he could feel his anger creeping up his throat like bile.
“But, I still feel like… like I don’t really know you.” Lance squirmed under Keith’s narrowed eyes, but kept talking. “Sure, I know the little things. You love cats, you hate red peppers, your sense of hygiene isn’t the same as mine but you’re just as competitive. You don’t talk about feelings like I do, in fact talking about anything serious is a stretch, and you would rather show it.”
Lance kept going, his words falling out quicker and quicker, as if a plug had been pulled and now this unknown fear was bubbling out of him without a dampener. “But they’re the little things. And I tell you all the big things about my life. I told you about my past, how I came out, stories from school and college. I told you about my family, about my brothers and sister, my parents not accepting me at first.”
Yeah, Keith knows where this is going.
“I told you everything, but you’ve told me nothing.”
“Nothing?” Keith doesn’t bother keeping the anger out his voice. He had wanted a quiet night in. TV, cuddles and sex. Why the fuck was Lance bringing up his shitty past all over again?
There’s that tightness in his chest again, the darkness around him as the lock is drawn and he’s back in that basement, listening to the sounds of footsteps and voices above. He’s not allowed to cry or they’ll hit him. He’s not allowed to make a sound, or they won’t let him out until morning. He’s not allowed to complain, or he’s not going to be fed.
“Keith?”
Keith snaps his head up to where Lance is reaching out for him. He looks pained, but Keith can’t see that. He just sees the searching eyes, see the thousand questions. “Why do you want to know so bad?” Keith growled, slapping the hand away, putting his glass down on the table a little too heavy, some of the wine splashing up, onto the glass, dribbling down the outside to leave stains on the old wooden surface.
“Why do you have to know every specific detail about me? Can’t you see it’s something I don’t’ want you to know?”
“But why?” Lance asks. He’s put his glass down too, moving closer. Too close.
Keith stands.
“Because maybe I don’t want you to know!”
“But why?”
“Just because!” Yeah, it’s not a real reason. Yes, Keith could tell him ‘it’s a sad story and I’m not ready.’
Not now, later.
Why can’t Lance see it’s not a nice subject, why can’t he pick up in these huge fucking hints that, no I can’t talk about it, don’t force me because I won’t be forced.
It would end badly, Keith knows and that’s why he’s always desperate to keep the attention off his past. Why would Lance want to know his parents detested him? Why would Lance want to know that everything was Keith’s fault? He was a mistake, a burden. He shouldn’t exist, but he does.
He’s carved out this little place on Earth, he’s found himself a family with Lance, with Shiro and his friends. Keith has Thace and Kolivan looking out for him, he’s escaped his past, he’s escaped the nightmare that saw him locked away, beaten, neglected, broken and hurting.
Why would Keith want to revisit it through memories, just so Lance can sate his stupid fucking curiosity?
He doesn’t.
And he won’t.
Keith steps away from the sofa, feeling the anger on him like a second skin. He has that burning desire in him, the one that won’t be dispelled by tears, but punches.
And he can’t hit Lance. He can’t lay his fists into the man he loves just because his parents haunt him still.
He’d be just like his old man, and Keith doesn’t want that.
He can’t hurt Lance, he can’t.
Keith needs to leave. He needs space.
He needs to get on his bike, drive around for a bit and breathe in the open air. He just needs space to calm down, space away from Lance to make sure he won’t hit him.
He can’t hurt Lance, he can’t.
“Keith, wait!” Lance grabs his hand, trying to stop the steps that will put distance between them.
But Lance doesn’t understand.
Keith can’t be here right now. He’s about to explode.
He needs to go!
“Let go-”
“Keith, wait I’m sorry, I’ll shut up-”
“Let go-”
“-I won’t talk about it anymore!” Lance is begging, his voice desperate. Both hands wrap around Keith’s arm, tightening, not wanting to break the bond between them. “Please Keith, I’m sorry!” His voice cracks from pain, he’s desperate to keep Keith here as he continued towards the door.
Lance knows he’s running, knows he hates his back against a wall. But Keith needs space.
But he can’t shove Lance away so he’ll break the wall behind him and escape that way.
“I’m sorry babe, please, I won’t bring it up again!”
“But you will!” Keith yanks on his own arm, trying to pull it out of Lance’s grip, but it’s not freeing up. “We always fight about this, you always say you’ll drop it and you never fucking do!”
He yanks again.
Lance holds on.
“But you never talk about it. I’m worried, why won’t you talk to me?”
And there he is, talking about it just when he’s promised he wouldn’t.
Keith’s hand is clenched in a fist, he’s shaking, he needs to fucking go, Lance just let me go!
Lance is still holding on. He’s buried his face in Keith’s chest, the shirt wet where tears are flowing quickly, hands grabbing for the material for a stronger anchor. Keith can’t move and he hates it. Hates feeling trapped, hates this pressure in his head as the thrum of rushing blood fills his ears.
He wants to cry too. He doesn’t want to see Lance looking like this, knows he’s the one that put those tears in his eyes because he’s too scared to face his childhood demons.
But pity and sympathy lies far beneath the cloak of anger that has Keith’s hand grabbing Lance’s collar, fingers twisting into the material, pulling hard. Lance goes with it and he’s begging Keith, “no, don’t go, please don’t leave me.” There’s more words broken by sobs, but Keith can’t listen to anything over the sound of anger creeping up his throat, finding words form the recesses of his mind. Sharp needles of spiteful words he know will break this hold Lance will have on him. He’ll get his space, he’ll get his peace.
That’s what he needs to save Lance from his fists, and there’s no thought to the consequences as he hurls the words like projectiles.
“I don’t want to talk about it, because you wouldn’t stop, you’d keep pestering me for answers. Why don’t you get that I don’t want to talk about it? You love the idea of a ‘happy little family,’ but that’s not for me!”
He wants to tell Lance he is all Keith has ever wanted, but the anger in him can’t offer comfort when he’s too desperate to break this hold.
“I don’t need a fucking family!-”
No, that’s not true!
“- I don’t need anyone-.”
No, what am I saying!
“And I sure as hell don’t need a useless fuck-up like you!”
NO!
Keith can’t control himself. He can’t control his emotions, his tears that pour down his cheeks, the anger that wells up inside him, he can’t control his body as he launches a fist into Lance’s gut, watches him cry out, winded.
Time seemed to slow.
Grab him.
Keith didn’t move.
Grab him!
Lance was falling, and Keith’s body wasn’t listening to him.
He’s going to fall, just fucking grab him!
Lance fell, his back falling into the corner of the table, knocking any remaining air from Lance’s lungs. His arm flung out to catch himself, catching the wine glass on the table, knocking it over. Red wine, red like blood splashed over the table, over the carpet, over Lance as he fell. Hands flew up to cover his face as glass fell with the wine; the flute had smashed.
Keith stood. Empty. Numb.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Keith stared.
Lance was crying, gasping for air, trying to get his lungs to work, trying to get up off the floor.
And still, he’s calling out to the man that just hit him.
“Keith, no…”
Keith’s gone.
Storming from the living room, grabbing keys, coat, feet into his trainers without even bothering with making sure the heel is on properly. The glass of the front door shuddered from the weight of it slamming shut, but Keith’s not looking back. He’s by Red, drying tears on his arm, turning her on as he slings himself on her saddle. Coat on, shows on properly, the engine warm enough that a rev has her growling.
She’s angry at him.
He’s ashamed at himself.
“I hit him. God, I hit him Red, what am I going to do?”
He’s hit Lance, something he promised he’d never do.
Something he knew that, if it ever happened, everything would be destroyed.
But no, that’s not true. It was just a moment of weakness.
Keith had done it once. Once was a thousand times too many, but Keith wouldn’t ever raise his hand against Lance again.
His head was empty as the roads slipped past him, the streetlights flashing as he drives too-fast down roads emptier than usual. He’s not thinking where he’s going, but there’s no surprise when he pulls up, bike parking underneath the streetlamp outside Pidge and Matt’s apartment block.
Shiro, he thinks.
But no, Shiro will just push him back into Lance’s arms and right now, he needs an empty head.
He needs smarts over hearts. That’s why Keith enters Pidge’s apartment block rather than his brothers.
Chapter 15: Disbelief
Summary:
Shiro learns the truth of Friday from Keith
Notes:
*** Chapter Order Update ***
This was "The Tipping Point" aka Lance's POV of Friday, but I didn't feel it flowed so that's been moved to Chapter 16.
Chapter Text
“And… what? You just upped and left?” Shiro watched Keith carefully, keeping his body loose and placid. He was laid on Keith’s bed now, trying to seem almost bored with his younger brother’s confessions.
Yeah, he gets why Keith flipped. He seemed to jump to defensive so quickly, quicker with lance than with anyone else, but Keith thought doing so was protecting both Lance and himself from troubles that would threaten the pairs bond.
Idiot. Telling your partner the things that haunt your nightmares will strengthen your ties together, not break them.
But Shiro understands the younger’s hesitancy too. Talking about them will bring up all those nightmares, the fears, the darkness. Keith barely attended therapy, so all the monsters are still locked inside him. He’s never spoken about them, and so they’ve been given power inside him. Even the mere thought to the darkness gives them bountiful energy.
And this time, they had argued. Badly.
Keith’s gone silent. He’s slipped off the bed now, surrounded by the photographs he was desperately trying to re-order, back into the same configuration, the same pattern they had when strung across the wall. He’s not putting them back up though, just setting them out around him.
The engagement ring stays snug in its box, being passed from palm to palm. His face is hidden under his fringe, he’s making a point of busying himself, as he too stands ashamed of the fight.
But he’s not telling Shiro everything.
“I’m sorry,” Shiro tells the silence, trying to illicit more than silence from his brother. “I don’t really see anything so… damaging that would push Lance off the edge.”
“But there was,” Keith tells his photographed self, not daring to meet eyes with Shiro. “I wanted to run out, that was all I had in my head. I knew I was angry, I knew why and I told him…” Keith’s voice began to shudder. He wrapped his arms around himself, protecting himself from his own shame.
“I…. hit him.”
The words are whispered and broken, but it’s those three words that have the most impact. They see Shiro to his feet, standing, glaring down at his brother. Keith hasn’t moved, waiting for the onslaught to come.
“You WHAT?!”
The screech ripped through heavy silence with such force, even Shiro recoiled. Kitkat fled, panicked by the rage that rolled off Shiro’s body in rage. Disbelief clung to his chest, his lips trying to curl up in a smile as some part of his brain told him “no, that’s not true, Keith wouldn’t…” but Keith wouldn’t lie about something like this.
This wasn’t a joke, he rationalised, watching his brother quiver. Keith had actually…
“The fuck Keith! Why the hell did you hit him? You…. Look, I know you get worked up about them, and you’re quick to jump to anger, but you’ve never laid a fist into anybody. Why the hell did you hit Lance?” Shiro watched Keith curl in on himself with every shouted word. He was shaking.
The man doesn’t want his anger, but it’s all he can manage at the moment. Anything else and he’ll have to leave Keith to his mellowing while he cools himself down.
Usually, the man prides himself on a lot of patience; he’s managed with so much in his first twenty four years already. But his weakness is Keith. The kid, when he’s angry, gets under his skin quicker than anyone and brother or not, he’s difficult to talk with when it comes to anything serious.
Keith isn’t angry now, but it’s still his damn anger to blame, and Shiro can’t help but reciprocate.
“How the hell could you be so fucking stupid? You hit Lance. You physically… actually…”
As quick as it came, his anger is gone, dried up, leaving only empty exhaustion and pity for both. “Why?” He asks, his voice cracking halfway. The word is soft and quiet, but it still makes Keith flinch as Shiro spoke it. He sank to his knees, mindful of the photographs spread about, guiding them away so that he could sit in front of Keith.
He can see the boy’s face now: tears run rivers down his cheeks; they’re bright red, his eyes puffy, his nose wet to as it runs to paint worry, misery and shame upon his face.
“Keith, why?”
“I needed to leave. All I could think was run.”
“But you hit Lance.”
“I know.”
Of course he knows. And he’s regretting it.
But that doesn’t fix the damage that’s been done.
Shiro knows Keith is quick to anger; his patience is shorter than the time it takes for him to give up. He had given up on himself until Thace and Kolivan saved him, he’d given up on a real family until Shiro and his family took him in, and claimed him as their own. He’d given up on love until Lance came into his life. It was a rocky start and, boy did they get things wrong, but there was love. Unconditional. Pure love.
Shiro wasn’t about to let this stupid, fucking brat destroy the best thing that’s happened to him since getting out of the basement.
“I hate you right now,” Shiro says; still a slave to a temper he contains in small words and a sharp tone.
The words strike Keith hard. Good, he thinks spitefully.
