Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Past the streams of Oceanus they went, past the rock Leucas, past the gates of the sun and the land of dreams, and quickly came to the meadow of asphodel, where ghosts live, empty forms of men who have done with toils.” (Homer 1995, 413)

He was waist high in knee deep water now, wading through it in mid-calf boots. The reeds that floated through the river bed died the closer he got to sea until they were brown at the tips and wilted against his sides. Currents of waves rushed against his hips, kissing his stomach every so often with soft white crests. It felt like drowning. It was the melancholy echo of his hysterical screaming that crept and died in his lungs before it ever got the chance to escape.

In the sterile darkness of his room, everything became still. It became silence so deafeningly strong that he couldn’t see the light of day through the pulse behind his eyes. The piercing pitch of his own breathing cut lines across his mind in timid time to his heartbeat. Vague images of his father floated in and out of relevance but the closer he got to touching them, the more distorted they tended to become. His jaw became more angular and his smile became softer the harder he stared until it wasn’t his father he was reaching for anymore. It was a face more familiar, a little more like home, and a little closer to family at the end of the day.

Loneliness had been a constant in Keith’s life for many years – after long enough, coping becomes obsolete and socializing becomes a chore. Being branded as antisocial stops being painful and it becomes your title – it becomes your identity. Keith wore his rebel name like a badge of honor. When things became difficult, he would wander and no one would bother because he was Keith and “isn’t that just what he does?” It gave him time to think; to recover the little pieces of himself that he had given away to one person or another when the moment had called for it. People required constant attention, affection, and that wasn’t something he was capable of giving. So instead, Keith plucked petals from his skin; laid them in various places around the galaxy, in the palms of whomever dared to ask. All that was left at the end of the day was cactus thick skin and a prickly exterior.

He thought of the person who had taught him how to water his roots when it was late at night and early in the morning and sometimes in the middle of the day when he would forget how to breathe. When he was 13 and his neglect had been brought to his attention. It had been so much easier then – for years, Shiro has made it so much easier. But with the tentative glare of his own surrender taunting him through the rearview mirror, things had become much more trying. Keith had always been powerless when alone and despite no longer being in solitary isolation, he still felt a crippling sense of bewilderment.

What was left when no one could hear you?

The panel on the wall flickered to life, the sound of heavy footsteps ending just outside Keith’s door. For a while there was no sound that echoed through the speaker back in his direction.

“Keith?” Hunk’s voice sounded stretched as it buzzed with perfect clarity. The subliminal exhaustion of the team was carried in his name – in every word they spoke to him.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Keith rolled from his back to his side, holding tightly to his sheets. Could they hear how their worry was reflected in their words? Did they know that it didn’t matter? Every nuanced maneuver that they made towards him was sickeningly determined and full of abject hope. There was nothing that could mimic the feeling of family that had been lost with Shiro and trying to recreate that world was futile. It was all in vain.

Hunk left eventually, tired of waiting for an answer that wouldn’t ever come.

No one was coming for him. Just like tired nights spent alone in the desert, he was left to mourn in silence. There were parts of his body that sought company – that had somehow grown used to it over time. But with people around, there were sidewinding glances that shattered his anger – that mirrored it back at him in little slivers of red. Pidge would voice their grievances at his behavior – tell Keith he wasn’t the only one who missed him and that he shouldn’t isolate himself like he was. And Keith would hear them but only every other word. He would pretend his food was interesting and pretend like he cared what they thought. But then Lance would start speaking and Hunk would look nervous and everything would just feel like too much.

Everything was too much. Their support made him want to surrender to whatever it was he was feeling in the pit of his stomach and when Lance would inevitably apologize, something inside him would scream. It would feel like jaw clenching, fist forming desperation was fixed in his vision and for just a moment he would give in. Keith never remembered what happened after that.

Something inside him was hurting in a way he was unfamiliar with – a burning ache somewhere between his stomach and his throat that felt like swallowing fire and ice at the same time. Keith could feel the air leave his lungs and phantom hands on his shoulder. If Shiro were here he would tell him to go to dinner. He would tell him that being around people would help heal whatever it was that was cutting him so deep. If Shiro were here…

Well, he would at least be making an effort.

The night turned his walls an iridescent blue that crept further under his skin the longer Keith stared. It bled the same color as his human veins and reminded him that there was much scarier things lurking somewhere inside him. Was that why he was alone right now? Allura had been afraid at first – she was undoubtedly still fearful to some degree. Did the others understand that he was still human when it mattered?

But he didn’t feel human anymore – he felt like he was floating somewhere outside of his own consciousness. His body was left lying on his bed while Keith wandered around in a memory – his memories felt more tangible than reality now. If he closed his eyes, he could conjure moments from the past into the present, where Shiro would put a hand on his shoulder – tell Keith he was proud. Every now and then, Hunk or Pidge would try to fit their hand into the same place, rest it between his muscles after a long day. But feeling their touch was like pouring acid on his skin but more shocking because all it did was send his stomach plummeting through the floor and his breath rushing from his lungs.

“Keith?”

The pad beside the door opened with Pidge’s face, cutting light through the room. Keith stayed quiet, pretended he was asleep because it was night after all. But what was there besides time to tell the difference anymore? His room was always dark and days bled together the more he stayed lying in bed. How long had it been? Months now.

A distinct whir sounded from the door as it opened, Pidge’s quiet footsteps inching into the room as Keith rolled to his other side, facing the wall. They didn’t enter beyond a couple feet, waiting for Keith to make the first move – he wouldn’t say anything. He never did anymore because if he opened his mouth, all of the water that had filled his lungs would come rushing out at the same time and he would end up drowning all over again, and this time everyone would drown with him.

Keith expected Pidge to leave – they had made this exchange several times now, where Pidge would come to his room and stand there, waiting for Keith to talk. In the end they would be met by silence and a cold shoulder and would leave without having ever said a word.

“Keith, you need to come to dinner.”

Tonight would be different it seemed. But still, Keith didn’t say anything and instead pulled the blankets up higher around his chin. He waited with baited breath for Pidge to leave so he could spend the next few hours staring up at the ceiling until every cell in his body screamed at him to sleep. Then he would spend a few more hours fighting with the guilt that – at the end of the day – he was doing nothing. He would sleep until 3 am, when he would awaken from a fit-full dream with sore muscles and an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The edge of his bed dipped only slightly before a hand came to rest on the cusp of his bicep and shoulder.

“Keith, please.”

The rawest form of desperation clung to Pidge in the way their hand clasped tighter before trailing down to the bed.

“I’m scared, Keith.”

Repeating his name like a mantra – like it would somehow conjure him back to their world. He had to ignore it; push it away like he did everything so that he wouldn’t drag everyone down with him. So that he wouldn’t learn to rely on them always being there – wouldn’t wind them to their breaking point like he had with Shiro.

