Chapter Text
-Lance-
Music was so therapeutic but it could only do so much good for him. It used to do more, back when instruments allowed him to shove his feelings into their strings, producing melodies that could express what he was always so shitty at explaining. Lately everything he played wasn’t good enough, just made it all worse. Because now he had a turmoil of intense emotions brewing a hot storm in his belly with no escape and he was a failure.
Lance’s hands were so shaky now.
No one noticed. To be fair, he didn’t let them.
College was everything he needed and also the worst thing to ever happen to him. Being alone all the fucking time and a roommate that didn’t know better than to let him sleep during the day and skip classes… He missed Hunk fiercely. Lance was just grateful he never bothered Hunk with the worst of his depressive spells when they did meet, because Hunk had his own problems.
Hunk, whose family never really had enough money, had gotten all the best grades in school and now excelled at his college but he just couldn’t afford to keep going. Lance could see it was tearing his friend apart. Hunk didn’t deserve to be weighted down with Lance’s bullshit when Hunk had real life problems and words to express them.
Art classes were therapeutic until he stopped going. His professors actually liked him, which was wild since he was self taught and the idea of pursuing art had been a newer one. It was supposed to soothe all of his insecurities but instead just bred some hybrid of Imposter Syndrome. He just kept waiting for his professors to realize his art was actually ten times shittier than he was and they kept complimenting him and trying to make him better - which was their job - except he felt worthless for fooling them.
Art classes also gave him excuses to have things he wanted. Some of those were thrilling like throwing money at expensive paper and paints. Others were dangerous and frankly ended up being entirely unnecessary in class. And he still found himself using them more often than his class supplies.
Like his paper cutter.
His very sharp paper cutter. Suddenly he was upgraded from tiny-cat-scratches that were the only reward from hours of struggling to crack a razor enough to bend the blade and press the thin metal into his thighs to… ease and lots of blood.
He kept telling himself he would stop. And then one day he stopped caring about stopping and more about doing anything to calm his shakiness because nothing else helped. Went from working towards recovery towards…. This mess.
At least he started making friends at his school. Pidge and Keith and Shiro were all really amazing. It was just a shame that he could literally feel in his soul and see on their faces how much he annoyed them. Not that he blamed them. Lance was loud and boisterous, full of constant energy because no one needed to worry about him and his non-issues.
So he kept his headphones in his ears when the noise in his head took over and wore jackets, long jeans, and socks to hide his mutilated skin.
Music was only so therapeutic because after a point it just helped him dwell in this tidal wave of self-loathing.
****
He had projects due soon and he really needed to get them done because he kept skipping his classes. At this rate he wasn’t going to pass and he was having such a hard time actually giving a shit. If he was honest, the only reason he was trying was because Shiro, Pidge, and Keith were very academically based. Hanging out with them was almost always a study session.
God, he was so fucking tired and the white screen of his stupid blank doc was burning his retinas. He could hear the clacking of Pidge’s keys as she furiously tried to keep her essay under the word limit and he hated her for having words he never knew how to use. Two entire languages stored in his brain and he was still incapable of communication.
Useless
His restlessness only worsened the situation because every time he shifted in his chair, his jeans drew tight over the tops of his thighs and Lance could just feel the pull on his poorly healed cuts drawing his attention. He kept expecting to see blood soaking through his clothes finally and his friends realizing just how pathetic he really was.
Won’t ever happen because you’re too chickenshit to cut deep enough. Worthless. You need to go deeper next time deserve deeper, more pain or you’ll never be good enough
“Lance, I swear to God, if you click that fucking pen one more time I will shove it up your ass.” Pidge was glaring at him through her glasses and a haze of the caffeine high she was on to power through the day.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, setting the pen down. He knew she didn’t mean it, didn’t mean to be cruel. She just didn’t have tolerance for distractions, especially when she was close to a breakthrough.