Then, because revenge wasn’t his game to play, reached over and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. There was no motion of shock, but Keith did finally raise his head. He leant into the motion, finally looking to his brother with teary eyes and an expression that broke Shiro’s heart all over again.
These brats. They were stupid, idiotic and running the wrong way. Away from one another.
Shiro hates them both, but he loves them at the same time. He hates the fights they get into, but loves how in love they are that, no matter how much they fight, they’ve always made up before the end of the day.
He loves Lance for loving his brother, and he loves Keith, he’s proud of Keith for how far he’s come.
But not far enough, Shiro thinks bitterly. That has to change.
“I don’t hate you,” he begins, but Keith cuts him off. He jerks his face from where Shiro held his cheek, as if the place had been burning him and he was just enduring it.
“You should hate me. Everyone should hate me. Look at what I did Shiro.” Fresh tears spill down his cheeks, down his chin. “I got angry, I got too angry too quickly, I couldn’t stop myself and I flipped out.”
His voice cracks once or twice, but Keith is powering through, trying to get the words out, trying to get some off this weight off his chest.
“Look at what my anger did. I lashed out, I hit Lance, and, what I did… it almost killed Lance. He got so close, fuck, he was literally clinically dead at one point…” Fresh tears welled up but Keith wiped them away with the back of his hand. “I almost killed Lance because… because I was too scared to tell him the truth.”
He drops his gaze to his hands, to the box still in his hands. “He loves me. He loves me so much and I took it for granted knowing that if I kept having tantrums and telling him ‘no’, he’d let it lie and not ask. Of course he’d bring up again, but I just thought if I kept blowing it off, if I just kept saying, ‘next time,’ or ‘not now,’ or ‘I don’t want to talk about it’… I figured he’d just give up.
“But there was something off about him this time. I should’ve seen, fuck I should’ve seen it.” His fingers curl tight. If there had not been a box in his hands, he’d probably have crushed his own bones with the force. “This is what he was asking about. He wanted to know if it was right, if I really did love him, if I wanted to be together with him…..”
Shiro shuffled on the floor, resting his back against the bed like Keith, and arm around his shoulders. Keith dropped his head onto Shiro’s shoulder, closing his eyes as he began carding his fingers through his mullet like he used to when Keith would wake up with nightmares.
He hasn’t had nightmares in a long time, but this certainly feels like one.
“And I love him. I love him, I love him so much and I took him for granted. I just didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what he wanted.”
Keith is mumbling now. His focus is off, taken by tiredness and the confusion of all the battering thoughts inside him, sorting through each one, trying to find reasons, triggers, anything more than the blow from Keith.
“He had made plans to go out, we were meant to be going on a date, but he was the one that dropped it so quickly, I don’t even know what I did wrong. Then he didn’t tell me,” Keith said, recalling the sight of Lance’s drooped shoulders, the sudden lacklustre that took him to the living room, forcing out excuses so quickly Keith didn’t get a second to think twice.
“I thought I had forgotten something, and usually he makes such a big fuss if I do, but he didn’t say anything so I didn’t think any more of it. I was tired from work – no that’s not an excuse, I just…”
Shiro waits for him to think it through, watching his brow furrow as a thousand thoughts twist and turn inside his crowded head space.
Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty…
Shiro sighed. “Do you want my thoughts?”
He knows thinking isn’t his brother’s strongest point. It’s not that he’s dense, like the common misbelieving first impression of many strangers. Keith is much more complex than that.
He over thinks things, over analyses each individual aspect leaving him overlooking the most obvious, and usually most crucial key to a puzzle. And this puzzle, he thinks he has found the key aspect. He thinks himself to blame. He’s not wrong, but it’s not entirely true either, and only Lance will be able to give him the answer, but that will only come from talking to him.
Yet Shiro can’t stand to watch his brother tear himself up from inside his own head.
So he offers him a shortcut.
“Yes!” Keith’s desperate for an answer. He’s always looked up to Shiro, even modelling himself on him in their younger years. Shiro can see that seven year old boy watching in him Keith’s eyes and his heart breaks a little bit more.
He’s desperate, hoping his brother can tell him the answer, that his brother can sort out everything and give Keith a shove back onto the right road.
But Shiro won’t shove him. He’ll just point the way.
“Tell Lance the truth.”
Keith’s face drops, eyes wide in fear. It’s not the answer he wants, but anything less isn’t going to solve this stupid little fight between them. “No, you are going to tell Lance the truth. If you don’t tell him the details, you have to at least tell him why you don’t want to talk about it.
You’re going to tell him why you needed to leave, and you are going to apologise for hitting him.”
Shiro lets his voice fill with power. It’s not tight with anger, but a firm disapproval. Fingers flicker to a nearby photograph, one of thousands Lance took on their first holiday away, when it was just the two of them. He handed it to Keith, fixing eyes. “You will apologise, and don’t stop even if he tells you he’s forgiven you.”
Shiro glowers and Keith breaks eye contact. But then, they’re looking at each other again and, Keith doesn’t look so scared.
“What you did was despicable, and you’re in so much trouble for it.”
The idea of it staying between the three of them was preferred, but then, secrets were what got them here. And Hunk wouldn’t let sleeping lions lie. He would get to the bottom of this, even if he hadn’t already.
“But right now we have a different mess to sort out.”
What Shiro feels, and what the others feel towards their friends has to be put on hold for now. They can scold Lance for running when he’s better. They can scold Keith for hurting him, for their pair fighting when the two of them are once more on their feet and in each other’s arms.
But, it feels like they haven’t even fought. They’ve just run away in the opposite directions.
Shiro stands, offering Keith a hand. He takes it, shuffling nervously as he looks between photographs and Lance’s duffle bag, now packed with the boy’s clothes. The pictures are gathered too, the ring and the fairy lights in the pocket of Keith’s baggy sweater. It used to be Lance’s, but Keith claimed it and now it was his.
“C’mon, we better get back to the hospital. You’ve got some apologising to do.”
Keith followed Shiro downstairs, bidding Kitkat a farewell. She mewled, darting around his legs before looking to the sofa, to Lance’s preferred spot on the couch. “Where’s dad?” she seemed to say. “Don’t worry,” Keith murmured, burying his fingers in the poof of her mane. “I’m going to bring him home.”
“You’re going to apologise first,” Shiro reminds him. It’s not unkindly and Keith accepts the hug that follows.
Suddenly, the front door swings open and Keith finds himself being glared at by the newcomer. Their headphones are blasting Hamilton music, snug in their next of messy hair; woven into a messy fishtail plait, dance bag on their hip, hands in fists as they pause in the doorway.
Shiro stood shocked, arms that were loosely hung around Keith dropping to his sides when the younger darts back from surprise, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
The pair feel scrutinised, as if they are in someone else’s house, and Keith’s about to open his mouth and say hi, but Zoë gets there first.
“What the actual fuck.”
Chapter 16: The Tipping Point
Summary:
Friday night with Keith was meant to be special. Friday night with Keith was meant to be perfect.
Friday night was when everything went wrong. Friday night was the tipping point.
Notes:
*** This was Chapter 15, but I've swapped the order with "Disbelief" which is the new Chapter 15.
Chapter Text
The nightmare woke him again.
Just before the alarm, just before Keith, Lance had woken to the sight of his lover’s back, walking out the door without so much as a goodbye. Panting from the fear that had woken him, the pain in his chest, Lance let his breathing steady out as he sat up in bed, head bowed to his knees, waiting for the panic to leave him.
It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.
He told himself that, every time he awoke, every time the nightmare wrenched him from sleep and turned him into this panicked mess. The skin on his wrists prickled, and Lance’s hand was on the drawer of his bedside cabinet before he’s made a conscious decision to reach for it. Drawer open noiselessly and Lance froze when he saw that box, he stopped. Thought about it. Closed the drawer.
That ring had saved him many times. But the aching feeling that remained was bigger every day. How much longer were things going to go on like this?
Lance looked to his lover, still blissfully asleep beside him. He was half under the duvet, legs splayed awkwardly in that stupid way Lance absolutely adores. He bends to kiss his brow, before slipping out of bed. His night clothes are taken off, folded and placed under his pillow, a towel snagged from the radiator and the morning routine begins.
Lance ignores the ache in his chest. It won’t do to dwell, when today is a special day for the pair of them.
Doubts and insecurities can be put off until Monday.
By the time Lance has finished his shower, Keith is awake. A “good morning Hun, ” and a quick kiss, before they’re stood at the sink, brushing their teeth. “Don’t forget, early home tonight,” Lance reminds him, moving back to the bedroom to begin his beauty regime. “That was today?” Keith asked, but he’s joking. It earns him the bird.
“Yes, yes, early home, I know. You told me last night. Three times.”
“I have to tell you, or you’ll forget.”
Lance smiles, glad that Keith has remembered. He’s been dropping hints all week, but made a point of making plans anyway. Keith didn’t need too many nudges; he had enough smarts to pick up that Lance has something prepared for today.
Besides, it’s sort of their anniversary. Keith knew; he was the one to point it out on the calendar two weeks ago. So yeah, of course Lance had made plans.
He had booked them a table two nights in a Resort on the coast; a private room complete with private hot tub so they could get down to some “adult time.”
Lance has his face cream on so Keith can’t kiss him as he heads for the wardrobe. “Oh babe, your work shirt is downstairs. And wear your trousers from yesterday, that way I don’t have double to wash.” Lance couldn’t have him snooping too much in the wardrobe; the suitcases were in there, fully packed and ready to go.
Lance pretended this morning was like every other morning; letting Keith go about his own routine, making a start on breakfast, filling Kitkat’s bowl, made coffee. Then came 08:20, and Keith was back upstairs, ruggedly handsome with a little bit of stubble and tomato sauce on his top lip. “I’m off,” he said, giving Lance a farewell kiss. The usual “I love you,” and “mirror,” followed him downstairs, and Keith’s curse as he spotted the breakfast residue before he headed out the door.
“Don’t forget,” Lance jumped up quick, rushing to the top of the stairs so Keith could hear. “Be home-”
“Early, I got it. See you tonight.”
“Love you,” Lance called again, his reply a slamming door.
And Keith was gone, none the wiser to Lance’s plans.
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Lunchtime arrived far too quickly.
Lance had barely managed to drop by Zoë’s with the spare house key and the suitcases before his phone alarm began bleeping at him, warning him it was two o’clock. Shit, and he still hadn’t bought himself a decent outfit for tonight. Somehow, Lance managed to acquire a new shirt, skinnies and even had time to find himself a lacy number in Victoria’s Secret.
Even after flirting with the girls in there, Lance had half an hour to get home before schools let out and traffic would be a nightmare.
Lance had managed to keep up with texting Keith like he normally would, not trying to let the other notice something was different with Lance’s agenda.
Still, the little niggling in his chest, which was easy to ignore with the rushing, returned when Lance sat in the car, behind a red light. And then worse, when at quarter to three, a little message came up on his display.
[Received: Friday 14:46 - Sender | McMullet]
Hey babe, I now we said tonight was date night, but something’s come up at work. Rolo is being a bitch about a part that was ordered for this new client and he’s sent me to get it. I’m on my bike so I shouldn’t get stuck in traffic, but the friggin postal service sent it to the sister Garage over in Balmera Central.
I’ll try to be home on time, but I might be late. Please don’t be mad.
Lance stared at the words, bile rising in his throat. He was so thrown, he didn’t even notice the lights had changed until someone beeped him from behind.
What if… what if this is Keith saying…
Keith’s figured it out. He knows Lance has something planned for their anniversary and this is Keith smoothly ducking out of it because, three years dating just isn’t a big things to him. For Lance, it’s the longest he’s held a relationship, the last one being nine months, so yeah, three years was a pretty big thing for him.
No, that wasn’t true.
Because Keith was the one who had mentioned it first, spotting the circled date on the calendar that hung on the fridge. Keith was the one who had marvelled at the fact that, “wow, three years really does fly by.”
Keith knew. Rolo was just being an ass and Keith was keeping his job by opting to go get the damn part he didn’t order correctly.
The Hotel had already accepted Lance’s reservation, and he’d dropped his things with Zoë. She was a regular dance partner of his when they performed in the city at venues such as the hotel, and was doing him a favour by taking the suitcases ahead so Keith wouldn’t figure out where they were headed. She was also spending the weekend at Lance’s place to babysit Kitkat. She came around often enough that she was as much Lance’s little sister as his real siblings.
Tonight would be fine. It didn’t matter how late Keith got in, they’d head to the Hotel and, if it’s that late, they’ll just order room service and eat in their room.
Tonight would be fine.
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Lance had just stepped out of the bedroom when he heard the familiar growl of an engine. Peering out the window, just to make sure, Lance couldn’t keep the grin off his face at the sight of his boyfriend climbing off his bike, shaking his shaggy head when he pulled off the helmet.