Keith felt relief when the tears finally came – silent but easy. The water that had filled his lungs slowly began to trail towards his ears and pool against his pillow. The pressure against his chest loosened ever so slightly and then a little bit more for every second he cried.

He missed Shiro – needed him like he always had but had never known until recently. Every place inside him that had been filled by Shiro’s friendship had been flooded with murky, lukewarm compassion. People would come around for a minute or two every day to make sure he didn’t play the blame game with them. And if he chose to ignore them as Keith so often did, they could at least say they tried.

Once Pidge left – more likely than not, for their own self-preservation – Keith began to feel the swell of the ocean inside his chest again. It had been calmed by foreign sensations that sat on the tip of his tongue like sickly sweet salvation in Pidge’s presence. The waves began to tumble, crashing around his feet at first until they rose to his hips and his chest and he began to fall under again.

Keith could feel the rush of his breath leaving him – could feel the powerful urge to kick and fight back against his tantalizing desires. It wound his muscles tightly against him, first his shoulders then his heart. An ear splitting scream ripped through his body and the world around him as his hands came to fist in his hair. The water was over his head now and all he could see was the bottom of the ocean.

Pidge stood outside his door in silence before creeping back towards the dining hall, the ring of Keith crying echoing in their ears. It was a sound unlike anything they had ever heard except in their own voice late at night when Matt would come to life in their dreams.

When everyone around the table looked up to Pidge, they couldn’t meet their gazes. Taking their seat, Pidge laid their napkin across their lap, leaving their silverware untouched beside it. Everyone else resigned themselves to eating in relative silence until they could all be sure that no one would walk them backwards

“Did he even say why he isn’t coming?”

When Lance spoke, his voice sat in the center of the table for several long seconds while Pidge let his words roll around their mouth. Simple sounds seemed to reverberate through everyone’s minds before anyone could grasp them in their totality. All eyes remained focused on their plates, no one eating, while they mulled through the past four months – the past few months had seemed so very, very long.

“I think he’s sick.”

“Oh, bullshit, Pidge.”

“Lance!” Hunk’s voice rang out across the room and all heads snapped up to turn in his direction. Lance’s eyes shifted around, refusing to focus on any one place as guilt swarmed him.

“Pidge is right – we can all see it, and I know you can too.”

Sufficiently admonished, Lance met Hunk’s gaze as Coran and Allura took their leave. Pidge stood as well, instead coming to sit cross legged in the seat beside him. Their hands wound themselves in the fabric of their pants as Pidge gathered their thoughts before looking over to Lance, whose gaze was still held captive by Hunk.

“Have you gone to see him yet?”

“It’s not like he’s gonna say anything back.”

Hunk folded his hands diplomatically across the top of the table, raising an inquisitive eyebrow in certain reproach. Winds seemed the ravage their way through the room and unsettle the quite that had grown to be their normal. The storm began to settle where it had once laid; in Keith’s empty seat and atop his uneaten food.

“Fine.” Lance muttered, standing and pushing his chair back in to the table.

Through seemingly endless hallways, Lance mumbled careless words back and forth to himself as he made his way across the castle. What was the point in talking to someone who was actively avoiding conversation? Keith hadn’t allowed any sort contact with any of them in days and it didn’t look like he was coming any closer. If he wanted to be alone, so let him.

Lance found himself in front of Keith’s door with no response to his page, but the door slid open when he bid it.

He was laying on the bed, blankets pooled half way off his bed and around his ankles. Standing by the door and despite the darkness of the room, Lance could see the way Keith’s hair stuck to itself with oils. Even with his face half hidden by white knuckled hands against his pillow, Lance could see that there was still a flush and sheen against his cheeks.

Keith had never been outwardly emotional except with his displays of anger, which Shiro had once told Lance was more likely than not a product of shelved and unchecked grief. Seeing him cry had never been something that anyone had ever imagined they would see, and sure maybe Lance was just seeing the lingering dew on his lashes, but it was disarming none the less. The shining residue and the darkness of his sheet made it known just how hard the storm had blown – limbs laid out against the bed in disarray. Keith did not acknowledge his existence, his eyes trained on something in the distance, glassy – empty – and Lance was left to wonder if the older boy even knew that anyone had come to see him yet.

Lance’s jacket rode against his spine as he slid down the wall opposite to Keith, just within his line of sight. His legs stretched out before him, his hands coming to rest gracefully in his lap. For several long moments, his gaze flitted between them and his teammate uncomfortably. What was there to say to someone who didn’t want to listen?

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Still, Keith’s gaze stayed fixed on empty space, unblinking and passive. Lance could feel goosebumps beginning to form on the back on his neck as it became harder and harder to swallow. His face began to burn in a way that foretold his anxiety as his palms began to sweat. Fighting the urge to rub his hands raw against his jeans, Lance looked towards the ceiling. He let a heavy breath will its way out of his lungs, stuttering half way through.

“I don’t know what to do, Keith. Please,” Lance closed his eyes – barred his teeth against his own denial – as he fought off the shaking in his limbs and chest. Blinding white fog covered his vision in utter distress that he struggled to quell it with pleading words and fists full of his shirt. “Just tell me what to do.”

Whispered words struggled to reach towards Keith as he floated in hazy darkness. They passed through one ear, never quite reached his brain, but he knew who was there with him. The sound of Lance’s voice allowed for some semblance of warmth to enter his bloodstream, just enough that he became aware of the dampness of his pillow and the feeling of the sheets tangled in his feet. He was suddenly cognizant of the ache in his muscles and the fact that someone else was with him.

As Lance sat in dismal silence, he could feel the remnants of the few months prior flit through about his brain like insects, preying on his very undoing. Keith was the rot that they were attracted to; laid their eggs to feed off the dying embers of what was left of his heart. It crushed Lance – seeing him so defeated.

Keith heard the sniffling of oncoming tears coming from across the room, just a few feet away. The tender sensation of a body close enough to hear their breathing but not close enough to touch. For a fleeting moment Keith thought that he should comfort them, offer them his solace.

But they were drowning because of him. Whoever it was, surely they had swallowed the seas that he had let his body shed. Should have kept it inside – should have held close to the water that flooded his limbs and his lungs so that whoever this was wouldn’t have to taste the salt and sand too. It wasn’t fair for him to drag them under – it was never his place…never his luxury to depend on others.

But God, did it ever feel nice to know that someone was breathing in the same poison as you.

Keith blinked away the darkness, found the light that rose from the baseboards and attached it to the body across from him. The glistening rivers that wandered across Lance’s cheeks allowed themselves to be mirrored on Keith’s own face as he took in a quivering breath. Lance wasn’t drowning and neither was he as long as he let the water drain in little increments.

If he kept the floodgates closed, the dam would inevitably burst – if he threw buckets of water out every so often, they could remain shut and yet the dam would maintain its integrity. But with arms so weak and a body so tired, it would be hard to carry enough water on his own.

