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Keith felt the tears, hot, stinging the corners of his eyes. No, he thought, covering his eyes with a hand. Not happening.
“I’m out of here!” he exclaimed, slamming his fists on the table in front of him and standing up. His head dropped, hair hanging down around his face as he tried to pull himself together. “Get me out of here! I’m out of here!” he yelled, and started to walk out of the shot. He could hear the embarrassing break in his voice as he shouted, “I said I wouldn’t cry!”
The tears he was blinking back were flowing over now. He swiped a hand across his cheek as he felt a hot, wet trail run down it.
You’re embarrassing yourself, he thought, making a beeline toward his bedroom. You look so weak right now.
He entered his room and shut the door quickly, immediately shucking off his armor and changing into a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants. He was still wiping tears off of his face.
He hated crying. It made him feel weak and vulnerable and pitiful. If he was going to cry, at least he could do it here, in the solitude of his bedroom. He’d rather die than let someone else see him like this. He knew other people would see this as frailty, and that’s the last thing Keith wanted anyone to think of him.
He climbed onto his bed, settling in with his back against the wall and his knees pulled up under his chin. He grabbed his pillow and put it on top of his knees, burying his face in it. There was no stopping it at this point. He would have to cry it out until it stopped naturally.
Keith let the tears continue to fall, muffling his sobs in his pillow. The painful feelings kept welling up inside him, and he felt like a dam had burst. He was breathing hard and loud, like he couldn’t get enough air. His chest and throat burned. His nose had started to run, so Keith sniffled and wiped it on his shirt sleeve. Gross.
A sudden knock on the door made Keith jump.
“What?” he asked, trying to make his feeble voice sound as normal as possible.
“It’s Lance.”
“Go away.” Keith waited as quietly as he could to make sure Lance left, but he didn’t hear any footsteps. After a few seconds, the silence was broken again.
“Can we talk?” Lance’s voice sounded strained and nervous.
“Not now. I can’t,” Keith responded, feeling his throat tighten and his voice being crushed down into a whimper. He heard Lance sigh on the other side of the door.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I just… want to let you know I’m here for you.”
Lance didn’t walk away. Keith wiped his nose again, rubbed his eyes, and tried to calm down his breathing as best he could. When he felt like he could talk without immediately breaking down again, he shuffled to the door and opened it. Lance was sitting on the floor outside with his back against the wall, legs crossed and arms resting on his knees. He looked up when he heard the door open.
“Hey,” he said softly, standing up.
“What do you want?” Keith responded.
“To talk.” Lance paused, playing with the hem of his jacket. “I heard you recording your vlog.”
Keith slumped against the door frame and closed his eyes.
“I don’t want your pity. I’m fine.”
“I’m not pitying you, Keith. I care about you. I know I don’t make that clear, but it’s true.” Lance stopped, waiting for a response from Keith. He didn’t get one. Keith kept his eyes trained on the floor. Lance continued.
“And I trust you. I know I can come to you with my problems. And I want you to know you can do the same. I’m here for you, man. If you need someone to talk to, or someone who will just listen, I can do that. I can be that person for you.” Lance stopped again, trying to get Keith to meet his eyes. He huffed, and then put a hand on Keith’s shoulder.
“I mean it. I want to be here for you. Whenever you need me. I can-” Lance stopped when he heard Keith sniffle. Finally, Keith looked up at him, and Lance saw that he was crying again.
“I- I can leave. If you don’t want to talk to me. Sorry for pushing you like this.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck and started to turn away, but stopped when he heard a choked response.
“Wait,” Keith said in a voice so hoarse it was almost a whisper. Lance turned to face him again, looking at him expectantly. He waited for Keith to continue, but instead, Keith leaned into Lance, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. He took a few shaky breaths before mumbling, “Thanks.”
Lance returned the hug, rubbing circles on Keith’s back as Keith continued to cry. Lance stood there holding him even as his arms tired and his back started aching. He would stand there until Keith was ready to move.
Keith sniffed again, stepping back and looking Lance in the eyes.
“Thank you so much,” he said quietly. Lance smiled at him. Keith realized that he probably looked like an ugly mess right now, and Lance was seeing him like this: tear-stained cheeks, red face, eyes puffy, nose running. He fought the urge to hide his face, opting instead for looking down at the floor again.
“Hey,” Lance said gently. He stopped, and Keith knew he was waiting for Keith to look at him, so he gave in. He returned Lance’s gaze.
“I totally get that it’s hard for you to trust people. I haven’t made it easy for you to trust me. And I don’t want to rush you or force you to open up to me or anything, but I do want to make it as easy as possible to do that when you’re ready.”
Keith’s chest felt tight again, but for a different reason than before. He took another grounding breath.
“It’s a process.”
“I know. I’m ready to go along for the ride, if that’s okay with you.” Lance was still giving him that warm smile, and Keith couldn’t think of a single reason to deny him.
“I’d like that,” he murmured.
Lance embraced Keith again, resting his chin on the top of Keith’s head. Keith closed his eyes and sighed happily.
“I’m glad we talked,” Lance said, unmoving from his resting place.
“Me too,” Keith responded, but the words were muffled in Lance’s neck.
“I’ve gotta go wash my jacket now, though,” Lance continued.
“Why?” Keith had closed his eyes and was just resting against Lance at this point.
“Because you got snot on it,” Lance replied. Keith pulled away and looked at the wet spot on Lance’s shoulder where his nose and tears had run. He gave in to the compulsion to cover his face with his sleeved hands.
“I am so sorry. That’s… super gross.”
“It’s why we have washing machines. And changes of clothes.” Lance lightly pressed his lips to Keith’s forehead, then moved back to look at him and take his hand. “Come on. You can put the little gel detergent pack in.”