Great timing like usual. Even though Keith had text him, warning he might’ve been late, he had made it home normal time anyhow. He was lying, came a dark voice.
Lance hurried to crush it, tossing the bag from shopping into the shoe locked in the wardrobe, double checking his reflection in the mirror. He looked fine, if he did say so himself, but a little more skin wouldn’t hurt to keep Keith’s attention on him. This look was for Keith, wearing tight jeans and a fitted shirt, so of course Lance was going to make himself look that much irresistible by undoing the top buttons.
Waste of time, came the dark voice, but that was denied focus time as Lance took the stairs two at a time, leaning against the door frame as the front door opened.
“And what time do you call this,” he began to say, but the words died on the first syllable. Keith’s face was dull, his lips thin lines as he slipped out his boots, not aware of Lance in his presence. Weariness clouded him like smog, weighing heavily on sunken shoulders and heavy eyes.
He’s tired…
“Hey babe,” Lance gave for greeting, forcing a smile. It slipped slightly when Keith looked up, motions jarring when he caught sight of his boyfriend watching him. “H-hey,” he offered.
Keep smiling, keep smiling.
“Coffee? You look tired.”
“Yes please.”
Keith wasn’t ever shocked to see Lance home first. He was always in before the mechanic, his dance studio twenty minutes out, three roads and a dual carriage ride away. Keith on the other hand had motorway traffic to contend with, so… so why was he shocked to see Lance?
But then, as quick as the shock came, it was gone. Keith closed the distance between them, a pick on the cheek, a quick cuddle that seemed too rushed and, no, no it’s all in my head.
Keep smiling. Just keep smiling.
The ache was heavy and it wasn’t going away. Usually Lance could ignore it, fuck he really needed to ignore it, it was their anniversary, they had a room booked at a hotel, and his insecurities were not going to get in the way of his planning.
“So how was work?” Lance asked, returning to normality. He did this all the time now. Playing pretend came as natural to him as breathing.
“The usual,” was his boyfriends reply, playing with Kitkat who lay in her favourite place; Keith’s arms. It was Lance’s favourite place too.
He watched them out the corner of his eyes, scolding the burn in him that was jealous of a cat. But Kitkat was adorable, and Lance didn’t feel jealous for long as they fell into conversation about Keith’s work.
Half of it went over Lance’s head. Well, pretty much all of it really, as Keith rambled about engine sizes and wheel trims, something about custom models and-
I’m pretty useless, aren’t I? A boyfriend who can’t even hold a conversation because I doesn’t know much about cars.
Do the two of us have anything in common?
Lance’s fingers twisted around the cartoon mug, already waiting with milk and coffee granules. No, no I have to keep smiling.
So he does. He ignores the ache that’s squeezing his heart, he ignores the voice that questions every thought Lance has, every action as he stands there like a limp biscuit, not partaking in the conversation because he has no clue what to say.
Like I thought: Useless.
“So where are we off to tonight?” Keith asked, finished with his spiel about cars. Probably got bored with trying to explain everything to you, dumb fuck.
Lance turned, smiling. “It’s a surprise.” Which brought a wry smile to Keith’s lips. “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow suggestively. Maybe he doesn’t want the romance. Perhaps he only wants your body.
Lance turned his back quickly, flicking the kettle on, trying to keep, at least even a small smile on his lips. Why was it hard tonight? It was never hard, so why was he actually struggling. It hadn’t been a stressful day, they weren’t fighting, there wasn’t anything wrong-
That you know of.
Lance’s hands hesitated for a split second, but firmly wrapped around his own mug of tea, they didn’t shake, they didn’t shudder.
“What’s the occasion?”
What’s the…
what’s…
What’s the occasion?
Lance’s face dropped, eyes wide as he turned his head, watching Keith card fingers through Kitkat’s fur. He wasn’t smirking, he wasn’t laughing at Lance. He genuinely didn’t know.
The ache grew, and grew, and grew so much, Lance didn’t even notice that he had been devoured by it.
“You don’t… remember?”
Why should he remember? It’s just a date. A Friday like any other to him.
And here you are, making a big deal out of everything because you think he cares and you think he loves you.
Keith’s not listening, focused with feeding Kitkat. When he’s done, he’s looking back at Lance for an answer.
The Cuban, smartly so, has hidden the shook, face a stone mask of impartial indifference. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” It’s nothing important. Not to you at least.
Lance scolds his inner-self for the sass. Keith doesn’t deserve that, he’s done nothing wrong. He’s not an idiot that’s fallen in love too hard, too fucking quickly that he’s about to get teary because he’s forgot their anniversary.
But… Keith hadn’t forgotten. He was the one to point it out. He was the one to marvel at the time gone so quickly.
Perhaps he hadn’t expected the relationship to last this long.
Lance swallowed thickly, abandoning the tea on the side. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but finds his mobile in his hand. There, on the screen is a message from Zoë. She’s asking about Kitkat’s feeding times, and wishing Lance a “fun night out.”
That’s not happening now.
The boy is shocked when hands appear on his sides. He’s too tense, he knows. He remembers the moves to a thousand dances, he can force his body to go limp and soft, just like Keith wants. I told you he’s only after your body.
Keith is speaking, but Lance doesn’t want to let his mask slip. “Thai, Indian, Chinese, what do you fancy?” Cooking and working will take up too much effort. Lucid and soft is best played with cuddling, like Lance is dancing to a lullaby. Piano, gentle.
“We’re having take-away? What happened to the plans about going out for something to eat?”
“You’re tired, aren’t you,” Lance says with a smile, his brain still functioning enough that the excuse comes easy. Comes naturally.
“What about your plans?” Keith asks between kisses. Lance forces himself to swallow the thoughts that claw his brain. He’s not only after my body, he’s not.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t book anything.”
He’ll have to cancel the reservations. He doesn’t care for reimbursement, it’s his own fault he thought too highly of himself and a fucking circled date on the calendar. He was the dumb shit that circled the date, not Keith.
“Pizza?” His voice isn’t cracking is it?
“I fancy Wagamama’s.” And yeah, that sounds good. He’s got to do what Keith wants, he’s got to keep him happy.
“I want pork buns, and spicy squid. And ramen.”
Lance hums an approval. Well, not so much an approval, it’s not his place to question Keith’s decision, but he lets Keith know he is listening. He’s not ignoring him, he’s being a good, attentive boyfriend. He’s not going to do anything to annoy Keith, because Keith doesn’t deserve that.
He doesn’t deserve the stress you put him through.
Keith’s hands are wandering, searching for a little fun now that the distraction has been overlooked. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he faked not knowing, because he doesn’t want to go out. A million excuses fill Lance’s mind; none of them good.
Doesn’t want to be seen with you in public, doesn’t want to go out with you in public, just wants sex, just wants your body, is embarrassed by you, doesn’t love you really, he’s only pretending so you buy him things and give him sex-
Lance tenses as Keith’s hands pull at his shirt, giving himself more access to the body he desires. The heart he couldn’t care less with, as long as he gets some- No, that’s not Keith!
Lance is ashamed for thinking so lowly of the man he loves. He needs to stop; he needs to go back to being Lance. Keith has stayed with him long enough; he must’ve been doing something right.
So Lance pretends he is the man he hopes Keith loves. He orders the food, he urges Keith to shower and he doesn’t moan and cry that they’re not spending their anniversary at the Hotel. And what the hell is he saying, anniversary? It’s not like they’re fucking married, it’s not a real anniversary…
They’re in the bedroom when Lance stumbles with his performance. Back to Keith, trying not to attract attention to the fear, the ugliness of his body he’s not even sure Keith wants, staring at the blue box in the drawer as he makes a pretence of picking out his watch. Next to the box is the black cloth, and his craft knife. The skin on his wrist tingles; the skin he carves when the ache is too heavy.
Everything is heavy. Everything is hard to move, and all Lance wants to do is cry and ask Keith why, why can’t Keith love him like Lance loves Keith? Why can’t they go out together, is Keith really ashamed of him, is he really ashamed of them together…?
Lance isn’t paying attention to the man behind him. He hasn’t seen the concern, or the fact that his guise is slipping. All he hears is, “have I done something?”
“What? No, no!” Lance jumps on his feet, slamming the drawer shut, hoping to lock the heaviness with it, the fears that have clouded every pressured conversation of why, why won’t you tell me what you want? Why won’t you talk about family, why do you feel so awkward around mine, why won’t you tell me if you want us to be together?
Keith always avoids the conversations. Lance wants to bring up the future, he wants to know if marriage is on the table, or he used to, when he wasn’t doubting his own worth every time he breathed, wondering if he’s just using up air. He wants to pop the question, he wanted to wait till Keith did, but then, with Keith’s aversion to talking about families, is a permanent relationship really in the cards.
Three years may mean a lot to Lance, look at him, he booked a suite and everything. But to Keith…
Lance supplies an excuse to the silence, gives Keith a touch of his body to sate him for the moment, and then he’s gone. He’s gone to clear up this mess he’s made, taking Kitkat with him. The mobile, left abandoned on the sofa is snagged up.
The message from Zoë is still on the home screen from where Lance hasn’t read it. He’ll have to ring her, but first, he rings the Hotel and cancels the room. He’s informed he won’t be reimbursed, and Lance is quick to hang up, listening to the still-flowing water.
His thumbs dial Zoë next, moving to the breakfast bar, snagging Keith’s untouched tea as the drone starts. It’s not five drones in and the call connects to the sound of “Phantom of the Opera” music and a joyous voice practically shouting “Yellow!” down the line.
“Heya Zoë, it’s me.” Lance sighs into his hand, the smile natural when Zoë prattles off an exuberant greeting. She’s on a dancer high and Lance envies her for something he hasn’t had in a while.
“Look, I know we made plans, and you don’t know how grateful I am that you said you’d come watch Kitkat for me, but Keith’s sick,” he lies, petting Kitkat who sits beside him. “Sick? Aww, man that sucks! Shit, is it really that bad? I know he’s a beast all the time, so if you’re not going out, it’s got to be bad.”
See, even she can see he only wants you for sex.
“I just don’t want to push him through a busy weekend if he’s feeling rough,” Lance supplies. “It’s better for him if he can rest up the weekend, that way he’s ready for work on Monday. I can’t make him take a day off, not when his work is busy.”
“Yeah, no, I get it.”
“The bags I dropped off today, can you throw them in your car or something and I’ll grab them-”
“Sure no problem. Oh damn, I don’t get to come and babysit Kitkat. How is my niece, does she miss me?” Lance chuckles, surprised it’s not forced. Why can’t he do this with Keith? Why can’t things be this easy with Keith?
Lance isn’t really listening, turning to his kitten still purring as he strokes her. Zoë completely loses herself with her chattering about this that and everything that has happened since Lance saw her a little after ten this morning.
“Hey, can we still catch up for coffee on Wednesday? You said you’d check out my choreography, and I’m still holding you to that promise.”
“-huh, oh sure. And yeah, I’m sorry again, but you know…”
“No, I get it. But don’t ditch on me Wednesday, I’m coming to see my niece and I now have a spare key so you can’t get out of it.”
Lance is laughing again, promising to be home on Wednesday for her. “Yeah, I will. And thanks again Zoë, I owe you big for this.”
Suddenly, there were hands on him and Lance, unprepared, completely freaked.
“What’s that, what’s the matter?” Zoë shouted down the phone. “Just, fucking Keith,” Lance growled, panicking because, shit how much did he hear? But Keith didn’t look angry, didn’t look annoyed or anything so he couldn’t have heard.
Serves you right for keeping secrets from him.
Zoë sounded just as freaked as Lance, and after he calmed her, hung up and rounded on Keith, because that’s what the usual Lance would do. “You scared the crap out of me,” he hissed, not being able to move much from the hands that wrapped around his waist. Without warning, Keith had him in the air, Lance stilled in kicking so he didn’t topple them both. It wouldn’t do to actually hurt his boyfriend.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and Lance stilled completely, Keith taking them to the living room when he tossed him to the sofa, climbing on top of him and claiming his mouth for a needy kiss.
He just wants your body~ he just wants your body~ the dark voice sang, laughing when Lance didn’t have a thought to dispute it.
Lance plays the good boyfriend, the one that will let Keith have his body, but he can feel his façade shaking. He needs to ground himself, and a hand on the man’s chest halts his actions. “The food’s going to be here any moment.”
Keith smirked, perhaps even suppressed mirth, and he’s moving in.
Lance felt his eyes go wide. Keith has never forced himself on Lance before, he’s never done anything like that, he’s not-
“Whatever you say,” he whispers suggestively, a sardonic tone making Lance shudder, tears welling in his eyes. Suddenly his mouth is on Lance’s ear and he’s biting. It hurts, but Lance can’t complain, he’s just said no, he’s just told Keith he can’t have him.