Lance looked up to see a grimace plastered across fair white skin and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. But instead of on Earth or the Castle, he was floating wherever Keith was, hovering between the living and the dead. The ocean felt so warm against his skin; flesh to flesh contact that was nearly unbearable. From here, Lance could see the depth of the ocean in the dark circles that the water swarmed.

For every brush his thumb made across Keith’s cheek, more tears came in little rivers towards the well of his eyes. There was only the vague sensation of air against his own wet face that told Lance he was crying even harder than before. On his knees beside Keith’s bed, Lance felt little memories teasing the edge of his vision – his sister playing with his hair as he would fall asleep; the smell of low tide and his mother’s perfume existing in perfect harmony.

Wherever Keith had taken him, it was easy to see where he had lost himself along the way. Hidden amongst the far corners of this world, Shiro was waiting for him. Keith had more likely than not been spending hours there – night after night – staving off grief with little pieces of the past.

How selfish of him – Shiro, Lance thought. How selfish had he been to take Keith from the rest of them? They were grieving too, be it not quite the same gravity. And yet here he was – Keith – stolen away, but so easy to touch. What would it take to drag him out? If Lance looked back, would Keith still be there? Would he chose to stay with Shiro instead?

But this wasn’t about Lance – this was Keith; a separate entity entirely with their own heart and own desires. Wherever it was that Shiro had summoned him, Keith had gone willingly and slowly. He had dipped his feet first, into his waist and over his head. But this Shiro wouldn’t make him whole again – memories can never make you whole.

“I’ll bring him home.” Forehead to forehead with matted hair clinging to their cheeks – it was so close to a prayer. “If it makes you happy, I’ll bring him home.”

Chapter Text

“With her ankles sunken in asphodel, she wept for the roses of earth which fell.”
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning “Calls on the Heart”

The air was thicker this time – even more so than the last – when Lance wandered into the shared living quarters. Pidge held down one end of a sofa, Hunk mirroring their position on the other side of the room. The monolithic gap between their teeming emotions was exponentially larger than Lance had ever felt before. Glimmering truths propelled themselves towards him – Pidge rubbing their palms together between their knees, the way Hunk adjusted his grip between his own.

Unsure of where to sit, Lance continued to stand just between the ends of either couch, gaze trained firmly on the floor beneath his feet. The air became a stretch of finely woven thread, threatening to break all too soon – before he could find his bearings; connect the words that edged along his lips.

“He’s sick.”

“I know.” Pidge’s voice wavered somewhere around the center, leaving Lance’s heart feeling heavier than anything else he had ever held. It sat so sure within his chest. In the places where it touched his skin, he could feel the warm pulse of life – Keith’s life was so very, very fragile right now. It wasn’t simply a matter of survival anymore. There was a resounding question mark at the end of the phrase “how long”.

How long could he keep going? How long was too long? This was borrowed time now and Keith could only take so much. Lance – in his own defense – had always cared too much.

Had always tried harder than his body could take and gave more than he had to give. For many years now, Keith had been the target of that affection, as abrasive as it may have been. Lance had always made sure to tarnish his words – make them masculine, make them cheap. If they were tinged with common flirtation or casual comradery, they wouldn’t be so heavy. They wouldn’t have the rounded corners, pointed chin – something along the lines of love. Easier to swallow, not only for others, but for himself.

But the gaze that Hunk shot him was full of rapid fire understanding and pity and Pidge seemed to know too well what it felt like to love someone who was so lost. There was nothing that Lance knew to compare his guilt to – this wasn’t the same as leaving his family, wasn’t the same as leaving earth. Very little could be done to remedy the hole that had been torn through Keith from the same mourning that they had all known at some point or another. Loosing family was never easy – this was the second one that Keith had lost.

Lance drew circles in fine winding patterns across the floor with his eyes in his best attempt to stave off questions. He had been drawn in – summoned – to the place that had been holding Keith hostage for so very long now; Lance was almost certain that he could be pulled back out. But whose job was it really? No one’s in specific, but if the best form of medicine could be delivered in a tender touch, then maybe Shiro was all that they really needed.

The silence seemed to linger around the edges of the collective vision – what were they going to do? What was the adjunct remedy to tie together with the trek that was soon to follow?

“I promised I’d bring Shiro home.”

“Why would you ever!?” Pidge’s arms shot out when they stood – a collective sigh in exasperation if only through their motions. “You can’t just promise him things like that!” Their voice was so very, very loud in comparison to the stillness that surrounded them prior.

“What if you can’t bring him back, Lance? What if Shiro’s gone?”

“Gone, gone?” Hunk echoed.

“Yes,” Pidge sat, head handing low towards the bend in their legs until it had disappeared between their knees. “Gone, gone.”

Lance felt it when his stomach hit the floor; felt the exact moment when he stopped breathing. The universe rushed past him – empty fields, sweeping waves, Cliffside houses – and wherever those words, took him, nothing was real there. It was the same place he had stood with Keith, but he was alone there now and it was a maze of emotions.

Nothing felt quite as strong as the panic.

“We have to try…” Lance’s words came in wisps, barely a timbre to his voice – it spoke profusely to his dismay. Gentle dew drops seemed to cast shadows along his vision in hazy fog. It was the precursor to the tears.

“If we don’ try, then we lose Keith too.” There were bolts of lightening through Lance’s mind that drew shadows across his memory in the shape of Keith’s legs, tangled in his blankets. They were slimmer, straighter, paler than the moon and entirely lifeless.

“If we don’t try, then what kind of friends are we?”

Soft blinking lashes crested themselves along Pidge’s cheeks and gently calloused knuckles caressed Hunk’s jaw. Lance wondered if they could see the same future that he could – the one where he laid in Keith’s place with ocean waves crashing over his body, longing for a sense of home.

“And if we fail?”

Lance’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together uncomfortably. The shooting pain behind his eyelids – the fog inside his head – turned itself into a sort of willpower that had only seen once, written on his mother’s face as she shut the door behind his father.

“We only fail if we stop fighting.”

At night, Lance liked to pretend that he could hear his mother’s voice – liked to think that she was in their front yard, planting flowers in her garden, wondering if he was happy somewhere too. He would love to tell her that he was happy. Lance wanted more than anything to tell her that he was safe and that things were going well and that he would be home soon.

Lying to save someone else’s feelings, lying to pretend that things didn’t hurt him, lying to save face. Always lying – mostly to himself. But he wanted so very badly for it to be the truth. Anyway, where was the fine line between truth and morality? In a world of truths, he would have to admit that he was lonely; that he was tired and scared and worried he wouldn’t make it out alive.

Was it really wise to fight this battle when it wasn’t even his own?

What was the probability that Shiro really was gone? The chance that Keith would never see him as the hero when this was all over? That he would be even more heart broken when this was all over (if he chose to go through with it at all)?