Of course she means it. You know exactly what she’s thinking because you think it about yourself every day. You’re annoying, she hates you and wished she never introduced you to the others. Fuck you.
He was never going to get this stupid paper done. English was his easiest class too. Just a couple of essays for the whole semester and a portfolio review of their progress at the end of the semester. A breeze. Except Lance couldn’t focus because there was so much energy buzzing in his veins demanding attention and he was so tired of existing and being so alone and-
“God, I want to die.”
His blood chilled to ice while fire erupted across the top of his skin. He said that out loud. Fuck. Nononononononononononnonononoono what would they do . Hunk was going to-
Except Pidge was actually smiling and Keith was agreeing and Shiro who never had time for his lame jokes was making his own suicidal joke building off Lance’s comment.
And Hunk wasn’t there.
Lance stopped panicking after that, didn’t mind making serious comments about his declining mental health because they’d be brushed off as another one of his witty lines.
Oh that Lance. He’s such clown.
It was nice having a group of friends that made the same self-deprecating jokes he did. Sure it stung imagining Prodigy Pidge, Valedictorian Keith, and Golden Boy Shiro ever possibly feeling worthless because if they felt low with all that talent than Lance must be scum. But he already knew that so. Guess it didn’t hurt too bad.
It was nice that they weren’t Hunk. Hunk was his absolute best friend in the entire galaxy, but Hunk was with him through high school. Back when things were still going pretty okay for the Garrett family and Lance had given up on the possibility of happiness altogether.
Hunk remembered finding out Lance would occasionally use a mottled razor to feel something other than numb. Hunk remembered Lance barely scraping good enough grades through junior year to proceed. Hunk remembered Lance giving up senior year with a bunch pills and crying to him three days later about how sorry he was and how grateful he was to be alive and in good health.
Lance’s parents never found out so Hunk spent way too much time trying to keep Lance from going back into the deep end. Hunk cracked under the pressure, especially once his father died. So Lance learned to take care of himself so Hunk could manage his own life. Therapy and meds that actually helped got him the rest of the way through senior year and actual graduation.
And then he was at college with a shitty therapist, stopped taking his meds, and no Hunk because Hunk thought Lance was better because Hunk needed to.
His new friends wouldn’t question him. It was relieving.
Too bad comedy couldn’t cure suicidal ideation.
It had been just as impulsive as the last attempt. Lance always was a foolishly impulsive person. He was reeling in Shiro’s bathroom from a bad fight he’d just had with Keith.
The two of them got on like water and oil. Most days, Lance actually enjoyed their bickering. There was a certain thrill that came from getting under Keith’s skin. Watching Keith’s eyes light up with fury as the boy made his own cutting remarks. Too bad Lance had never known how to measure the mood of a person. Today had been a bad day to pick a fight because Keith was stressed over finals. Maybe Lance just hadn’t cared. Whatever - it led to Keith reminding Lance that he was going to fail his classes for being so goddamn lazy.
And Lance managed to wind up in the bathroom mid-panic attack when he spotted it. One of Keith’s blades (Lance never understood the obsession).
His brain had been going there for months again and he just wanted to finally be done with everything. To stop being a burden for Hunk, a steady drain on his parents’ finances, and a constant nuisance to his new friends. Everyone wanted him gone and he could do them that favor.
He wanted to be gone too.
Lance pulled the sharp edge vertically as hard as he could from the inside of his elbow to the start of his palm and promptly dropped the knife. It startled him just how badly everything burned and ached and screamed. Cutting hadn’t hurt like this in so long, hadn’t been so consuming. His brain couldn’t decide if it was good or bad because he was too busy collapsing next to the blade and feeling cold tile through his jeans.
The buzz in his head replaced the droning voice constantly belittling him, like a cat purring in satisfaction.
Lance was finally getting what he deserved.
His heart was beating so fast though, like it was trying to keep up with all the blood loss. It was so much blood. Maybe that’s why Shiro was looking at him so distraught. Was
Going to be…
bitch to clean