Oh no. What have I done? What will I do if… if he doesn’t want me, now that I’ve denied him.
I shouldn’t have denied him.
Keith was up, standing in the room, the TV remote in his hand flicking for something interesting to watch. Lance took a second to watch him, eyes wide, still teary as Keith looks impartial, all his attention on the screen in the corner of the room.
Oh no, what have I done?
He’s angry. Keith is angry.
Lance is off the sofa before Keith can see the tears. He watches him from the kitchen, trying to find stuff to do until the tears stop threatening to fall and he can get himself back into the moment where everything is fine, everything is alright, he can do this.
Everything seems to be alright when Lance rejoins Keith in the living room. He tries his luck and takes the place next to Keith’s laid down body, snuggling in like he has so many times.
But he’s pushed his luck, because Keith shuts down any canoodling with a simple “the food’s going to be here any moment.” Was it anger? Disappointment? Repulsion?
Something must’ve showed on Lance’s face because Keith was shrugging. “What? I was just saying.”
Perhaps not repulsion, if not Keith would’ve told Lance to move. So Lance stays, keeping his face turned from Keith so that the smile he’s been forcing is allowed to relax. It’s tiring. He’s tired, so fucking tired, but he can’t slip up now.
It’s his fault he’s feeling like this. If he hadn’t got so worked up about a stupid circled date on the calendar, he wouldn’t be feeling tired. He wouldn’t be doubting his worth, he wouldn’t be fearing the heaviness that burned his chest when his mind continuously flickered to the ring in his room, every time he saw the ring around Frodo’s neck.
Did… Did Keith know? Was this... deliberate?
“They’re all stupid with this whole ring business,-”
Lance’s chest is tight.
“-they all want to go on this adventure over such a stupid thing-”
Lance’s chest hurt.
“-they should just ride the eagles to Mount Doom, throw the fucking thing in and be done with all their troubles.”
Lance said nothing, curling tighter, hating himself for suddenly wanting a distance away from Keith. It’s not Keith’s fault. It’s Lance’s. He’s the one that wants to get married. He’s the one that wants this relationship to last, he’s the one that wants them together forever.
But… does Keith? That’s the real question.
And the real fear?
The real fear is that Keith doesn’t.
The food separated the pair. Laid on the table, heated plates to help keep the food warm, they’re both sat apart from one another, digging into the meal whilst the film keeps playing.
Lance isn’t paying attention to much, eyes on the screen for somewhere to look, watching but not absorbing the storyline he’s probably watched a thousand times.
“Do you remember when we first met?” Arwen asks on screen, and Lance’s mind jumps to his own first meeting with Keith, seeing the boy sat on the curb outside his Dance Studio, a little too long in the early snowfall.
Aragon smiles as he remembers too. “I thought I had strayed into a dream.”
Lance hadn’t thought he walked into a dream. He was more concerned about the boy getting frostbite. Attractive to the eyes, all until he opened his mouth.
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“You said you'd bind yourself to me.”
Lance remembers Keith’s first words to him. Nothing as romantic as Arwen’s to Aragon.
He remembers spiky, defence Keith, glaring as threatening as a soaking kitten, quivering from the cold. “It’s none of your business.” Because Lance had asked him if he was okay.
Keith was salty, defensive and untrusting. But Lance had worked him for however long, and convinced him to come take shelter in the empty Dance Hall. He hadn’t thought much to it, but afterwards, yeah, it was a cute meeting for the pair, like what you’d find in books or in the movies.
The relationship came about through lust first. Lance had noticed the looks, not the confusion, and played Keith right into his hands. Or more so, his bed. Being together was like breathing, dates followed for the excuse of spending more time together and…
Was love a part of Lance’s delusion?
Keith had other reasons to stay; money, an easy life, making use of an idiot who will accept a few sweet words and give him everything.
At first, Lance hadn’t thought that was the case, but the more and more the thoughts filled his mind, the more and more he began to pick up little tiny things.
Keith doesn’t make plans for them, doesn’t do surprises for the pair of them. It’s always Lance with a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates or a cake for birthdays. It’s Lance who makes reservations at the Italian on Valentine’s Day, it’s Lance who has to get someone to take Keith out so he can hide the Christmas presents in the house, or wrap them before he can see or…
Lance is the one to cook the food. He doesn’t mind, he’s always watched his calorie intake, it’s calming to cook or bake or soak up the kitchen atmosphere as he mixes batter whilst dancing to Twenty One Pilots’ new song.
Probably because it’s easier if you do all the work.
Lance is the one who bought the house, who asked Keith to come live with him. That sort of blew up in his face a little, but then, the situation was solved with a quick few words from Pidge.
Probably convincing him that you were an easy fool to use.
Lance is the one that invites him out for dates, even though they’re living together.
Keith initiates…. Closeness. Sex. Physical love that makes Lance’s body hot, makes him wanting, needing–
“You’re not thinking dirty thoughts about Arwen are you?”
Lance jumped, schooling his expression placid as quickly as possible. When he said nothing, Keith continued. “Or was it Aragon?” There was a glower to the shadows on his face, his eyes partially hidden under his fringe that Lance couldn’t quite make out the emotion.
Anger? Jealousy? Ha, you really think he’ll get jealous over you. He’s just making sure you stay his. Can’t be screwing no slut that will open his legs for anyone.
Lance sat up straight, muscles working on their own to empty his hands of ramen, which returned to the table. “No, no,” he said quickly, trying to dismiss any thoughts that Lance was loose. He wasn’t, he was faithful. He was a good boyfriend.
“… I was just…”
Just thinking about the past. Just thinking about us together, how long this will last, how long I have left until I screw up and you leave me.
“Babe?”
But I don’t want you to leave me. I want to hold you every morning, I want to kiss you goodnight every evening. I want you tomorrow and the morning after and the morning after too.
It’s selfish, but I want to bind you to me.
Like Arwen cast aside everything for Aragon, Lance would do it for Keith.
Let me love you, let me love you and I’ll give you everything.
Lance didn’t dare tear his eyes from the screen, transfixed by the pair that stood together, so in love. It was beautiful, magical in its own right and Lance felt the chill of jealousy burn his fingers until he wanted to cry out.
“She loves him enough, she’ll give up everything for him,” he says. It’s not what he wants to say, but fear fills his chest and he can’t throw out the words that are feeding the ach, the heaviness, the questions that have a migraine throbbing through his skull.
Let me love you, let me love you and I’ll give you everything.
“Because she loves him.”
Keith understands. Understands the need to do anything for the one you love.
Lance loves Keith. But does Keith love him?
“Do you love me?”
Pain. Like Lance was starving. It twisted his insides until it was putty, his face somehow still the perfect mask as he waited, dreading that he’d been unable to control his fucking mouth and he’d let his insecurities slip out.
The other watched Lance like a predator stalks prey. Head tilted to one side, a smile on his lips. It was unnerving, different. Lance pulled his legs up, grabbing his glass of wine, hoping for some anaesthesia to help numb his fucked up mind. For some reason, he couldn’t force it past his lips, that remained clenched tight, rightly so, to prevent anymore careless words coming out.
“Why do you ask?”
He… avoided the question.
He didn’t answer properly, he just dodged it.
He didn’t tell Lance he loved him.
Did he love him?
Keith is facing him now, his own food still on the coffee table. The room was shrinking around them.
Couldn’t Keith hear that noise? Didn’t he know what was happening?
The seconds tick by, Lance stupidly testing Keith’s patience. He’s not trying, he’s just scared what he’ll say next. He doesn’t feel in control, he doesn’t know what’s going on. He wants to cry, doesn’t want to but he can feel them prickling behind his eyes anyway.
Don’t cry. You can’t cry.
Lance pushed too far.
“Well?” Keith asked, a bite to his tone because, stop with this stupid shit Lance. Just shut up. Look pretty and keep quiet. You’re just a pretty face, no one wants to hear you talk, no one wants to hear you whimper and whine just because you don’t want me looking at others.
Does Keith look at others? Does he… have others?
The boy’s mind jumps to this morning, jumps to the text that said he’ll be home late, that he’s heading out on his bike. Maybe it was a lie.
No, Keith wouldn’t lie, he’s not like that. That you know of. You see this all-round amazing person who can do no wrong, when the truth is he’s lying to you, using you until you’re empty then he’ll abandon you.
Why do you think he won’t marry you. He won’t be bound to you, he can’t. He needs an open door to walk out of and why would he trust you with a key to lock it. Why the hell would he lock it in the first place? He’s not sticking around for long anyway.
“If I’ve done something wrong-” Keith began, and oh god, can’t you not fuck up for once?
“You haven’t,” Lance said hurriedly, trying to sort out this mess. I just wanted to know. But luckily his mouth is shut and he hasn’t fucked up again.
Keith is waiting for an answer.
Lance has to give him one.
“I guess, I was kind of hoping to talk to you… about…” No, don’t go there. We’re trying to fix this problem, not make it worse, you shit.
Lance’s eyes flickered to the TV, wishing it was on, wishing that he could ask for them to drop it. But he was talking now, Keith would understand, right? He’d get that Lance just wanted to know that, they were thinking of the same things. That all these thoughts, these doubts. They were nothing but insecurities, that Lance was being stupid and he just needed Keith to tell him that, yes he was being stupid, no, he’d never leave him, yes, I want to stay.
“About what.”
“I don’t know… the past… the future.”
“Stop being a poetic shit and spit it out,” Keith growled, snatching up his own glass, draining the last two mouthfuls quickly.
Reluctance, doubt.
Hesitation, uncertainty.
Fear.
Keith is still here, waiting for an answer. And Lance has to give it to him.
He’ll now if he’s lying, so it has to be the truth.
Lance turned back to Keith, flute on the table, hands free as he stared at the man that mean the world to him. He can do this. He can do this.
“I want to talk. About us. About you.”
Keith said nothing.
Lance continued.
“We’re… together. We live together and we… love each other.” Because he does. These doubts are baseless. Keith’s here because he loves him.
“But, I still feel like… like I don’t really know you.” Lance squirmed, seeing his boyfriend’s eyes narrow.
Don’t give up now, you’re so close.
“Sure, I know the little things. You love cats, you hate red peppers, your sense of hygiene isn’t the same as mine but you’re just as competitive. You don’t talk about feelings like I do, in fact talking about anything serious is a stretch, and you would rather show it.”
Was Lance talking too fast? Keith knew what he was getting at; he was explaining it okay, right?
So close…
“But they’re the little things. And I tell you all the big things about my life. I told you about my past, how I came out, stories from school and college. I told you about my family, about my brothers and sister, my parents not accepting me at first.”
So close…
“I told you everything, but you’ve told me nothing.”
“Nothing?”
So close to breaking everything apart.
Keith is angry. His jaw is tight, his gaze burning like a hundred suns and all that dread and fear pours out of him in tears. What have I done?
“Keith?” His voice is small and quiet. He wants to apologise, to reach over, tell him to forget it al, it was just him being stupid. Let’s go to bed. I’m tired, you’re tired. Let’s just go to bed.
Keith snaps his head up, and suddenly, he’s slapping Lance’s hand away. “Why do you want to know so bad?” His voice is low. Its tight, echoing with an anger Lance had forced him to feel. “Why do you have to know every specific detail about me? Can’t you see it’s something I don’t’ want you to know?”
“But why?” He’s talking without thinking.
He moves closer. Too close.
Keith stands.
“Because maybe I don’t want you to know!”
“But why?”
“Just because!”
“But that’s not a real reason, it’s not good enough!”
Not good enough? What do you mean not good enough? If he doesn’t want to tell you, think about why.
Keith steps away. And god, it hurts, it hurts so much.
Lance follows, hands twisting around the boy’s wrist. He’s crying, not bothering to try and hide them, wipe them away, nothing. He just needs Keith to stay.
“Keith, wait!”
Don’t leave me.
Please don’t leave me.
“Let go-”
“Keith, wait I’m sorry, I’ll shut up-”
“Let go-”
“-I won’t talk about it anymore!” And he won’t. he’ll shut up, he’ll be the good boyfriend, he’ll be the pretty face and the closed mouth. Keith won’t have to answer his questions, he’ll shut up, he’ll take every second they have together. He won’t say anything when Keith leaves, he won’t try to stop him, he won’t. But not like this. Not yet.
“Please Keith, I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again!”
“But you will! We always fight about this, you always say you’ll drop it and you never fucking do!”
“But you never talk about it. I’m worried, why won’t you talk to me?”
Keith is pulling away.
Lance’s grip is slipping.
He throws himself onto Keith then, fingers curling into his shirt, head on his shoulder where he used to feel safe, where he used to feel loved. Now there’s just tension under his fingers and Keith’s hands aren’t curling around him, pulling him tighter, so tight Lance thinks he’s going to fuse and they’ll be the same person, never to be separated.