Lance blinked in bewilderment at his own inner monologue. He would have seen his mother’s hand for even suggesting that this was all for selfish reasons. Like the time he admitted that yes, he had only agreed to do the dishes because he had failed to mention that he tore a hole in the bottom of the trash bag when he had changed it the day before. He remembered a particular pair of butter yellow sandals that she often wore to the market on Wednesday afternoons. Yes, those were the shoes she had been wearing that day.
But she wasn’t here now, was she? Who was there to admonish his egocentric thoughts – remind him that he must first do for others, then do for himself? His mother would have also said that he should be kind to his heart and heed its desires, all the while maintaining his integrity.

Would she have liked Keith? Lance certainly liked him. Keith stirred something in his heart that he had only ever used against his sisters – a fire that he liked to think would go out on its own. But this one was long burning with heavy smoke and a gentle scent like lilies or jasmine that stirred something else. The more days passed though, the worse for wear his lungs became and the more he began to think that this was going to be forever. Perhaps he was allergic to this particular flower.

Lance dragged his fingers along his pillow, enjoyed the warmth of the blanket on his legs. Lingering sensations of guilt seemed to pluck at his insides – it wasn’t because he loved him, but because Keith would inevitably come to understand the nature of his affections. If lance had his way, Keith would never know. There was no use burdening him with the knowledge that he had been breaking someone’s heart time and time again for the past 3 years. Resignation meant that Lance would carry this guilt on his own, as painful as that may be.

Turning onto his back, Lance let a hand rest gently on the jut of his hips – the soft, tan skin there was uncomfortably sensitive now more than ever. Lance could imagine rougher hands, paler skin, but never accurately depict their weight or caress. Could never know what they would feel like against his chest or face. Would Keith’s hands be cold? Would they be quick or slow when they ran across his body?

“Poor thing,” Lance scoffed, quickly withdrawing his hand from his thigh only to smash a fist into the wall beside him. The thoughts were unshakable, unmistakable as affection. And sure it was easy enough to ignore when he wasn’t alone, but when he was lying in bed with his shirt beside it, it started to become tangible. The nausea became a nervous energy that turned itself into prickly skin and doing his laundry every morning with the excuse that he had acne prone skin.

No one ever questioned him.

Part of Lance wanted Pidge to laugh behind their hand as they walked past him, for Hunk to lecture him on wasting water. Lance wanted Shiro to side eye him with that knowing smile plastered across his face. Wanted more than anything to know the weight of Keith’s hand on the curve of his spine. Know for certain the path that he would take from his shoulder to his hips and legs.

There it was again – tightening, fluttering panic. Lance could feel the pulsing blood course faster beneath his skin. He almost forgot to breathe – barely noticed the flex and thrum of his body.

His desire was an immovable object battling against his will to maintain his integrity. Lance refused to – as he saw it – taint his relationship with Keith. They were barely friends, never more, and to test those waters would be to blow a hole in his own ship.

It seemed that his body had different plans though. Lance took note of the way his blankets tented themselves only slightly with every gentle inhale. The texture of the sheets against his naked skin, the cool air against his pert nipples. If he tried hard enough, he could picture Keith’s once iridescent smile above him, gentle hands as close in size and shape as he could imagine curling around him.

Lance smashed a fish against the wall beside his bed. He hoped that Pidge and Hunk couldn’t hear him. Prayed that Allura and Coran were already asleep. Wondered if maybe, just maybe, Keith would hear him and realize that he wasn’t alone.

Lance walked the milky white meadows, felt the flowers kiss his naked body. The wind blew its weary breath across his skin as it urged him onwards towards the water. As the dirt became softer, it began to squeeze between his toes, leaving footprints that disappeared just as quickly as they formed. In the distance, Lance could see the crests of ocean waves – stucco houses with slatted windows. Snow white flowers dotted the landscape and he could vaguely recall their smell – whatever it was that burned alongside his heart.

The flowers and wind seemed to move Lance forward, urge him closer and closer to sea. The warm afternoon sun eased him from one meadow to the next, kissing his lashes and brow with warm rays of light.

As Lance stood beside the sea, he allowed the world to come to closure around him. The endless depths of the ocean and the line of the horizon seemed to blend together. The beach would spread on forever though because this wasn’t a reality he had ever seen before. The oceans were too grey – would swallow him whole if he dared to enter. The sun was blinding and scornful and there was no way to find your way back as all of the meadows looked just the same once you had circled the shore a time or two.

But just beyond the field’s edge sat such familiarity – a taste of something he hadn’t thought of in years. The wind urged him to reach for it. The smell of lilies begged him to come forward.

Lance turned swiftly on his feet – looked over his shoulder to make sure the ocean was behind him as he fought head first against the breeze that dragged him backwards. He would not stay here – couldn’t stay here – if he ever hoped to drag Keith out too.

Chapter Text

His body laid barefoot in the snow, lips broken and weathered by the storm. There was no olive tint to his burnished skin – it was like plastic stretched across bone. Heavy lungs heaved against smoke, vulnerable to the flower by which it was poisoned.

Lance could not scream – would repeatedly open his mouth in a bewildered attempt to grab the attention of the body that laid lifeless on the shore beside frozen waters. Tearing through reeds, it seemed to send sparks behind him, clouds of endless flames from every direction.

“Shiro!” His words caught on something just ahead of him – never made it quite past his own ears, drowned by the rushing sound of fire. Words were only whispers to the world and this land was growing ever smaller. “Shiro!” He breathed again.

His wails of guilt fed the flames, fanned them higher and stronger as if pleading for him to stop – give up. A warning that if he kept fighting, they would put an end to it all. For every sprint he would take towards the barren shoreline, only a step would be made – a never ending field of toxic flowers and blood. A battlefield well worn by toil and death. Lance would not become fodder for this barren earth.

The sound of his own heart in his ears became more deafening than the subterfuge around him. The heatless fire and the smoke that stimulated his anxiety – made it hard to breathe – became a distant memory as he grew close enough to see the ivory of Shiro’s teeth. His chest moved, but the swell was so very slight and the dimple of his sternum even deeper than his imagination dared to allow.

Fallen over Shiro’s body, Lance shielded them both from the flying ash and sparks that conjured flames from the dry heat of the world surrounding. He placed a hand on either side of Shiro’s face, pleaded wordlessly for him to speak. What did he want him to say? Speak to his life – comfort him with the sound of his voice.

“Keith?”

Shiro’s voice was just as empty as his own, just as breathless and desperate as they all were by now. Lance’s forehead fell towards Shiro’s, a placid smile spread across his face.

“Lance.”

Shiro’s eyes, still unparted, relaxed themselves into the rest of his body in relief. His cracked, blistered smile tore itself further and a shaky hand cradled the back of Lance’s head. Fingers dove into his hair, tore at the knots that built up across weeks and loosened his resolve.

