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No, this couldn’t be happening. This absolutely could not be happening. How did this happen? Why did it end up like this? What did he do? What does he do now? He was going to lose his scholarship, wasn’t he? Oh no. He was going to lose his scholarship. He’d have to live on the streets. He’d have to drop out of college. He’d have to go home… Wait. That wouldn’t be possible, he didn’t have the money for that. Would he ever even see his family again?
Lance nervously paced back and forth in his bedroom, biting his nails down to stubs one by one. His breath was shaking slightly from both the excessive walking and the panic he felt building in his chest. He had just gotten home when he got an email from his professor reminding his class that their ten page essay -- worth 15% of their final grade -- was due the following day. It was assigned at least two months ago, how could he forget! He’d never started, it never crossed his mind and now Lance was doomed.
The more he thought about how little time he had to do his essay, the more panic settled in his chest, weighing down his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. By now, his body realized he was expending much more energy than normal, causing him to rest against the nearest wall in his bedroom, only to sink to the floor mere seconds later. It didn’t calm his breathing much, but it did make his legs feel less like jelly. He would have fallen soon and ended up on the floor anyway if he hadn’t sat down.
His new position allowed Lance to pull his knees to his chest, choosing to bury his head into the crevice they created in order to have a sense of security, a safety blanket to hide him from the world -- or rather, the world from him. It also helped to catch the tears that dripped off his cheeks, not that he had noticed those anyway. He wasn’t very perceptive in this state after all. He was just about to lapse back into those deprecating thoughts when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, gentle enough as to not break him but firm enough to prove its existence.
This hand felt familiar. Smaller than Hunk’s yet just as gentle. Firmer than Pidge’s but just as steady. He’d know that hand anywhere. He grew up pulling it on different adventures, to new places, down every hill, and through all of their classes. The only constant in his life since fifth grade. His rock, his mountain, his pillar, his friend.
Lance took a shaky breath before pulling his head from his knees, his vision foggy with tears but those violet eyes ever so present in front of him. Calm, steady, and the brightest thing he had seen all day. Those eyes were the color of summer nights spent on the beach, the feeling of laughter bubbling from his chest, the reminder of all things good in his life. They were Keith’s, and they were beautiful.
“Can you hear me now?” Keith asked with such a softness in his voice one would think he was speaking with an injured animal. Which, was that really a far off assumption? In this state, Lance sure looked like one. Regardless, the gentleness of Keith’s tone pulled a small nod from Lance, a quiet sniffle accompanying the action.
“Okay.” Keith lifted his hand from Lance’s shoulder now that he had his attention, changing from a crouched position to sitting with his legs crossed in front of Lance.
“One to five.” Voice as soft as before, Keith kept his eyes trained on Lance’s hands. It was a system they had developed sometime during their high school years when Lance’s anxiety had really become prevalent. One being the lowest of the scale, a situation that Lance could easily calm himself down from in a matter of minutes before continuing on with his daily life as if nothing had happened. Of course, to complete the scale, five being the worst of the worst. A situation so bad Lance would need help both calming down from the attack and help in preventing a relapse over the same issue. There had only ever been one case of a level five incident, when his mother had almost died their junior year of high school. Luckily, she lived, but she spent six weeks in the hospital after a drunken driver had crashed into her car late at night on her way home from a graveyard shift.
This time, it was a level four.
Keith took a sharp intake of breath when he saw Lance hold four of his fingers up, shaking just enough to be noticeable but not enough to be difficult to grasp. So he did, taking Lance’s hand and gently pulling it towards himself as he always did when it was a level three or higher. Keith used his thumb to delicately open Lance’s hand, laying his palm flat against his chest right over his heart. He tapped Lance’s hand softly with his index finger, trying to pull Lance’s gaze from the floor back up to him.