And then, Lance feels it. He feels the arm lifting, going to lie on his back as Keith hugs him, pulls him close-
Keith grabs Lance’s collar. The collar to his shirt and he’s pulling him back, trying to separate them. No, no I don’t want this!
Keith wants to leave.
“No, d-don’t go, please don’t l-leave me.” He’s sobbing, choking on words as he desperately spits them out. “I’ll be g-good, I won’t ask quest, I’ll shut up.” His fingers curl tighter. Keith loosens his grip and Lance laughs because he’s won.
“I don’t want to talk about it, because you wouldn’t stop, you’d keep pestering me for answers. Why don’t you get that I don’t want to talk about it? You love the idea of a ‘happy little family,’ but that’s not for me!”
No. What are you saying?
Lance pulls back. He looks the other in the eye, questioning him, questioning himself if that was what he really just heard.
You’re lying. Please tell me you’re lying.
The ring lies heavy on his heart. So do the dreams of a future so cruelly snatched away as Keith keeps going-
“I don’t need a fucking family!-”
Keeps going…
“- I don’t need anyone-”
And deals the final blow.
“And I sure as hell don’t need a useless fuck-up like you!”
Pain. In his heart and in his gut as a clenched fist lands a blow he hadn’t seen coming. He’d never see it coming, never thought Keith would ever raise a hand to him because… because Keith wouldn’t. He was always so gentle with his touches, soft, kind, so very delicate.
And as Lance falls, he realises that everything, everything is broken.
“KEITH! Don’t go!”
Keith is gone.
The front door slams.
Keith is gone.
Lance is alone.
Keith is gone.
Chapter 17: Stumble
Summary:
Lance feels abandoned when he wakes alone in the Hospital.
Pidge heads to the Hospital.
Zoë learns that Lance is in the Hospital.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lance awoke to an arm shaking him. It wasn’t the first time, but still, the shook from asleep to suddenly awake through his head out the window and it took him a minute to remember where he was. In hospital.
It took him another moment to remember that someone had woke him, and Lance’s eyes searched his hospital room for the intruder. “Keith?” he asked, catching the mass of black hair, his heart still not calm from where the nightmare had tested its pace.
But it’s not Keith, and Felicity gives Lance a warm, but pitying smile. “He’s not back yet sweetie. I’m sorry I woke you, you were having another nightmare, and I don’t want you to stress your heart out too much.”
Lance looks around at that, thinking as to why it’s Felicity who woke him. He was just talking to Hunk, so he’s surprised to find the room is empty, save himself and the young nurse.
“Lance?” Felicity calls him and Lance looks, following her pointed gaze to the hand that holds hers. She wants her hand back. Oh.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, trying not to, but he’s tired and now he realises why Hunk’s not here anymore. He left, because Lance fell asleep.
“When did Hunk leave?” he asks Felicity, who is busy sweeping around his bed to refill his glass of water. He’s trying to sound normal, not to let the fear and encroaching darkness consume him at the fact, his friends have left him, Keith has left him, he’s not coming back, they won’t come back for him—
The ache in his chest forces a spike in his heart rate and Felicity is eyeing the monitor suspiciously. Lance has been able to keep the darkness at bay when his friends were here, when Keith was here, when he had listened to the promises and the apologies, but it was harder to win the battle when he stood alone.
It was harder to quell the fears.
Not just that, but Lance had more since waking. He understood then, understood that Keith wouldn’t get so worked up if he didn’t truly love Lance, and god that just made everything perfect… but Lance was still angry at himself for what he had almost put his family through. What he was still putting them through.
They’ve abandoned us. They’ve rejected us, they hate us—
“Lance, calm down.” The nurse is beside him in a second, the water jug abandoned as she grabs his hand. She’s calling his name but its fuzzy, like he’s underwater or something. She’s trying to calm him down, but the words are muffled. The way her wavy fringe falls in front of her face reminds Lance of Keith and, yes, if he closes his eyes, the slit of vision blurs and he can imagine it’s Keith.
It’s Keith telling him to calm down, everything will be okay, everything is okay…
Felicity offers lunch. “Are you up for eating.”
No.
“Yes.”
Another lie. Another fake smile and Lance forces him to eat the soup she sets on the shelf on his bed. He lets the bread soak it up until it turns to mush. It’s easier to stomach that way and almost all of it is gone by the time the young Nurse comes back for his bowl.
“Anything else?” she asks, because Lance hasn’t been eating since he woke yesterday. But she’s shot down with a sharp head jerk.
Felicity frowns. “You should eat something. You’ve got to look after yourself and stop worrying everyone.”
Lance felt his eyes widen and he’s biting his bottom lip to stop the fucking “sorry” he wants to say. But empty apologies weigh on him as much as the constant reminder it’s your fault this is all your fault, she wouldn’t have to be here pretending to care if you’d just—
“Sorry, that was the wrong thing to say,” Felicity said, a deep sigh as she pulled at her fringe, slipping it into a ponytail to keep it from bothering her, perching on the end of Lance’s bed, a hand on his leg to gain his attention. “It’s just, I saw how Matt was when he brought you in. He’s my friends too. And I know you’re a very close, so when he told me, and when he…. He was so worried, they’ve all been so worried for you when you didn’t wake up….
I don’t like seeing him like that, but I know if Matt was the one in the bed, he’d also feel guilty for what it would do to Pidge and Shiro.”
Felicity offers a warm smile, a hand sliding through her fringe to tuck stray ends behind her ear.
“But you’re safe now Lance. You’re no longer suffering in silence, everyone can see you’re not well. You’re ill. You’re head isn’t quite right and we’re going to make you better.”
“Did Matt save me?” Because Lance still hadn’t asked. He wanted to ask who pulled him from the water, but asking his friends seemed... wrong somehow. He didn’t want to remind them of his failed goodbye, but at the same time, he wanted to know, because they deserved thanks. And, he was grateful. It wasn’t like they ruined his death or anything, in fact he is relieved that they cared enough to save him… But still.
“All I know Matt, Shiro and Miss Allura brought you in. I don’t know the details.”
Which means Lance has to ask. And he will, he doesn’t want to, but he wants to know what happened after he fell. There’s a vague feeling that Keith was there, he thinks he can remember Keith standing beside him on the pier, talking, watching on as Lance jumped and fell and drowned.
Lance gets tired quickly, with nothing to entertain him other than the few passing strangers outside his door. He should probably sleep.
He does, but he only figures it out once he wakes again, and Felicity is gone.
He is all alone again.
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Pidge pulled their backpack straps tighter, the cargo-print sack practically swamping their shoulders as they kicked the curb of the bus stop. Fucking college. Fucking everything. Fucking Lance.
Pidge couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t take solace in the simplicity of hacking when Saturday night remained on constant replay in her mind. The only commercial breaks came when she checked her phone, thumbing through the atrocious texts that had carved into Lance’s confidence. She had taken Keith’s side instantly, always there to have his back as he had done for them countless times. It wasn’t like Lance hadn’t had a clean record; he’d said his own fair share of harsh words in the past, but still…
College could wait for a day, Pidge deemed. They had already taken off the past two days, one more wouldn’t make a difference. Besides, Beezer promised he’d take notes for them, so it wasn’t like Pidge was going to be scrambling when they eventually turned up at lessons again.
With that in mind, Pidge bolted over the road at the first break in traffic, managing to get to the main street just as the Bus for the Inner Town pulled up. They flashed their bus card quickly, the too-tired bus driver not noticing the thing wasn’t valid for this bus route, but Pidge was already making their way back to the seats behind the stairs, phone in hand again to avoid the eyes of the other transporters.
They weren’t really sure of what to do; for some reason nervous and unable to concentrate. Web browsing and Sudoku only kept them entertain for five minutes, before Pidge found herself thumbing Matt’s name on the private chat. Their previous chat history came up, practically nothing there except for the few exchanges on Saturday.
They text him a quick “ditching class see you at home” before flicking the phone on aeroplane mode to avoid the incoming phone calls complete with pre-planned lecture. Actually, Pidge doubted Matt would, but they had agreed Pidge was to go back to classes today.
Oh well, looks like they weren’t.
Instead they headed to the hospital; strolling right through the front doors as if they owned the place. This place was as familiar to them as home, the number of times they’d had to come and help Matt or Shiro get home, or come pick up Keith after a drunken brawl, or perhaps for themselves back when life was a little more binary.
Lance was on the third floor, Masters Ward, the first room on the right. When Pidge got there, he was dozing, face soft and carefree as he drooled messily on the pillow. Pidge suppressed a laugh, but didn’t fight the smile, grabbing one of the padded chairs and dragged it to Lance’s bedside. They laced hands, using the other one to play Tetris on their phone, waiting for Lance to come round.
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“What the actual fuck,” Zoë hissed, pointing an accusing finger in Keith’s direction. “This better not be what I think it is, or you are halfway to an early grave,” she spat, kicking off her shoes and stalking down the hall, glowering at Shiro as she came.
Shiro took a respective three steps back.
“We’re brothers,” Keith blurts out, not quite sure where his head space is, it suddenly catching up to the fact that Zoë is here, but why is Zoë here and why does she have a key? When the hell did she get a key, was it Lance?
Oh shit. Does she know?
Zoë’s glare remained as she turned on Keith.
Yeah, she knew.
And just when the man expected a tirade of abuse, Zoë’s attitude did a 180°.
“So how was your weekend?” She grinned. Keith blanches.
But before he can figure out why the hell she’s being so fucking chipper about Lance’s near-death adventure, she’s already rambling, slipping past the pair as if she lives here, heading to the lounge, talking as she went. “Oh, no wait, I forgot you guys didn’t go. It’s just, Lance has been on about it all week, so he was seriously excited. No, yeah, I remember, Lance called me while I was finishing up at the dance hall.”
She’s grabbed a glass of squash from the fridge by the time Keith catches up. Shiro remains in the hallway, not quite sure what to do about this ball of fury fiercer that Pidge and scarier than his Police Commander.
“On about what?” Because Keith has no idea what Zoë is talking about. She asked about their weekend and all Keith has in his head is the nightmare that Lance is dead and he was too late. But that’s not true and all he’s trying to figure out if Zoë knew, and she was just playing an angle or–-
“Did he not tell you?” Zoë’s eyes widened quickly. “Ah shit, does that mean— oh he’s going to surprise you again. Nope, I’m not saying,” she sang, hiding her smile behind a hand. “Don’t ask me, because I’m not going to spoil it,” she prattles quickly, slipping out her jacket and throwing it on the breakfast bar, practically squealing when Kitkat comes to investigate the noise.
“My baby,” the girl coos, sweeping the kitten into her arms, unaware of the dawning dread the brothers share. She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t know, how could she—
“So where’s Lance. He promised to be here today, and I did swing by the Dance Hall just in case, but its empty so he better hold his end of the bargain.”
“Zoë—”
“Don’t tell me that shit forgot. Because he did promise even though he cancelled on me, I told him, I said “you said, you promised,” and here I am and he’s not here—”
“Zoë!” She stops her rambling then, turning to Keith who is as pale as Kitkat’s fur. He wants to tell her, because she doesn’t know but he doesn’t want to tell her because, Zoë was like Lance’s baby sister and…
“Lance is in hospital.”
The temperature in the room dropped. Zoë paused for a moment, looking between the brothers, a smile ghosting on her lips because she didn’t quite believe…
Keith had reacted like that too. Thought it was a joke, a prank, a poorly thought ploy on Lance’s behalf just to watch him squirm. But it wasn’t and Keith watched Zoë like he was watching himself back in the hospital, not sure what to make of the news, of everything that was laid on him by the nurses, the doctors…
“Is he okay?” Zoë’s energy levels dropped back to atmospherical, stroking Kitkat to occupy her hands.
“He’s alive.” Those words force the girl’s head up, eyes widening as she realises it was serious. It was…
“What happened?” She’s trying to think what it could be. A car accident, a mugging, something that would risks Lance’s life like that. There was no way she’d assume attempted suicide.
“He almost drowned.” It’s Shiro who answers, closing the distance to lay a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder. There’s a sort of resistance there; the echoes of an angrier because it’s Keith’s fault, it’s his fault and it’s not just for the words he threw thoughtlessly. There is something else there, Shiro’s seen it.
Keith’s seen it too.
“Drowned?”
Zoë doesn’t understand. Lance is a strong swimmer, he’s practically a fish in water. More things rattle in her mind as she tries to figure it out. Swimming while drunk, hear attack underwater, attempted murder. But still not suicide.