Tears began to drive divots into his cheeks, tainted with the pollen of some noxious flower – evil was inside those roots. That flower was potted by his bedside, by Keith’s and by everyone else’s who had ever loved and lost. Shiro could wash the earth free of its poison – subdue the smoke enough so that others could breathe. He took it all – their pain, their fear, their longing – and built them shrines to the memory of the sweet smell of spring. When he planted himself in the pot beside their beds, he became an anchor for their suffering. When Shiro was there, they could not drown. With Shiro there, they would be free.

In the safety of his lion, Lance felt at ease. He waited patiently for Shiro’s eyes to open, had stopped bothering to count the hours as they passed.

Lance stood from his chair ever so slowly, walked towards the sleeping bag where Shiro laid silent. He could see the ever so gentle rise and fall of his chest – a certain reminder that this was Shiro and he was very much alive. There was a sense of serenity that covered his face; gentle and peaceful when asleep. But his muscles seemed tense, as if waiting for attack.

Shiro had looked so tranquil when he laid dying on that shoreline. There was no fear in his clenched jaw – Lance had never seen him so relaxed. Had Shiro found solace in the solitude? What was it that had drawn him to it? Why had he left? What was he running away from?

“I’m awake.” Shiro spoke hoarsely, eyes still closed. Lance fell to one knee and then the other, sitting cross legged on the floor beside his friend’s resting form. Both of Shiro’s hands came to rest on his sternum – rise, fall, rise, fall.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

“We’ll be at the castle soon.”

“I was surprised that it was you.”
Lance’s heart skipped one beat when the cold water of the waves grazed his feet, and maybe a second. It dropped into his stomach and then his stomach fell through the floor. There was an unexpected sting of rejection spattered somewhere in the notion that Shiro didn’t think he cared. Maybe he just didn’t care enough.
“You expected Keith?” That is to say, Shiro thought highly of Keith.
“Ya, sort of.”
Resting his elbows against his knees, Lance wrung his hands together – they were sweaty.
Was it better to tell him or to stay silent? At one point or another, Shiro would find out – probably sooner since it was inevitable once they had arrived home. This was what Lance had wanted, right? Had hoped that he would be able to find Shiro – bring him home, make Keith happy again. Would this…REALLY make Keith happy again?
“He’s been sick for a while now…”
The air of the sea filled his senses – white crests rose against his legs and filled his wounds as they crept higher. They felt like fire against his skin; brought black dots across his vision that burned with passion. An electric sense of rage filled every inch of Lance’s body – his hands found reprieve as they wrung together.
“He won’t talk to anyone.” He was almost certain that Shiro could hear his desperation – he could hear it in his own voice like some sickly sweet song that rang out in love or something sort of similar.
But Shiro said nothing. His eyes remained closed, his body still, his breathing regular. It was like he couldn’t feel the water that Lance was drowning in or the fire that set him of edge. The water grew ever higher as he realized he was swimming alone and leaked from the corners of his eyes and came in droplets from his mouth as he voice grew louder.
“For…months? I don’t know…five or six maybe?” Lance drew his knees to his chest – hugged them tightly like they were his mother. “How long have you even been gone?”
“I’m sorry.”
His heart stopped again – frozen in time as he repeated the words over and over again in his head. Were they even genuine? Was Shiro even hearing him? Understanding what had happened? Lance…hadn’t truly understood either until he saw him for himself.
“He needs to see you. He needs to know you’re alive.”
For the first time, Shiro showed signs of emotion – a clenched jaw and flared nostrils.
“I can’t be responsible for his happiness.”
“Then at least be responsible for his depression! It’s your fault anyway!”
“I don’t see how his negativity is my fault.” Shiro’s eyes knit tighter together. His brow was creased and white knuckled fists raised themselves over the floor in defense. Lance felt eager to wipe the snarl from his lips.
“You’re Keith’s only family, Shiro – he thinks you’re dead!”
Quickly, Shiro’s eyes snapped to alert, staring sharply at the ceiling of the blue lion’s cabin. Lance watched something flash across them – it wasn’t fire, wasn’t water. It was something so much darker and sinister; like Shiro was standing on a ledge that Keith and Lance could only ponder.
Lance watched the darkness subside with time and piercing white replace it as Shiro’s eyes slipped closed again. Not quite blinding – like a fog that Shiro was trying to keep at bay.
“I’m sorry I yelled….”
“It’s fine.”
A shrill beep sounded from the front of the lion as auto pilot signaled their location. A heavy air filled the cabin when neither responded – the pallid smoke that filled Shiro’s eyes was the same smoke that had suffocated Lance as he ran to him across barren fields. It was what made it so hard to breathe around him – as if Shiro could not only cleanse the air, but he attracted the pollution in a never ending vicious cycle of self-sabotage.
Lance stood, dizzy as he moved to sit at the head of his lion and prepare for their landing. Shiro stayed behind, laid out on the floor, eyes still closed. The smoke built a wall between them – muffled Shiro’s voice as he spoke.
“Dead sounds nice.”

Pidge moved a fist full of flat sided marbles across their mancala board, chin resting in their hands with crescent shaped divots driving into their cheek. Across from them, Hunk lay listless against the cushions – the past few weeks had run them raw with worry.
“Do you think your hair grows slower in space?” Pidge dropped the last of their pieces into one of hunks divots, drawing the hand towards their mouth, tearing at the skin along the edge of their thumb. Hunk blindly reached over, feeling for the wooden board, before turning to grab his own handful from the few options remaining.
“Not really sure. Maybe?”
Pidge swiveled their body across the couch, laying with their feet opposite to Hunk, tracing the patterns of blue that weaved through the panels. As time sped forward while Lance was gone, the other paladins had exhausted their resources for entertainment – any sort of distraction. Allura had resigned herself to endless piles of research and Coran was making friends with Kalternecker in a seemingly desperate attempt at obtaining companionship. Hunk found solace in the company of Pidge and the two of them found reprieve in familiar activities.
They had given up trying to coerce Keith from his bed. The food they would leave for him would stay uneaten sans the drink and it was unclear when he made time to use the bathroom.
Everyone was growing increasingly concerned.
“Could be the change in vitamin absorption. Is space goo even nutritious?” Pidge attempted to divert their attention once again.
“I mean I think so? Or at least nutritious for Alteans.”
“But we’re not Altean. We’re human.”
“You are not wrong there.” Hunk stopped mid-sentence – seemed to have struggle finding his words. “Human and Galra. Sort of.”
Both friends presumed the other could feel their guilt wracked consciousness’ bubbling to the surface. It burned like bile in the back of their throats.
“I’d really rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind.”
A crackling sounded overhead. Pidge shot to a sitting position and Hunk visibly perked at the sound.
“Attention paladins, please report to the blue lion’s hangar. Lance will be landing shortly.”
The fear that rang in Hunk’s eyes was only rivaled by the dread in Pidge’s that was ever so slightly littered with hope. They both moved quickly towards the hangar, their footsteps like bell chimes ringing through the castle. The sound was only broken by sharply drawn breaths and an almost palpable tension that awaited as the two grew closer. Pidge lost traction to Hunk as his legs carried him faster. They could see him just in the distance, Allura and Coran not far ahead. The bulkhead of the hangar obscured the view of the blue lion who had already landed.
“Shiro!” Hunk’s voice wailed in siren like strength and Pidge’s legs found strength they didn’t know they had, racing forward until they could see Shiro, leaning against Lance as Hunk attempted the levy some of the weight onto his own shoulders. Pidge stopped suddenly.
“Shiro...”

