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The black of the night is simmering around them, engulfing the words said and twisting them, making them fade into each other and rendering them much heavier and more tangible at the same time. They are standing two feet apart, the space between them blending ugliness into intimacy.
Lance watches as the face of the man, whom he came to know as he knows the ocean, gravely and fiercely, pales and hovers in the dark, like a reflection or a memory. The surface isn’t still though, the waves keep crashing and breaking themselves on its sharp edges.
He knows one of them, both of them, pushed too far and he feels the thin veil between them rip in half. Isn’t letting other person in and allowing them to see the most guarded rooms of your mind the most frightening part of becoming the other’s half? Not half, Lance thinks begrudgingly, his equal. He can’t pinpoint where this exchange actually began, but he’s sure along which lines it ran. Shiro would always be the one running, hiding just around the corner, revealing enough but never completely unlocking those doors to his nightmares. Lance has never been patient but he tries, he tries for Shiro’s sake and be content with only being allowed to take a peek and nothing more.
This time around though, his resolve slips when he wakes up with the other man panting hard beside him, drenched in sweat, gripping his metallic hand like he could rip it out from where it’s connected to the bone. His face is empty, staring wide-eyed and unfocused somewhere far in his past, caught up in himself, not recognizing the warm body pressed up against his side.
Every time it takes a while to talk Shiro down from whichever place his mind went to but now there are two hands wrapped around Lance’s throat and he gasps for air and pulls on Shiro’s hair to lead him back. Shiro’s grip suddenly loosens and everything’s shatters, he’s shaking as he jerks away, stumbling out of the bed and unsteady on his feet.
“I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” The words keep tumbling out of his mouth, over and over.
Lance feels his throat, assessing the damage, but it seems alright, fingers only planted seeds which will later bloom into delicate red flowers. He can breathe just fine. Shiro’s eyes trace his movements, transfixed. His hands twitch in Lance’s direction, but he doesn’t budge, still frozen in a dream, not daring to move closer.
“I'm okay Shiro, you didn't hurt me, it's okay, really,” Lance turns his head, left to right, right to left. “There might be a bruise later, but it's nothing to worry about.” He drops his hands from his neck and looks up. “Hey,” he searches for his eyes. “Why don't you come here,” he says smoothing the blanket next to him. “We can talk about where you’ve just gone to... If you want?”
Shiro blinks at him in disbelief, a sheen of cold sweat covering the exposed skin, creating a shimmering image of a god fallen.
“Nothing to worry about? I almost -” his voice cracks, an eggshell stepped on carelessly, a frail bone broken by being pushed over the railings.
“Shiro, Shiro, please, talk to me?” Lance’s tone is soothing like water poured over a burnt heart. His heart feels like it's being swallowed by flames raw and beating.
“I had my hands around your neck. I almost hurt you because I don't have control over this.” He gestures at himself. “And I won't ever...” he gulps, “I might never be able to control it, fuck.” He shakes his head furiously, angry with himself, angry with the situation, angry with the things he can't change. But mostly with himself, Lance knows.
“I have to - I have to go.” Shiro backs away, frantically searching for a nearest way out just as Lance stands up and approaches him with open arms.
“This is our room,” he says with a small smile, all summer night, low tide and ocean breeze. Shiro doesn’t let Lance touch him and he doesn’t let himself touch back. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s clenching them into fists.
“I can’t… I just can’t be around you.” The words right now don’t seem to be implied, the sentence falls down with conclusiveness of a first drop announcing a heavy downpour. Despite all, Lance hasn’t been scared until now.
“Look,” he starts slow. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to but please, Shiro, don’t push me away again.” He pleads with all his being, a raring cry for being let understand, craving from his fingertips to his toes.
“I don’t know how - I.. this will keep happening and I just couldn’t handle…” He cuts himself off again, the possibility getting stuck in his throat, too ugly to be spoken in the place they made their own.
“Shiro,” he tries again firmly. “I know you’re scared but that doesn’t mean you get to build another wall.” He moves closer, holding his arms open still, waiting.
“Don’t push me away.” Each syllable pushed out with gravity strong enough to create its own orbit, Lance’s determined eyes holding a promise and a plea.
“Lance, you couldn’t possibly understand. You have no idea -”
“I have no idea because you never let me in!” He suddenly shouts, the sound of it too loud, letting his words fly as daggers and find their mark. “You say you try but you never actually do! Hell, you might as well go around announcing ‘Don’t trust Lance with more than sucking dicks because he definitely sucks at emotional support’!” Ugliness has found its way up after all.
“That is not what I’m doing at -”
“You are, though, Shiro! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” Lance’s breathing picks up and it’s not anger that he feels but mere exasperation. That’s the fragrance hanging low and heavy in the air.
“I’m trying to protect you from myself! I don’t want to ruin you.” The last part is whispered, a door unlocked in silence.
“You might have thought about that before you made me a part of your war without actually letting me fight by your side!” A reflection, a memory delicately weaved together coils at the inside of his wrists. He has been thinking about that in particular for some time now.
Lance shoves at his chest and then steps away as he watches Shiro’s face be overtaken by surprise for a moment before it gives over to a look of desperate urgency and full-blown fury. Angry with himself. The stark purple cuts through the dark and as a floodlight exposes their twisted expressions. There is no place to hide anymore, all the contradiction held in a palm of the galra hand, their argument brought to light by the very thing Shiro wants to keep out of sight.
“See? This is what I am now, this is what is left of me,” he shakes his head as if finding it difficult to follow a clear thought. “I want to give you only the best parts of myself but every second of the day I’m aware that I could take you apart by one strike of my hand.” His lips settle in disgust and anger shakes his body as a leaf, muscles trembling with something akin to adrenalin.
“Do you think this scares me?”
Unbounded softness hits him harder than the harshness from before. Shiro’s eyes look lost for an instant before he manages to grasp at the lifebuoy thrown in his direction and saves himself from drowning and letting himself sink too deep.
Every part of you is a part of me now.
Lance reaches out and covers the distance between them, wading with certain careful lightness, a ray of sunshine finding its way through a heavy canopy of close-knit branches. Just as he is about to touch Shiro’s hand, the violent light flickers out. Lance finds the cold metal and grips the fingers that have known their way around his body, spread him thin and mapped him out.
“We are equal, Shiro. There is no part of you that I’d refuse. Just... God, just let me stand with you.” He feels him slowly melt into his embrace, the weight of the world not lifted but shifted to rest halfway on Lance’s shoulder.
“I can handle more than you think,” he holds him closer and breathes in home .
“I know,” Shiro speaks quietly, muffled against his cheek.
“You can't ruin me just as I can't fix you.” He hears Shiro’s breath stutter before completely evening out and finally letting his arms find his hips and later his lips. Shiro kisses him like he’s pouring himself into him, Lance listens to the echo of a dam cracked, the water washing over them and taking away the debris that was in the way of its flow. It’s a promise and it’s a plea. Lance lets himself float.