Keith doesn’t want to tell her. He doesn’t want to mar the vision she has of Lance; the ideal perfect, funny guy she’s been practically family with ever since she joined him in the dance studio. The guy she looks up to, who’s helped her so much getting from college drop out to a regular performer at venues in town.
But she’s family. And she has a right to know.
Besides, Keith suspects Zoë knows something he doesn’t.
Notes:
I'm trying to get it out but "Writer's Block," ugh.
Chapter 18: Apologies
Summary:
Pidge needs to make amends for the part they played in Lance’s pain.
Keith learns the importance of Friday.*** PREVIOUS CHAPTER ALSO UPDATED ***
Chapter Text
Tetris drains Pidge’s phone quicker than they’d like, and their spare battery pack lies in the Hulk Satchel still at home. Reading the second “Low Battery” warning sign, the small blip in the corner flashing an obnoxious 10% at them, Pidge discarded the game.
Their fingers automatically clicked on the group chat, but no more notifications came up since Hunk’s quickly typeset that he had to get home, but Lance was asleep. Shiro had replied since then, saying he and Keith had finished packing overnight bags for the boys, but that had been a hour ago and neither he nor Keith were here.
Pidge idly wondered where they were when their eyes fell onto a little red dot in the corner of a private chat on the top of the “Hulk Vs Deadpool” chat. Their private chat with Lance.
Pidge didn’t think Lance replied. Didn’t think he had said anything back, but there was the little notification box and the unread message on the offer side of two finger taps and a stream of data code.
Pidge pressed their thumb to the screen, their other hand unconsciously curling around Lance’s hand where they still held it. The screen flickered white, then came the green and blue boxes of their last conversation.
[21:49]
So Keith’s just turned up looking pissed. What have you done now?
The accusatory message had been typed out literally seconds after Keith barged into the house with a face twisted in teary distress. He’d thrown himself on the sofa, Matt there to calm him while Pidge played detective in the kitchen on the pretence of making themselves coffee.
[21:52]
Okay, so he’s seriously pissed and now he’s drinking. Come pick up your boyfriend before he drinks all our booze.
[21:55]
Because ignoring me is totally mature Lance. For fucks sake, get your head out your ass and come get him.
[22:06]
Come and apologise.
The texts are harsh and without care, punctured words that have destroyed more than any attempt at building the relationship back together. Pidge had wanted to help, it wasn’t their aim to blame Lance, but tried anger and a repeat of Keith escaping to their flat after another argument had immediately sided them with their best-friend.
Pidge hadn’t even thought for a moment that perhaps it was Keith who was to blame. Even now, they didn’t know the truth, and perhaps it wasn’t their right to know the details.
But it was their obligation as friend to both, to apologise for the damage that they had contributed. For the pushes that had forced Lance to the pier and into the water.
Matt stops Pidge from reading anymore, jogging them back to the now as he strolls in, looking dead tired and somewhat angry. “Bad day?” Pidge asks, but Matt waves it off, taking up the other chair and settling himself into the soft passing. “Chief’s being a dick. Says it’s a bad idea to keep visiting Lance. He wants me and Shiro back on full shifts by Friday, but I told him where to shove it and earned myself a suspension.”
Pidge’s eyes went wide, but Matt cracked a smile. “Nah, not really. I did tell him where to shove it though, but it seemed he didn’t know the full details. Kolivan and Thace are holding it close to their chest, and with their… interference, I got some time off for healing purposes.”
The smile dropped when Matt cast eyes to Lance, and the joined hands of his own and Pidge’s.
As if they had called him, Lance began to stir, groaning upon waking. Sore arms tug at the hand holding his and Pidge is reluctant to release it.
“Lance? Hi,” they call softly, leaning closer, just like Matt, who shed his tiredness quickly, more eager to talk to his friend. “Keith?” Lance asked, but the mullet wasn’t here. He mumbled something else too, head rolling on an axis, too heavy for Lance to lift as he remained under the effects of whatever drip still poked holes in his arm.
“It’s Pidge. And Matt,” Pidge added when Lance looked about the room. His head space was still fussy, and Pidge wasn’t sure if Lance was aware they were there, but that changed when his eyes fell on them again. They narrowed. Only for a moment, the tension fading out due to tiredness, but Pidge knew and read the anger that lay in the gaze.
“Mr Holt?”
The siblings looked up to the familiarity, spying the familiar Dr Francis, and another in a white doctor’s garb. They motioned him from the room, Matt patting Pidge’s shoulder as he passed, a quick “I’ll just see what they want,” before he’s leaving the room to the two residents.
“Lance?”
He turned to his name, but offered no conversation. Only listening ears, waiting for the apology he deserved.
“I’m sorry.”
Which was small and stupid, and it wasn’t enough, Pidge knew, but they could barely talk without their voice cracking.
“Friday, when I text you. I’m sorry,” Pidge says, hand reaching out and taking Lance’s hand again. He doesn’t shrug it off, and it’s a good sign. But Pidge doesn’t stop.
“I had no right to say what I did to you and I’m going to make it up to you I swear. I won’t excuse myself for what I said, and I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me, but at least… at least let me try to make amends.”
Lance is watching them, eyes tilted in confusion. Pidge can’t read anger or irritation anymore, but it doesn’t meant they can lower their guard. “All I can think of at the moment is to say sorry—”
“You did nothing wrong.”
Lance’s voice is scratchy and tight. Pidge offers a glass of water from the jug on his bedside, blushing, unable to meet his eyes as he watches them like a spectator at the zoo.
“I—”
“Stood up for Keith, like a good friend.” Lance looks uncomfortable. “I was in the wrong, I know that. I said too much and I didn’t mean to push him so far.”
“But Keith has to be at blame too,” Pidge says, leaning closer, watching Lance lapse back into the weak and defeated boy that was easily dragged to the tipping point and shoved off the edge.
“Maybe,” Lance wonders aloud. “But I was the one that jumped. And he’d be free if someone hadn’t pulled me back.”
“Free? Free from what?”
“Me.”
The word freezes the blood in Pidge’s veins and they are given a glimpse of the emptiness deep inside this boy she thought much stronger. Much happier, more confident, more…
More.
More than doubt and fear and insecurities that tell him he’s nothing but a burden, nothing more than the second choice, the consolation prize that’s not even worth appraising.
“But Lance, it was Keith who pulled you from the water.”
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Zoë’s holding a mug between her hands, but the tea inside hasn’t been touched, even now that it’s stone cold. Keith is sat beside her, eyes firmly fixed on the wine stain on the carpet.
Shiro has taken residency in the kitchen, trying to give the pair a privacy, but remaining supportive as he distracts himself on his phone, trying to look like he’s not desperately latching onto every word of Keith’s explanation. He omits the physical blow, details loosely worded from a scratchy memory that seems to stay on Saturday at the beach and Lance’s limp body and the fact he wasn’t breathing, his cold skin, blue lips the fear of him being de—
“But he was so happy,” Zoë said softly, eyes as red as Keith’s. He didn’t bother fighting the tears anymore.
She hadn’t, Shiro hadn’t, so why should he try and keep up any pretence that reliving his biggest mistake wasn’t breaking him into a thousand pieces.
“We’d planned it together, I had seen him jus that morning when he…”
Zoë turns to look, placing the mug on the coffee table to free up her hands so they can wrap around her body.
“Keith, it was your anniversary. He had booked two nights at the Blue Diamond Resort on the Island. You were…” But she stopped upon seeing the sheer terror etched into wide eyes and a slack jaw.
Anniversary.
Three years anniversary.
It was their fucking anniversary!
Keith leapt off the sofa, ungracefully so that he tripped on the carpet. Up before Zoë could lend him a hand, shocking Shiro who hadn’t heard Zoe tell Keith he had forgotten the date that Lance had faked proposed and asked Keith to be his fucking boyfriend.
And what a useless boyfriend he was, that he couldn’t tell Lance his secrets, that he couldn’t see it when the love of his life was dying right in front of him.
Keith charged the kitchen, ripping the calendar off its nail with suck force the nail came too, leaving a scar on the wall, wallpaper shredding. Keith ignored it, slamming the calendar on the breakfast bar, eyes burning at the red ringed date.
Friday 10th
Three years together
<3
Lance’s handwriting, written there after Keith had mentioned it, an ordinary night when they had turned the page at the turn of November.
“It was our anniversary,” Keith mouths, hands shaking with another burning hatred. He didn’t think he could hate himself anymore, but he does and the rage only continues to grow.
“Meet you at the Hospital,” is his only farewell, and Keith’s running out the door. He’s on his bike and down the road before either Shiro or Zoë realised that he was leaving.
And now he’s left, determined to apologise for every wrong thing he’s ever done.
Chapter 19: I Love You, I’ll Always Love You, I’ll Never Stop Loving You
Summary:
Lance learns who pulled him from the water.
Keith makes amends.Keith makes an important decision towards the pair’s future, but the final choice lies with Lance.
Notes:
So, you may have noticed, but I've been putting off the apology. It's not that I didn't want to write it, its just it's such a big deal, and I wasn't sure all my previous attempts did it justice. So I kept putting it off, but finally, finally I got to it.
I just hope this mets all of your expectations.
Chapter Text
“You did nothing wrong,” Lance says, interrupting Pidge before they can continue to apologise. He doesn’t hate them for the texts; he’s not even sure what’s been said, so it can’t be that bad if it’s been erased from his memory. Sure there was annoyance directed at him, and he’s sure Pidge had asked him to apologise to Keith at one point, but other than that, it’s all a blur.
So, maybe he hadn’t apologised like they asked him to, but he had tried making amends in other ways, but that plan backfired when Matt had saved him, dragged him from the water and dragged him to the hospital.
Lance searched for him, sure that Matt had been here, and he needed to thank him.
Pidge is offering him a drink and he takes it; too tired to smile and shake his head and say “I’m fine.”
Still, the younger makes to apologise, as if everything is their fault, and not Lance’s for pushing Keith too far when he knew, he knew Keith didn’t want to talk about it, he knew and he still pushed, thinking that this time, maybe this time it would be different and Keith would give up, he’d let down his walls and…
“I—”
“Stood up for Keith, like a good friend.”
He offers Pidge a smile, but it’s hard and the notion falls flat. It’s hard to stop thinking that he’s not a good friend. Not to any of them. A good friend wouldn’t put them through this; a good friend wouldn’t have to have Matt to save him, for Shiro to comfort him. For Allura and Pidge and Hunk to realise he’s not as strong as he made out.
He’s not even a good boyfriend to Keith.
Is it really a wonder why he’s not here?
Lance shifts, trying not to lose track of his thoughts.
Pidge looks uncomfortable and it’s another lash from the whip. The boy makes to comfort them. “I was in the wrong, I know that,” he tells the bed sheets, shame keeping his eyes off of the other. “I said too much and I didn’t mean to push him so far—”
“But Keith has to be at blame too,” Pidge says, leaning closer, grabbing Lance’s hand. Their eyes meet and Pidge’s are wide with an indiscernible emotion Lance can’t quite place.
Are they… angry at him?
Of course you dunce. Look where you are. Look at what you’re forcing them to say.
They’d all be better off if you were dead.
“Maybe,” Lance mumbles.
Pidge is still waiting for an explanation. They want truth, to understand the fight that they think they’ve stressed, and Lance wonders if it’s true, but he can’t allow himself to blame anyone other than himself. The fight wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t made a fuss, if he hadn’t assumed Friday was just as important to Keith as it was to him.
Idiot.
“I was the one that jumped. And he’d be free if someone hadn’t pulled me back.”
“Free? Free from what?”
“Me.”
Wasn’t it obvious? Couldn’t everyone already see that Lance wasn’t needed, that he was simply in the way.
All this fuss and all this worry was just cleanly disguised impatience and a polite sympathy you’d give to a stranger on the TV, like a victim of a disaster that’s all over the news.
Lance’s story isn’t all over the news. It’s just simple facts between friends; a distraction from their more-important lives as the odd one out waves and shouts because he’s drowning and “can anybody here me?”
He’s just in the way.
He is just in the way, and he needs to get out of their way so they can get back on track and not bother with him—
“But Lance, it was Keith who pulled you from the water.”
What?
“But Matt and Shiro—”
“Got you breathing again, after you literally died on the beach.”
Pidge hissed as they turned their head, tears in their eyes and on their cheeks. “You poetic little shit. You literally died in Keith’s arms as he dragged you from the surf. He was there before us, I was watching him perform CPR when we pulled up in the car, and Matt and Shiro were ahead but Hunk…”
Pidge stifles their own words with a sob and knuckles in their mouth, biting on skin to keep the torrent of emotion in check.
Lance apologises again.
Pidge turns. “Stop it. Stop saying sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s ours. All of ours. You fought with Keith and I stuck my nose in where I shouldn’t. You weren’t coping and we ignored you because we thought you were sulking or something stupid.