Chapter Text

“Have you told him about Keith yet?”
Lance shook his head, bowed and concerned – rightfully so – with the answer to Hunk’s question.
“I tried…” He started, unsure where to go from there. Pidge and Hunk, it seemed, could see where this story would turn. In the brief time before Shiro had gone to wash up, it had become clear where his mentality stood. Somewhere in his glassy eyes and expressionless face, his apathy was clearly read. There was no regret, as if he didn’t truly grasp the gravity of the situation.
“Do you think it’ll help to see him?”
“I think it might.”
A gruff voice sounded and the three paladins who sat on Lance’s bed diverted their attention to Shiro, standing freshly showered in the doorway, his towel still clasped firmly in his hand. His gaze was somber and the smoke that was so often drawn to him seemed to float around his feet. The way his shoulders hung forward spoke volumes to his desire to simply stop breathing – if it meant the poison would stop seeping into his bloodstream he would gladly surrender.
Lance stood, wading through the reeds around his hips to come face to face with Shiro. The taller of the two appeared with little confidence, but resolute in his impassive gaze. The breeze of the meadows lent Lance strength to stand at full height, to stand his ground, make himself heard as he confronted the creature that had drawn Keith here in the first place.
Keith loved him – as clear as the desert skies, Lance was certain of this. And yet in Shiro’s soulless eyes, that didn’t seem to matter. Time and time again he had seen Shiro lay waste to Keith’s entire life – every time he left he took a part of Keith with him and this time he had taken the entire god damn thing. With all the hope he had left, Lance prayed that Shiro could see his antipathy in his snarl and smell the smite on his skin.
If he hurt him, there would be hell to pay.
They were standing in the heart of the fire there again – flames roared from either side of Lance and Shiro as they stood opposite each other. As the room filled with smoke Shiro’s face became pallid once again – his skin long and stretched against his bones as if the life inside him was being suffocated by the ash.
He was sickened by the noxious fumes, just as Lance and Keith and everyone else were. Lance couldn’t fathom in any respect just why Shiro allowed himself to be killed by something other people handed him.
Did they even give him the option to say no?
His own rage was so blinding, he wasn’t sure he cared.
When the air cleared, the room was silent and Lance wondered if the others had seen what he had deep in Shiro’s heart. That soft voice in the back of his head that pleaded for him to just stop.
“What do you even know?” Shiro muttered under his breath. There was no malice in his voice, no sour feelings that had stewed in the shower after their interaction in Lance’s Lion. Shiro just sounded…depressed.
“Nothing.” Lance sank back down to his bed, his head hanging limply between his shoulders while Hunk left his hand against his back. “Shiro, we know nothing.” He pilled against the soft fibers of his sheets, the texture soothing against his skin. It took heavier and heavier breaths to gain his footing, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat while dewy crests rose around his lashes. He could taste the salty air as he swallowed a growing lump in his throat.
“The only thing we know is that one day you were here,” Lance felt the air leave his lungs, flooded with poison again. “And then you weren’t.”
“And what about Keith?”
He stopped talking.
He stopped eating.
He stopped everything.
Lance wondered if soon he would stop breathing.
“You said he was sick.”
In a blinding red blur, Lance was on his feet, hands pushed flush against Shiro’s chest, forcing him backwards.
“Well ya, I don’t how else to say it!” Lance pushed with more force, hearing the whir of his palms colliding with Shiro’s shoulder. “What do you want to hear?” He pushed once more so that Shiro’s back was to the wall. He pushed once more for good measure. “That he’s committing passive suicide!?”
There was no more smoke filled rage. There were no loud and crashing waves or gushing levees. There was stillness, silence and the most scared eyes Lance had ever had the displeasure of looking into. The cool sea air was brilliant and peaceful while Shiro’s heart beat from his chest and Lance held it cautiously in his hands.
“…Let me see him…”
He put his own heart back where it belonged.
“Fine.”