Their eyes locked and Keith knew he would be able to calm him down fairly quickly. By the end of middle school, Keith had already learned and memorized the meanings of all of Lance’s miniscule motions during his attacks. Pacing meant his attack had just begun and if acted upon soon enough it could be prevented from getting worse. Biting his nails meant Lance was overthinking, still actively present in the world around him but quickly losing his connection. Hiding his face meant he could no longer interpret or interact with the world around him, his senses had been too overwhelmed and he would soon be shutting down. Locking eyes with someone meant they were the only thing he could see at the moment, ready and willing to accept help but not yet comfort -- Lance had only ever locked eyes with Keith and his twin sister Rachel. Holding hands meant he was in the process of calming down, still suffering from some symptoms such as trouble breathing and/or shaking, but he would be recovered given the time.
They weren’t at that last stage yet, so Keith had to lead him there. He ever so gently squeezed Lance’s hand in his own, pressing it more firmly against his chest so he could feel the beat more clearly.
“Breathe with me.” Keith took an overexaggerated breath in, keeping his eyes locked with Lance’s cloudy blue ones to urge him to follow along. There was a short hesitation before Lance soon followed Keith’s pattern, matching up to him by the end of their first intake of air. Keith waited only a second until he was sure Lance was following before he let it out, the exhale lasting just a little longer in order to slow the rapid pace of Lance’s heart.
They continued this pattern for a good few minutes, only until Lance nodded his head the smallest amount possible. To anyone else, the nod would have easily been missed, but Keith had been watching those nods for years, always signaling that Lance was doing much better than when he was found. It was his way of letting whoever was across from him know they were free to let up on their advances, let go of his hand or stand up and get a drink to quench his inevitable thirst.
Keith never did either. Instead, he only loosened his grip on Lance’s hand, allowing him to pull it back and intertwine their fingers instead. The hand holding stage was unique to them. Lance only ever held Keith’s hand after his attacks. He found a sense of security in the action, knowing his best friend was right in front of him and not planning on leaving any time soon.
His twin always insisted on getting him a glass of water right after, wanting to prevent the rough sounding voice of his and perhaps keep his vocal chords healthy. He never understood that logic but that was always her response whenever he asked about it. She always returned, and she always stayed by his side afterwards until he could function on his own again, but the short time while she was gone felt longer than necessary.
Keith never left his side in these moments. He acted as an anchor, keeping Lance connected to reality, grounded to the present. He never left his side. Instead, he did rather the opposite, always shuffling in order to press against Lance’s side the moment their fingers joined together. Always by each others sides since fifth grade, ever so true in times like this.
“White, gray, or black?” Another one of their systems for dealing with Lance’s attacks included colors. Much like their number system, the colors represented both the severity of the issue and his desire to discuss it. White, ever so popularized as a ‘pure’ color, meant the issue wasn’t too severe and Lance was most definitely going to rant about it to Keith the moment he could speak again. Black, the contrast to white, meant the situation was quite severe and Lance would have to take awhile to open up to the idea of talking through it. Gray represented everything in between, whether it being a bad issue that needed to be solved quickly or it being a topic he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about at the moment. When it was gray, Keith never asked what kind, he only gave Lance the time he needed before later explaining the color choice. This time, it was…
“Gray.” Lance sniffled, his breathing still trembling as he tilted his head to rest it on Keith’s shoulder. An absentminded nod was Keith’s response, lightly squeezing Lance’s hand in his own to indicate he had heard.
Resting his head on Keith’s shoulder wasn’t a rare occurrence, but it wasn’t all that often either. It usually meant one of two things: Lance exhausted himself more than usual, or he was truly fucked up from whatever had caused his episode. Judging from his number, Keith guessed it was the latter and sighed quietly to himself.
Usually, if that was the case, Keith wasn’t able to help as much as he wanted, only able to distract Lance from his initial freakout until he needed to confront his problem and have another -- although, less severe -- attack due to it. Keith hated not being able to help his best friend to his fullest degree. It made him feel useless, despite all those years he had been the biggest help.