“You didn’t reveal anything about all this,” they say, waving a hand at Lance. “No one knew you were dying on the inside. How the hell were we—” Their voice pitched with tried anger, but then it stopped and there’s a knuckle between their teeth again.
“No, no I’m not getting angry at you, I’m angry at us. How did we not see—.”
“Because I didn’t want you to,” Lance says simply. It’s simple to him. He thought they understood.
“Because I didn’t want to drag anyone down with me. I had already destroyed everything with Keith, why should I break anything else.”
“Lance—”
“I left because that’s what I needed to do.” Lance cards a hand through his fringe, ignoring the tug of the catheter in his arm, that’s still hooked up to the Saline solution. A reminder he’s still here, that he failed, he’s still the problem.
“I was getting rid of the problem, but you tell me Keith saved me, what am I supposed to think?”
“You’re meant to realise that I love you.”
Lance turns, looking to Keith who stands in the doorway. Just as beautiful as ever, even with red eyes, red cheeks as he sucks in deep breaths. In one hand is a hug bouquet of blue roses, and it takes a second, but Lance realises Keith is wearing a suit. It’s the same one he’s meant to be wearing for Shiro’s wedding. Lance knows; he’s the one that picked it out.
“I may not tell you as much as you tell me, but it’s true. I love you. I love you so much, sometimes it hurts,” Keith says, closing the distance. There’s a glance to Pidge, but they’re already out the chair, siding around the bed to slip out the room. The door closes behind them.
Lance’s focus is on Keith.
The suit, the flowers.
The shake to his hands.
“God, I’m stupid,” he says, stepping closer, blushing when Lance says nothing. “You do this all the time,” he shakes the flowers slightly, settling them on the tray at the end of the bed. “You’re always doing huge gestures of love, telling me every morning, always putting me first, and god.” Keith dropped his face behind his hand.
“I fucked up. On Friday, I fucked up.”
Lance can’t school his expression placid, seeing his fear mirrored on Keith’s face. He expects the backlash, the repeat of anger from Keith, but it’s everything but that.
“It was our anniversary. And I forgot.
“It was our anniversary, and you had planned a surprise, but you gave up when you realised I wasn’t aware.”
Keith pauses where he stands, not sure if he’s allowed to close the distance. “Why. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lance drops his face. “Because I didn’t think it was important to you. I always made plans, and I thought you were just going along with it to make life easier, and I thought…” He stops, reassess and tries again. “I thought I was thinking too much of myself, and stepped back. I didn’t want to pressure you, I didn’t think you… I thought you not saying anything was letting me down gently, telling me not to make a big deal because you didn’t think of me as much as I think of you.”
It hurts. It sounds like Lance is blaming Keith and he’s quick to apologise but Keith is shaking his head. “It was my fault. All of it. Not just forgetting, but letting my anger get out of control and, oh god, ” he whispered, voice cracking as he whimpered “I hit you. God I hit you Lance, how could I have done that?”
He closes the distance between them, reaching out but not yet touching, still searching for permission. Lance takes his hand, needing the touch. He’s lost in the moment, not sure what he feels when Keith stands there, tears falling.
“I’m sorry. A thousand times, I’m sorry. It’s pathetic, it’s weak, it’s not enough, but…
“I’m sorry. I love you. That’s all I have in my head. I can’t think of anything else to say, because there’s nothing more important to me than you understanding that I regret it, and that I am irrefutably, undeniably in love with you.”
Lance watches, brain nothing but mush.
Keith told him last time, the first time Lance woke up, he told him he loved him. Somehow Lance hadn’t believed it.
But now…
“Say something.” Keith moved closer, hands on Lance’s, pulling him to sit up as he settled on the bed. “Tell me everything. Tell me I’m an idiot, tell me what you want from me, tell me what you want of us.
“Because I’ll do it,” and Lance knows Keith is telling him the truth. He’s opening up about everything, he’s not hiding his cards close to his chest. “I can’t tell you how much I love you,” Keith says, trying to fill the silence as Lance’s heart grows in his chest. He’s healing, Keith’s words are healing him, but he can’t see. He’s panicking over damage he thinks can’t be fixed, desperate…
Desperate because he thinks he’s losing Lance.
Desperate because he can’t be without Lance.
Lance holds him closer, fingers curling into sweaty palms, lips curling up at the boy he would do anything for.
It’s requited. All of it. Every desperate emotion, every pained heartbeat when Keith looks his way and he melts. The tingling in his toes when they kiss, the lust between the sheets, the admiration, adoration, total devotion that makes Lance want to burst into tears because he feels it too much.
But there’s no such thing as too much love, and Lance desperately clings on to the emotion that his brain and his heart have starved themselves of for so long.
“I’m sorry,” Lance says, wiping away his tears, but Keith stops him. “No, none of that. You have nothing to say sorry for. It was me, I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared you wouldn’t stay with me. That was stupid, I should’ve known better, I should’ve realised I could trust you with everything.
“But I was scared. So scared,” he says, a hand on Lance’s cheek, taking comfort in the warmth there, a thumb catching tears as they fall. His own creep down his cheeks and Lance catches them with a kiss.
No. I have to tell him. I have to tell him everything, if not, it’s just going to repeat itself.
So Keith does.
He tells Lance he loves him every time he wants to, no longer hiding behind embarrassment, no longer bottling up every word, every emotion he saved in his heart.
What’s the use of feeling them, if he can’t convey to the light of his life, that this man, that Lance is his everything?
He needs his everything if not he’ll have nothing.
And Keith tells him about his past. He skips the detail, down plays the fear to simple facts that make his hands shake and his breathing shallow. His eyes are shut and he can’t see further than the locked basement door that’s closed and will remain closed until he can stop crying, until he learns not to beg for food, until he learns to hide the bruises from the teachers, that he’s not to tell those at school because they’ll take you away. They’ll take you away and you’ll never see anyone ever again.
You don’t want that do you? No, then be a good boy. Don’t make a noise. Don’t say a word.
Stop crying and I’ll give you food. You’re hungry aren’t you, you haven’t eaten in a while.
Now hush, and I’ll open the door.
Keith scrunches his eyes up, fearing the fist that will mark him again and again; a brand to tell everyone just how useless, just how pathetic he is. No one deserves to be lumped with him, he had learnt that from childhood, but he’d managed to bury the fears and fooled Lance into believing he was a decent Human being who deserved love, who deserved to be loved and love in return.
“Keith? Keith, it’s okay.” Lance is calling to him. He’s not on the other side of the door; he’s stood next to him, holding his hand in the darkness. “I won’t ever think any less of you. So tell me.”
Keith tells him how broken he is, pulls back the masks and the skin suit of a boy who is better than the weakling of his childhood. He bares himself to Lance and-
Oh. He’s… not scared.
Not scared of how Lance will see him, he’s scared of looking at himself.
He’s ashamed of that boy huddled in the corner, dead eyes staring at the filaments of light that break into his prison from above, where the heavy thuds of footfalls remind him he isn’t deserving of being seen, isn’t deserving because he’s someone who shouldn’t exist.
Keith isn’t scared that Lance will hate him. He’s scared that he’s still the same little boy in the basement.
And in all fairness, he is.
When Lance got too close, when Keith got too scared, he lashed out in the only way he had known. Violence.
When Lance had tried to reach past those walls, the walls built to keep Keith’s soul from shattering, he had treated him the same as his parents; told by them that only they loved him, that he didn’t deserve it, that he wasn’t worthy of it…
And when Lance said he loved him, did Keith believe him?
He wanted to.
But he was scared.
He wasn’t scared anymore.
They’re sat together on the hospital bed, Lance leant forward, head resting on Keith’s chest, arms wrapped around him. Keith cocoons Lance in his hold, vowing to never let him go, talking light, pushing through broken voices, soothing the sobs they both share because god they were stupid. So fucking stupid and so madly in love they didn’t even know how to handle it.
I‘m here, they tell the other. I’m here and I’m never leaving.
I love you, I’ll always love you, I’ll never stop loving you.
Everything is better. Everything is as it was, and neither think they’ve ever loved the other more.
But Keith isn’t finished. He pulls away from Lance, not ready to let their hands let go, and they both hold on.
Keith reaches for the roses, and holds them out for Lance to take.
“Lance. I don’t know when I fell in love with you, but when I realised I had, I knew I’d never be the same without you. When I packed your clothes, to bring them here for you, I realised then, just how close I came to losing you.
“When I thought you had thrown the photos away, when I thought you had thrown away us… I felt like I had lost everything.”
Keith has tears in his eyes. Lance makes to speak but Keith holds up a hand to silence him.
It takes a moment to recollect himself, and he continues.
“I regret Friday. And I’m done with regretting. If I don’t say this, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
“This won’t be our only bad patch. I know there will be more, there will be worse fights, there will be times when it’s you who walks out on me, and I’ll be the one chasing you, and I know that at some point, one, or both of us will want to break this,” he says, eyes on Lance, not letting him speak until he’s finished.
“But I’m standing here now to ask- no wait, I have to do this properly,” he says quickly and Lance can’t breathe as Keith digs into his jacket pocket, brings out a very familiar little box and he takes a knee.
“Lance Elian McClain. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”
Chapter 20: You And Me
Summary:
"I Do."
Notes:
The final instalment of Loose Ends. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this Fanfiction from beginning to now.
You all deserved the happy ending, and here it is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Lance Elian McClain. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”
“Yes.”
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Two Years Later
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Lance wrung his hands, fingers itching to claw at the skin on his wrist, the panic rising in his chest like the tide, threatening to choke him, to drown him unless he releases it— but no, he can’t.
“Allura,” the boy called, turning around to the girl sat on the seat next to him, leaning into the reflection that sits atop her vanity table to apply her mascara. Zoë stands behind her, the curling iron wound in her luxurious blue hair, humming to a song that plays on her speakers. It’s her dance mix, and Lance appreciates the nostalgia, but right now he needs help because, god he’s about to start panicking.
Both girls turn at the sound of Lance’s distress, wide eyes when they see the boy on the verge of tears.
Zoë dropped the curling irons (not literally) in favour of snatching up a box of tissues, swooping in before Lance could ruin his makeup with tears lines down his cheeks, hushing him with laughter because “no Lance you look perfect, don’t ruin my masterpiece.”
Lance tries to swallow down the tears, he really does, but fear in his chest needs release and he is about to start freaking out.
“No, no crying,” Allura admonished him, her tone light, glittering nails carding through the boy’s fringe gently. “It’s bad luck. A bride can’t cry on her wedding day.”
That’s right.
Today was his wedding day.
He was getting married.
Lance swallowed back the tears, eyes still damp, but he smiled. Laughter, mixed with little sobs broke free and the girls bent closer, hushing and comforting him, crooning over his beautiful makeup they’d spent an hour doing, his beautifully polished nails and wonderful hair.
“And when you get your dress on, you’ll look absolutely amazing,” Allura said, dabbing Lance’s cheek with a tissue, trying to get him to smile again. It was just the nerves making him jumpy; he’d been able to get through the past ten months of planning without a hitch, and now on the morning of the ceremony, he was getting cold feet.
No, not cold feet. Just nerves.
“He’ll be there, won’t he?” Lance says, unable to keep the question quiet, looking up at his friends. Allura and Zoë looked to one another, then back to Lance, practically beaming, laughing at the silliness of it all. “Of course you dummy. Keith is the one that asked you to marry him.”
Lance nodded, but his nerves tingled in his stomach and he was regretting breakfast. “What if… what if he says no,” Lance whispered, looking down to his lap where his vows lay, the paper lightly crumpled and tears stains blurring the printed ink he already knows off by heart. “What if I screw up and look like a fool—”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” came a chirpy voice, Pidge strutting into the room with Shay in tow, the two of them holding the four bridesmaid bouquets.
Pidge grinned where they stood; looking dapper in their dress/tux hybrid, placing the bouquets on the table to free up their hands and give Lance a playful nudge. “You’ve mastered the art of being a fool. If you do trip, at least Keith will be able to spot you a mile off.”
“And start running,” Lance hissed irritably. He buried his face behind a hand, much to the horror of Zoë because “no Lance your makeup!”
She scolded him lightly before pushing him back in front of her mirror, ready to fix his already immaculate complexion. Lance let her touch up his eye shadow as his stomach did some sort of Butterfly Hokey-Cokey to the sound of Hamilton’s “Helpless” booming out the stereo speakers.
Lance felt very helpless right now. His nerves still weren’t settled.
“What if he really does change his mind? What if he’s forgotten? What if—”
“Lance.”
Lance looked up. Allura cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing little circular motions on his jaw, (much to the annoyance of Zoë because “How many times do I have to say makeup?”).