Shiro proceeded forward with caution, face to face with Keith’s door. Pidge had told him not to bother paging him – that he wouldn’t respond – but to “just walk in”. This, it seemed, was going to be a very difficult task and with Lance standing just behind him – he had likely been the one to head his search – he dreaded the conversation that was soon to come. Shiro could thinly gauge – always could – that Lance was more concerned for Keith in this moment that he wanted to let onto.
He felt the water guide him forward.
Keith’s room was unlit, blue lights glowing beside the floorboards just as it had been for a while now. Shiro looked to Keith’s desk, his own jacket hanging over the back on the chair, just as he had left it so many months ago. It caused bubbles of panic to rise in his chest.
Something ran roughly into his shoulder – Lance, as he elbowed through the door that Shiro stood before, kneeling next to the bed. He peeked slightly further into the room, smelling the smog of poison that lay only feet away. It was overwhelming, the way it moved in the air as the blanketed form shifted ever so slightly – he felt like he was going to be sick but he inched ever closer instead, watching with baited interest as Lance extended his arm, eager to see what he reached for.
Keith’s cheeks were shimmering against the light coming in from the hallway – Lance wiped away his tears with the pads of his thumb with the most longing gaze. He longed for Keith to be free from whatever great and unfathomable pain it was he saw.
In another lifetime, Shiro might have said he was to blame for the suffering he was witnessing. Not long ago, he would have blamed himself for leaving – told himself he should have stayed, even to risk his own sanity, if that meant that Keith could have continued to live in peace. He should have stayed despite his own suffering. Should have stayed even when he really only wanted to go. Shouldn’t have given this lonely child another reason to feel abandoned. He had abandoned so much.
But Keith wasn’t a child anymore and eventually Shiro had realized his own toxic role in Keith’s dependency and said enough was enough.
That part…hadn’t been all that long ago.
It had been easy to distance himself from his departure when he was alone on a riverbed – it had been easy when he was half dead. Isn’t that why he had left in the first place? But looking at Keith’s face, twisted as it was, he couldn’t help but remember the ways in which Keith was no longer young and naive, but always a child in his eyes.
He fell beside Lance, kneeling next to the bed for closer inspection.
The tide rose to his waist then.
Lance glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and went back to running a hand through Keith’s tangled hair.
“What happened?”
“When you left, everything kind of…fell apart. Slowly. But ya…so he’s…sick.”
Shiro wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him; comfort Keith the way he truly needed right now. There was an unbearable weight on his shoulders, holding his hands by his side, beseeching him to back out. He had made his decision, hadn’t he – to leave? To finally release himself from the suffering that others brought him.
For Shiro, love was painful – he felt too much of it and all of it was too strong. Whether other’s warranted his relentless compassion was beside the point – when someone was suffering, he had to help and Keith had just suffered so much. How much of that suffering had been his own fault? He wasn’t the only one either – who had fallen for Shiro’s humanity – and had lost themselves in the process of mourning.
“Keith?”
Lance’s voice pulled Shiro from his own bereavement – his hand on top of Shiro’s, guiding him towards the place in Keith’s hair that he had been caressing before. He wove both of their fingers together into the matted locks and tears welled in Shiro’s eyes.
“Shiro’s here, Keith.”
The painful twist in Keith’s brow grew ever stronger in a way that Shiro felt tug at his heart – he felt Keith’s pain as if it were his own, his lungs permeated by the fear around him. The cooling life of Keith’s body below him was shaking his very core, sending nearly unstoppable tears seconds from surfacing. He was able to hold them off just long enough to gasp for air - just until Lance, still holding his hand over Shiro’s, glided their thumbs across Keith’s cheeks.
At first, it felt like he was being choked. Lance gave him the decency of not looking as a sob squeezed its way out of his body. He didn’t say anything when Shiro’s hands started to shake under his – Lance only squeezed back gently. Shiro could guess that Lance had probably cried like this a lot.
“Keith, open your eyes.”
“You’re not the real Shiro.”
They stopped. Lance’s grip on Shiro’s hand loosened and eventually both of their hands fell from Keith’s hair. The air was silent and Shiro’s eyes were dry and for the first time since they got to the door, he looked directly to Lance, bewilderment running wild in his features.
“Is that the first thing he’s said since I left?”
Slowly, Lance met Shiro’s gaze, watched the way his eyes melted into the lines of his frown – saw the way the water lapped against his neck now, threatening to pull him under. The water was polluted with his own ire – the wrath of a world he didn’t ask to carry on his shoulders. Lance wished he could remove the oil he had added to the fire.
He needed to ask – Had to Ask – just what had happened to make Shiro leave. What had happened that night to leave Keith so empty inside and a hole in everyone else’s hearts? Lance nodded slowly in grim confirmation, hoping that the words would be offered without pressure.
Instead, it started as a trickle – wispy bits of noxious fumes that escaped from Shiro’s barely open mouth. Then, the water started rushing towards him – the ocean of suffering that Shiro had levied for them all; the levy was finally breaking. It left Lance gasping and grappling for the surface, reaching for Shiro and Keith to take them with him. Save them with him.
The waves were so strong though, a current of circular emotions, wordless pain and all of the disorientation that it caused. Lance could remember the ocean as a child in this panic and the promise that if you closed your eyes and held your breath, the water would always take you to shore.
And when he opened his eyes, there was a mattress below him, Keith’s bed sheets in his fists. And a breeze. The smell of the ocean, the sound of seagulls, swaying reeds. Lance looked around himself – a wall-less room in the middle of a shallow marsh. Somewhere deep in his memory, Lance could recall the landscape that Keith looked out at, awash is the setting sun. Shiro reached out for his hand from where he sat beside him on the bed, eyes focused on the jacket that hung on the back of Keith’s chair.
Lance remembered his mother, the whispering ocean. He remembered the first time Keith had drawn him to this land unknowingly and it became clear in that moment that whatever Shiro had done, Lance was holding the hand of a demon.
He left him sitting on the bed, running to Keith and reaching under his arms.
“Keith,” Lance started, pulling his arms from where he rested listless on the floor, staring out at the dark sky that stretched before him with a waiting storm. Were they looking at the same sky? “Keith we need to go.”
Keith’s knees knocked against the floor, gaze absolutely transfixed on the mountains that rose in the distance, unaware of the person behind him trying to drag him back.
“We have to wait for Shiro.”
“No, Shiro is…no.” Lance crouched down behind him, trying to hoist him to his feet. The air got thinner and thinner the longer they stayed – anxiety that couldn’t be burned away. “Keith, forget Shiro. I need to get you home.”
“Shiro will come back.” Keith smiled and Lance felt his blood run cold. “He always comes back.”
Lance let go of Keith’s hand, let it drop to the ground and watched Keith place it back in his lap. He eyed Shiro from across the room in disdain, stalking towards him – a lion towards its prey.
“You!” Again, Lance found himself pounding his fists against Shiro’s chest in absolute agony. “What did you do!?” He would have ripped apart his skin if he had nails sharp enough – would have pulled the hair from Shiro’s head just to see him suffer too. “You think that you can just show back up and everything will be okay again?”
“You’re the one who brought me back!” Shiro’s hands were larger that Lance’s and he was stronger and his shove sent Lance stumbling backwards – he hadn’t expected Shiro to fight back. He stood back up too, poised and ready should it come again.
“You were dying!” Spit flew from the corners of his mouth when he spoke.
“I know!” The second shove came. “That was the plan!”
Lance threw his arms his the air, waving his hands in circles. “That’s a shitty plan!” Lance’s breathing was heavy and he gestured broadly towards Keith, still sitting on the floor across the room. “At least fix this first.”
“It’s not my responsibility, Lance.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you did to him, but you have to fix it!”
“I didn’t think it would turn out this way!”
“Then fix him!”
The strongest grip he had ever felt circled Lance’s arms and held them in place at his sides. Pleading, guilt filled and ridiculed eyes met his in confession. “I can’t, Lance! I can’t just fix this!” Somehow, Shiro’s hands squeezed him even tighter than before as he enunciated every word clearly and concisely. “I don’t know how.”