He snuck a quick glance at Lance, seeing that his lip was still trembling even if it was barely noticeable. This is bad. Keith sighed to himself again, almost accepting defeat when his backpack caught his attention. He did have a new addition to it, although expertly hidden in a pocket on the inside. Perhaps…
“Lance,” he squeezed the other’s hand again to get his attention, “look at me.” Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but Keith had all the patience in the world when it came to Lance. Even when it took a whole two minutes for Lance to lift his head to meet Keith’s eyes.
“Can I get my backpack? I want to show you something.” He blinked a few times, surprised with such an odd question, but eventually Lance gave him a nod, sniffling once again as he slowly let go of Keith’s hand.
Once he was free, Keith slowly peeled himself away from Lance’s side, still staying close as he reached across the floor to pull his backpack closer to him. He undid the main zipper, reaching in to where he knew the secret pocket was, and pulled out a stone. Now that it was in his hand, he carelessly pushed his backpack away and situated himself next to Lance, back to being glued at the hip.
“Here.” He held the stone in his palm, holding it in front of Lance for him to take it. It took a moment, but eventually the other boy plucked the stone from Keith’s hand, giving him a puzzled look as his did. Rightfully so, too. They’d never exchanged anything while Lance was in this state, mostly because Keith had never thought to do this. He just hoped it would help.
“Look at it,” he softly urged, taking his hoodie sleeve to wipe away the remainder of Lance’s tears so he could see better.
“Describe it to me.” With another confused look followed by a nod, Lance brought the stone closer to his face in order to do just as he was asked.
“It’s… cold. And smooth.” Keith positioned his body so he could better see Lance, still touching at the knees but no longer shoulder to shoulder.
“There’s a lot of black spots, with a beige color underneath.”
“Look closer.” Lance pursed his lips at the request, wiping his eyes again before inspecting the stone more carefully.
“It’s - it’s not just beige. There’s some red, and yellow, and a little bit of purple too. They’re all underneath the black spots, mixing together to create a marbled effect.” A smile crept upon Keith’s lips, watching as the sadness drained from those blue eyes to make room for the wonder slowly creeping in.
“The colors are spotted in some spots, just like the black is, just much less noticeable. And,” Lance furrowed his brows, rubbing his finger over the stone again. “It’s not as smooth as you would think. At first touch, it’s almost as smooth as the back of a spoon, but there’s actually a few scratches and bumps on it. Especially on this part, there’s a scratch covering half of this side.”
Keith reached over and carefully plucked the stone from Lance’s fingers, smiling at the pout that graced his lips afterwards.
“It’s a dalmatian stone. It ‘appeals to the child within us’ and they’re said to be great for people who tend to overanalyze.” Keith looked up from the stone to catch Lance glance down at his legs, feeling embarrassed because there’s no way that stone isn’t calling him out right now.
“Is that what happened?” A simple question, a gentle urge for Lance to talk about his problems. His tears had dried by now and his breathing had returned to normal. He’ll be okay.
“Maybe? Some of it was justified…”
“What caused it?”
“My professor. Well, also me and my forgetfulness.” Lance took a pause in his explanation, biting his lip before sighing again.
“We have an essay due tomorrow, a minimum of ten pages and I completely forgot! I don’t know how it happened, I’m usually so good at keeping track, but somewhere in those two months we had to do it, I guess I got overwhelmed and it slipped my mind. It’s worth 15% of our final grade, Keith, what am I gonna do?”
“You,” Keith spoke as he put the stone back in his bag and stood up, holding a hand for Lance to take, “are going to start by getting off the floor.” And he did just that, being pulled to his feet with Keith’s help. Not long after, he felt two hands resting on his shoulders, gently pushing him in the direction of the door.
“Now, you’re going to hop in the shower and restart your brain. Regardless of what you need to do, you can’t do anything if your brain is still in the middle of rebooting. Go turn on the water and I’ll grab you some clothes.” Much to Lance’s chagrin, he followed Keith’s orders and left the room, being joined in the bathroom just a minute later when Keith handed him a pile of his favorite comfy clothes.
“We’ll pick up from there. No use in thinking of too much at one time.” They exchanged a matching pair of smiles before Keith closed the bathroom door, allowing both him and Lance the privacy they needed. Lance for obvious reasons. Keith, well, for other reasons.