“There’s nothing to fear. You know I felt the exact same way before I married Shiro. You should know, you were there,” she said teasingly, dragging Lance back to a year ago in Spring when he was comforting Allura because she wasn’t sure about the whole wedding and future and…
“Look at me now Lance,” she smiled, drawing back, hand on the small bump that just poked out from her otherwise perfect figure, the silk of her dress flowing beautifully in hues of pale blue down to her silver heels that matched the open-toe ones Lance wore with his perfect pedicure.
“Keith is going to be there. You’re going to walk down the aisle and he’s going to be there at the end of it, waiting for you. And then, when you’re married, you’re going to walk out, arm in arm.
“You’ve got so much in store for you just beyond those doors and trust me, you won’t regret a second of it.”
Lance smiled again, tearing up. But they were good tears and he wasn’t feeling nervous anymore.
“Now,” Allura said with a start, jumping back to stand straight. “Let’s get you into your dress.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Half an hour before the ceremony saw Lance standing in front of Zoë’s triple full length mirrors, balancing on an upturned shoebox so that he can spin with ease, checking that the dress fits him at every angle. “Hold still,” Shay says as she fusses with his hair pin, Allura pulling the corset threads into a wonderful bow. Zoë is holding the veil, trying her best not to let her tears ruin her own makeup while Pidge is grumbling about over-board, trying to pull Lance’s chapel-style train around again so they can take some before-pictures.
The photographer has been in and out all morning, flirting with all of them and doing her own job of calming Lance’s nerves with secret shots of Keith getting ready with the boys.
Lance smiles at his reflection, ignoring the nerve of the slight quiver in his top lip. He keeps running his hand over his mouth, trying to get the smile to look natural, touching at the lace pattern that sits light over the layers the fall from his hips, flaring out a little just below the bend of his knee. The top half remains form fitting, showing off his hips, and thin body, the lace straps keeping the dress up reaching no further than his shoulders.
Lance is so busy checking his reflection he doesn’t notice the slight commotion on the other side of door, only taking note when Allura’s voice, edge with annoyance, breaks through the sound of the stereo. “No you’re not coming in. Go away before I drag you out of here myself!”
Lance turns to look then, seeing only Shay in the room with him. The bedroom door is ajar and he can hear Allura’s voice through the crack. Zoë is out there too. “Like she said, ‘No.’ You’ve got ten minutes to get to the church, so just go already. The cars are outside waiting.”
Lance steps off his shoe-box stage, coming to the door. “Who’s there,” he asks Shay, about to step around her, but she grabs him. “Lance?” It’s Keith.
Lance looks to the door, mind running rampant as just to why Keith is here.
“K-Keith?” He cringes as his voice cracks on the boy’s name, trying to take another step, but Shay blocks him and suddenly the door is pull shut from the other side. “No Keith, you’re not seeing him. It is bad luck and you’re going to be late to the church. We can’t leave until you do, so just go,” Allura implores.
“Just… I just want to talk to him, I don’t have to see him,” Keith says and he sounds a little desperate. “Allura, can you just....”
Lance pulls himself from Shay’s hand, pressing an ear to the wood. “I need to talk to him, I won’t look, Lance already made sure I wouldn’t see him by making a point of getting ready here and not at home, so can you guys give me five minutes with the door so I can talk to my fiancé in peace.”
The word, just like all the other times Keith says it, sends little shivers all over Lance’s body and he has the biggest urge to open the door and throw himself in his arms. But he doesn’t.
“Allura. Let him talk. I won’t open the door.”
There’s a moment or two, before a sigh. “Alright. But Keith, if you so much as peek at him—”
“I got it,” Keith stammered. Lance laughed behind his hand, smiling to the idea of Keith raising his hands and backing off, because Allura secretly scares him when she gets mad.
Shay gives an approving nod, pushing Lance behind the door before she opens it and slips out, the sound of the retreating footsteps down the stairs quietening before Keith swallows whatever stuck in his throat and speaks.
“Lance?”
“Yeah?” It comes out breathless, smiling at the door, knowing Keith is smiling back. “H-hey.” He’s nervous. Just as much as Lance and the boy takes comfort in the fact he’s not the only one freaking out on his wedding day. “I thought I was meeting you at the church?”
“I just wanted to see you.” Keith’s voice is just as quiet as his own, pushed up against the other side of the door that Lance has to strain to hear him.
“You can’t do that. Allura will kill you.”
“So will you if I even think about coming in there.”
“True.”
Lance wants to cry again, but he can’t. He tilts his head back, lost in thoughts that he’s about to get married, he and Keith are about to get married, today’s their wedding day.
“You’re…” Keith’s voice pulls Lance back to now and he focuses on the boy’s voice. “You’re not… regretting this are you?” His voice is small and quiet, but it’s a shock and Lance pulls back, worried. “Are you?”
“What? No, not at all! It’s just, we haven’t seen each other in three days and I know this is what you’ve always wanted,” Keith said hurriedly. “And yeah, I proposed because I want to spend the rest of my life with you…” Lance hears him sigh.
Allura be damned, he needs to see Keith.
“Keith, close your eyes.”
“What—why?”
“Because I’m about to open the door, so close your eyes.”
“Lance no—” But Lance is already opening the door, and there’s Keith, dressed up in his black tux, red silk sash matching the red rose in his breast pocket, long hair pulled back into a neat-but-messy ponytail, hands firmly clamped over his eyes.
God he’s gorgeous.
“Lance, don’t, go back,” Keith says, but Lance isn’t going back, he’s not stepping down. He steps closer, two small arms looping around the boy’s waist, pulling him closer into his chest. Keith drops his arms around Lance, both of them nuzzling into the crook of the other’s neck, just breathing in the scent of each other to calm them.
After a moment, Keith spoke. “Even though I swear I haven’t looked, Allura is still going to kill me.”
Lance laughed to himself, lifting his head so it was easier to speak. “Not on my wedding day she’s not.”
“What about my wedding day?”
“I’ll tell her not too, as a favour to me.”
“Thanks love.”
They stay holding one another, just soaking up the atmosphere of two people so in love they’re nervous wrecks on the day where they finally get to tie the knot and take that all important step in their lives.
Lance swallows nervously, fingers curling tighter in Keith’s tux. His fiancé notes the trembling, hands massaging circles on the small of his back, fingers tracing over the lace patterns of the dress, the lines of the corset’s ribbon. “What’s wrong, are you alright.”
“Keith, I’m getting married,” Lance murmurs, voice muffled. Keith lets out a soft chuckle, straightening up, his touch coming up to the back of Lance’s neck.
Keith still has his eyes closed. “I know,” he whispers softly, “but you know, I’ll be there too.”
“Really?”
“Really really. I’ll even stand beside you at the altar. I’ll be with you every step of the way, okay?”
“You promise?” Lance whispers, his voice barely a breath between them, eyes glistening as he stares lovingly at the man who’s about to become his husband. “I do.”
Lance guides him in for a small, soft and perfect kiss, breaking it off quickly at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Oh shit, go, go, before Allura sees us together.”
Lance tears himself from Keith’s arms, giving him a playful nudge towards the stairs, closing the door behind him as he hides in Zoë’s room, grabbing his bouquet of red, blue and purple just as Allura’s voice calls up the stairs. “Lance, the car is here!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The music starts, low and soft, strings pulled perfectly into long graceful arches, the tinkling of light piano keys echoing softly in the background.
Lance takes his first step.
The church shines with brilliant sunshine that pours in through the windows, the stained glass art alight in colours of the rainbow. The air is warm, light glinting the small specks of dust that float in the air, but it’s beautiful and it’s perfect, it’s like a dream.
Lance scans the rows of people crowded on either side of the red velvet aisle, able to pick out his friends. Everyone was able to make it, and it makes Lance glow with pride that he can share this perfect memory with everyone he loves.
They all stand, turning back to him in varying stages of happiness; Zoë and Hunk in tears.
And there is Keith.
He stands by the altar, head bent lightly, eyes closed from what Lance can see. He’s smiling, but it’s that little nervous smile he makes when he’s waiting for Lance’s approval for something he’s done, like buy another cat, or look at buying a new car or planning to redo the garden or—
Suddenly, there’s a voice and Lance’s steps falter to the sound of words echoing in the church hall. They are soft, quiet, just like the strings of the song that grows the longer it plays and suddenly Lance has stopped walking, head back, looking up to listen to the words that swim around him in the warm air of mid-morning, on the day of his wedding.
“Never knew, I could feel like this.
Like I’ve never seen the sky before.”
It’s Keith’s voice.
“Want to vanish inside your kiss.
Every day I love you more and more.”
It’s Keith’s voice that is singing along to the music that they chose together for Lance to walk down the aisle to.
Lance looks back to the stage where Keith stands, desperate to get to him, to hold him and kiss him and say “I do,” cementing the rest of their lives together with those two words he’s wanted to say and wished to hear since he ever stood in the jewellers, shaking hands, shaking bones, buying the little engagement ring that sits on the left ring finger of Keith’s hand.
His own matching ring warms his own hand, and the promise of a second spurs Lance’s feet forward in a slow, delicate walk; Shiro beside him as their arms remained looped together.
“Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing?
Telling me to give you everything.”
Keith is looking at him now, teary eyes and smiling in all his glory, the sunlight glancing off his hair, shining around him as if he’s glowing. He’s beaming, the smile on his face a mile long and Lance is smiling back, so big, so bright it’s almost painful. But nothing will make him stop, because this is the happiest day of his life.
“Seasons may change, winter to spring.
But I'll love you until the end of time.”
Lance reaches the altar then, giving Shiro a simple nod as he releases his arm, reaching out for Keith who pulls him those tiny steps closer. Fingers intertwined, hands dropped between them, they stand at the altar, together.
The music remains to play, soft melodic background noise as the vicar calls for everyone to be seated and the ceremony begins. Lance is too happy to listen to every single word, like Keith, turning every few seconds to gaze longingly at the man that he’s about to tie the knot with. All his nerves are now tingling with excitement, the buzzing in his ears blocking out the voices but not the music because Keith has sung a song to him, a song he has sung himself for Lance to walk down the aisle to.
Keith is looking at Lance with soft eyes and a smile that pulls at his lips. He begins his vows, and its these words Lance listens to.
“From now, till death do us part. Forever yours and forever mine.”
Keith’s voice is calm and steady, but the way they tighten on Lance’s when they stand to face one another, Lance can see he’s just as nervous, if not even more so. He himself is ready to leap out of shoes, but with them both holding hands, grounding the other, they both make it to the end of their vows.
Keith’s grasp on Lance is firm yet gentle as he pulls off the engagement ring, it’s place taken by the intricately engraved wedding band. His touch lingers before sliding the engagement ring back on.
Lance runs the thumb of his left hand over the band, enjoying the feel of it before reaching out to where Pidge stands, holding Keith’s wedding band on a plump little pillow. He removes Keith’s engagement ring, and gently pushes on the wedding ring identical to his own, staring at it for longer than necessary, because that is a wedding ring on Keith’s hand and it’s not just beautiful it’s perfect and… wow.
When the cue comes to kiss, Lance can’t help but blush, like he’s experiencing his first kiss all over again. But they’re not on the beach, some lazy summer day on their third or fourth date, they’re about to kiss as husbands for the first time.
It starts as a press of the lips. Soft sweet, barely touching, until Keith threads fingers into Lance’s hair and pulls him closer, the kiss breaking to the pairs smile. “I love you, Mr Kogane,” Keith whispered, words brushing over Lance’s skin where neither pulled back and their kissing again to the crescendo of applause, cheering and catcalls from their immature friends. But neither husband minds as they kiss again, hands in each other’s hair to pull the other closer because they’re married.
Lance revels in the warm giddy feeling the spreads through his body like red wine, little sparks igniting in his heart and he feels like crying all over again. Looking back at his husband, yes, his husband, Lance is pleasantly surprised to see a tear peeking at the corner of his eye.
“I love you,” Lance says, hooking his arm into the crook of Keith’s arm, spurring him to descend the steps and back down the aisle.
Coran is the first to throw a handful of glitter confetti, beginning the snowstorm. Lance laughed loudly, pulling Keith into the flurry and they ran together through the church, hair doused in the petals of white paper and glitter.
Lance’s hand in Keith’s, the feeling of the metal on wedding rings pressed into his palm, Keith looks back over his shoulder, hand raised to wave to everyone still cheering loudly. Then he looks down, a dazzling smile pulling at his lips. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Lance smiles, and together they leave the church and into the rest of their lives.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End
Notes:
So what did you think?
Leave a comment, let me know, I'd appreciate it.Much Love xxx
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Whrilybird on Chapter 1 Mon 12 Mar 2018 02:57AM UTC
Last Edited Mon 12 Mar 2018 02:59AM UTC
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r (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 09 Jun 2020 10:48PM UTC
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