It would have been so much easier for Lance to keep screaming. Anger was easy then, just as it had always been when he was jealous of someone. But more than Lance was jealous of Shiro, he loved Keith.
“I didn’t hurt him.”
“Clearly you did.”
Shiro shot his gaze towards the wall, eyes colliding with his jacket, still resting on the back of Keith’s desk chair. It held no affront but it still taunted him – how quickly had he left? “Not…like that.”
“You called me a child.”
“Keith…” His voice a breathless whisper into the wind, carrying storm clouds from the distance. Lance could see the way Shiro’s pleas brought flooding waters towards their valley – something that Shiro didn’t seem privy to quite yet.
“I told you I loved you and you called me naïve.” The grey walls seemed to reflect the shadows of the encroaching clouds.
“I know.”
Fog rolled over the land as sweltering heat gave way to the storm – I was finally settling over the desert skies. He moved forwards, shakily coming up from behind the others. Keith still hadn’t torn his eyes from in front of himself but unlike before, they were lifeless and cold. Just like Shiro always looked on the warmest of days. Lance wondered if his eyes would look like that too one day, as if it were a rite of passage into adulthood.
Heartbreak, that is. And if that were the case, it may be sooner rather than later.
“What is he talking about, Shiro?”
“You came to my room that night because it was his birthday, right?” Thunder rolled loudly in the distance. Lance could hear the rain pelting the sand as it approached them. Watched the marsh ripple with the deluging force.
“Ya…it was…” Was this the confession of all his sins?
“But he left you. He made you choose.” Keith’s voice quivered as he spoke. But it wasn’t sadness that drove his heart to break – Lance could hear the words he wasn’t saying; you chose and you didn’t choose me, as if he were some third option.
“No, Keith. He didn’t.” Keith had laid it open for everyone to see – everything that he had abandoned. Everything that he had left behind when he was too afraid to face himself. It was easier not to say anything at all – if he opened his mouth everything might come spilling out at once. Lance, from behind, could see the tide rising higher and higher – assured destruction.
“Ya he did. He abandoned you when you needed him most.” Lance became startlingly aware of the quickened wind as Shiro seemed to drift further and further away – he was the one standing back instead. Keith moved – hugged his knees to his chest as the water began to kiss his toes. He watched his face grow more and more distorted in the water. “I would never…” Keith’s eyes yelled vengeful phrases at his own reflection. “I didn’t abandon you like that.”
A sick feeling settle in Lance’s limbs. Gritty bits of sand whipped past his hands. His socks were damp. There was so much distance between him and Shiro. When had he grown so far away?
“I let him go because I love him, Keith.”
“And I let you go because I love you but it still fucking hurts!”
Lance and Shiro stood together by Keith’s bed now, watching his shoulders shake. Water rippled from his sides where his hands had splashed onto the floor. There was such little life left in his bowed shoulders that Lance had to wonder if he was even alive at all.
“Why can’t I just move on like you do?”
“Keith…” Shiro approached slowly from behind, kneeled against his back to run his hands through Keith’s hair. From across the room, Lance fought against his boiling blood – he reasoned with himself, pleaded for his anger to stay under control as he felt his face flush red.
“I haven’t moved on.”
“Then why don’t you hurt like this?”
Shiro leaned further in, but his forehead to the back of Keith’s hair beside his hand. His shoulders fell as he breathed out. “I do.” The breath that followed shook timidly from his lungs, leaving his voice weak. “It hurts every single day.”
In all of his rage, Lance found himself running towards the coming storm, hale pelting his face, his fists clenched tightly before pushing the tallest of them to the ground beside Keith.
“You can’t touch him like that!” Sirens blared wildly in the distance and the sound of gushing water pulsed beside it. Lance heaved breath after breath through the cold, pounding rain. His vision grew darker – was there any oxygen left in the air or had his own malice seen away with that?
“Lance,” Shiro’s voice sounded so distant. “…wrong with you!?”
Lance blinked once, then twice, and when he opened them again, he was standing over Shiro, eyes adjusted to the darkness of Keith’s room again. There was a lump high in his throat, his fists still quivering by his side. He couldn’t meet the shock in his friend’s eyes.
“He’s in love with you.”
Shiro sat back up, cradled his knees between his elbows as he groaned under his breath. There would soon be holes in the floor where the two stared intently.
“I know.”
“I want him to look at me the way he looks at you.”
“I know that too.”
It was startling how Shiro’s demeanor changed in that moment. There was a smile in his words – Lance felt as if he had caught a glimmer of the man he had known in the Garrison – the nostalgia of it was intimidating, yet the safety he felt next to this man…
Keith was right – this wasn’t the same Shiro. But he also wasn’t the same Keith these days either and maybe that was okay. None of them would ever be the same when this was over. If this was ever over. Taking the empty seat on the floor beside Shiro, Lance gazed into Keith’s glassy stare.
“Do you love him back?”
There is no sound in space except within the castle’s atmosphere – Keith’s bedroom seemed to be exempt from that power. The silence was deafening, so much so that Lance wondered if he really wanted to hear the answer.
“I think I could…if things were different.” He breathed a sigh of relief, watched as Shiro’s brow knit tightly in contemplation. “I think if I met him today I might.”
“That makes sense.” Lance whispered. And it did – could he have loved someone that he had known as a child? Would he have loved them in another place and time? Maybe so, but Shiro had cared for Keith so long that the idea of loving him romantically felt an entirely impossible and rightfully wrong. “So…What exactly happened that night?”
“I was sad. Kind of lonely.” There wasn’t any reason to mention why that was. “Keith told me he loved me and I told him he was a child who didn’t know what he was talking about. I…” His breathing grew shaky again just before Shiro cleared his throat to speak again, spilling words into the dark, too ashamed to even open his eyes for fear of having to face the damage he inflicted and Lance was reminded of the toxic fog surrounding them. “I told him that he only thought he loved me because I was the only person who had shown him affection when he was growing up.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“Honestly? Ya, I kind of do.” The guilt was eating him alive. “And it’s not his fault but I can’t just let him…I can’t…”
Lance’s guilt felt as if it would eat him alive too – all of the assumptions that he had unjustly made. “You can’t abuse that power over him?”
“No, I can’t. And I don’t want to.” Shiro swallowed the bitterest pill – a medicine of his own making. “And I also don’t want to be the only thing in this world that makes him happy. He deserves better than that.”
The darkness of the room allowed Lance to shift his eyes towards Shiro unnoticed. “Ya, he does.” It seemed that the demon could still cry. “Then why did you leave him with no one?”
The tears stopped.
“He wasn’t alone. He had you guys.” Was this a farce? “I was hoping…maybe he would learn how to lean on you more.”
Lance was more than aware of the thinning air and had grown familiar with the smell that filled the empty space it left behind. The Shiro that once was – their sounding board and martyr – and the Shiro that was now; this Shiro was too lost in his own lies to see how he had changed.
Rotting flesh.
Lance stood.
“Bullshit.”
There was no mistaking their eye contact now – Shiro snapped to face Lance; a dear in headlights. His brain fired randomly, already caught in one lie, not sure if he wanted to be caught in another. What made the truth so risky?
“I left because I know how badly it hurts to watch someone you love suffer and I would never make someone else watch that.” Why was his breathing so ragged? “I didn’t want Keith to have to suffer more than he already has.”
Lance eyed Shiro skeptically, arms crossed and towering over him once again. “Does this have to do with that thing that you have?”
“No.”
He pursed his lips, bit back the absolute rage that bubbled inside him. Forget Shiro the martyr – Shiro was the catalyst of all of their suffering – especially Keith’s. Lance’s own bitter ire burned brightly in the dark – brought color to his tired face that seemed most unnatural. He held his tongue to keep from screaming.
“So you were just gonna kill yourself and didn’t want Keith to know?” Lance ground his teeth together. “You wanted him to live the rest of his life wondering if you were ever coming home.” If eyes could kill, his would have. Those toxically bright eyes were brilliant in the darkness – a sign of life that Shiro couldn’t harness. “That’s an even worse reason; I’ll take the bullshit instead.”