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One of the worst things Lance has had to do in his life was to acknowledge that he had a problem.
Acknowledging the drinking problem was tough. It took a talk with Hunk to get him to see how deep he was. The two had tears down their cheeks and a feeling of wrongness and heaviness in their hearts. Hunk had been worried out of his mind and vowed to help Lance through it all, and he did. He found Lance's current therapist and the location of his AA meetings.
Lance, well, he felt guilty.
He felt guilty for all the worry, pain and suffering his friends went through as he recovered.
The group had seen him at low points before. They had seen him ugly crying and screaming. They thought they had seen him at his worst, that sadly wasn't the case.
A month after Lance had last taken a sip of alcohol, he relapsed.
He was laying in bed thinking about the last few weeks in his head. The only constant issue he could see was himself. Him, it was on him. All the bad things in his life and the lives of those around him were on him. He repeated it to himself so much that he began to believe it.
The boys and Pidge had done their best to take away any alcohol from his apartment. But Lance was an adult, over twenty-one, getting alcohol was easy. Even easier if you were desperate to feel something other than hollow.
He had walked to the liquor store in a trance, not processing anything other than the coolness of the pack of beer in his grasp and the cold emitting from the plastic bag that held a bottle of vodka. Just as distracted as he was on the way there, his walk home was the same.
In what felt like a few seconds Lance found himself on the couch, empty beer bottles at his feet and his head swimming with thoughts. Through the mess of negativity and self hatred, only one coherent thought was loud and at the front of his mind.
This can't be happening.
He felt weak. Not weak in the way you get around your loved ones or the weak that comes with laughing too hard. No, this was a feeling of weakness that comes with the realization of what you've done.
Lance knew it would break those around him and he hated that. He knew the consequences of his actions and what it would mean for him, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He popped the top of another bottle off, the sound echoing in his ears, mocking him for his failure.
And isn't that all he was? A failure?
He had failed his friends and his family but most importantly, he failed himself.
Lance laughed at himself in pity and threw his head back as he brought the bottle to his lips and drank.
He felt miserable and he wanted nothing more than to call Hunk over and have his best friend by his side. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie and unlocked it and scrolled to Hunk's contact. His finger hovered over the phone symbol for a few seconds before he sighed and locked it.
He refuses to let Hunk see him like this again.
Lance knows he should call his sponsor, fuck, he knows he should have when he felt the need to drink again just to feel something.
But he didn't and it was too late.
He sipped what remained of the once full bottle and placed it near the other empty ones. Tears filled his eyes as he finally processed what he had done and Lance curled in on himself as if that would take away everything he had done.
He needs Keith or Hunk or someone.
He reaches blindly for his phone, the tears blurring his vision and making it hard to navigate his phone and push the damn call button. Lance holds the phone to his ear with a shaky hand.
"Pick up," Lance repeats the plea over and over again as if that will make him pick up sooner.
The ringing surrounds him and every second feels like an eternity until he hears the 'click' of the phone being answered.
"Lance?" Hunk's confused voice reaches Lance and Lance sobs.
He brings the phone down from his ear and he can hear Hunk yelling his name from the other end and after a few seconds he hears the sound of fast footsteps and the jingle of keys over the phone.
Lance barely registers Hunk saying he's on his way. He hears him mumbling and swearing over the phone as red lights delay his trip.
He never hung up.
Lance is thankful for that. Knowing that his best friend is out there and on his way soothes his nerves just a little. He knows that as soon as Hunk arrives he will unlock the door with the key Lance gave him because "You basically live here anyway, Hunk". He knows Hunk is coming and that comforts him.
A few minutes pass and Lance has zoned out, staring at a spot to the left of him on the couch.
He comes back to himself as a pair of warm arms and a familiar scent wrap around him. He knows it's Hunk and he knows he's worrying him by not talking but Lance can't bring himself to do so.
He has so much he wants to say. I'm sorry I fucked it up. I'm sorry you have to deal with me like this. I'm sorry I couldn't be better. I'm sorry.
He doesn't say that though. He knows that when he sobers up Hunk will have him talk about everything and call Lance's sponsor. He knows his friends will show up tomorrow and hang around the apartment to make sure he's okay. He knows he will deal with the aftermath later.
For now though, he's safe to break down in front of his best friend, so he does. Lance clings onto Hunk and hides his face into his neck and the tears come out, releasing the pain he feels inside and putting it into something physical.
He doesn't say 'I'm sorry' even though his throat is itching to form the sounds and his mouth is ready to form the shapes to utter the two words.
Instead Lance strangles out a broken, "Just hold me."
So, Hunk does, he tightens his hold on Lance and for now, that is enough for the boy. He leans into his friend's embrace and the wrongness fades away.