Back in Lance’s room, Keith pulled his laptop from his bag and made himself at home, sprawling across Lance’s bed after relieving himself of his shoes and hoodie. Now, what is that professor’s email?
The next time it happened, Lance was still at school. He’d snuck out of class early in order to hide in the bathroom. It wasn’t the class itself that cause this attack, but rather the guy sitting next to him. He had never seen the man before, granted their class did have at least 70 students but still. Lance was great with faces.
Bad with names, sure, but he still remembered the woman who gave him a flower when he was merely five years old. He remembered the teenager he accidentally bumped into three weeks ago. And he certainly remembered every one who had gone to the front of the class and done their presentations just last class. This guy was not one of them. Which only made his comments all the more creepy.
“Hey, can you show me to my next class? I just got lost in your eyes.”
“Do you think I could get a copy of your notes? You’re so organized, it’s like a map to my heart.”
“Could we meet up sometime? I’ve really been struggling with this material lately.”
It freaked him out so much he simply left, grabbed his belongings and dashed out the door and halfway across the building before stumbling into the nearest restroom. Was it the best option? Perhaps not, but luckily enough there was still time before classes were due to end, giving Lance a little time to gather himself and leave.
By the time Keith showed up he was still a mess. Keith went through all those steps he became familiar with, taking his time with Lance and shooting a death glare at some poor soul who barely cracked the door open, effectively scaring them off.
By the time Lance was calmed down, Keith opted to skip asking what color the situation evoked -- it was only a level two after all -- and instead placed a small object in Lance’s hand.
“Could you describe this to me?” It was just like three weeks ago, in the comfort of Lance’s room. Keith placed a small stone in the palm of Lance’s hand, blue eyes looking hesitantly towards their violet counterparts before inspecting the object in hand.
“It’s smaller this time. A lot smaller, but much thicker at the same time. A pretty red color with some beige swirls.” Unlike last time, Lance seemed to calm down faster during this new exercise, much less confused and much more curious.
“There’s some gray too, but not much, only on one side where it gives a speckled look. And it’s not an oval, more of a triangle.” Lance let out a slow sigh, not one of nervousness but almost as if he was relaxing, leaning against the bathroom wall with Keith following close behind.
“It’s a lot smoother than the last one too, except for these two edges where it seems like whatever was cutting it jerked and messed it up.” Lance gazed at the stone with a thoughtful look, subconsciously leaning more into Keith’s side as he ran his fingers over the stone a few more times.
“Still beautiful though.” Keith couldn’t help but let out a snort at the comment, chuckling under his breath as he delicately stole the stone back.
“It’s a jasper stone. More specifically, red jasper. They’re widely thought to be stones of protection, sacred and powerful in a lot of people’s eyes. They’re also believed to be able to cleanse and strengthen one’s aura and eliminate negative energy.” A smile dawned on Keith’s lips as he glanced to his side, seeing Lance’s eyes full of curiosity with all the sadness from before banished.
“Seems to have worked, huh?” He playfully nudged Lance’s side, referencing his happier demeanor and brighter eyes, once dimmed and cloudy from tears.
“Shut up.” Lance freely laughed, pushing Keith back and dawning a wide smile. The two sat on the floor a little longer, their laughter slowly dying down into nothingness. Only then did Lance clear his throat and look towards the floor.
“How did you know something was wrong?”
“Pidge texted me, said she saw you run past her lecture room in the opposite direction of your class. I just searched every restroom until I found you.” Keith put the jasper back in his bag before wrapping his arm around Lance’s shoulders.
“And I’m sure as hell not letting my best friend have an attack without me to help him through it, especially not in a dingy restroom.” Lance couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh at the commentary, softly smiling to himself.
“Okay.”
“Good. Now,” Keith lifted his arm from where it was resting, using it to turn his body to face his friend better. “What happened?”
“Well, there was this guy…”
The Voltron Press
To: [email protected] and others
From: [email protected] 2:34 PM
Earlier today, an anonymous figure reported sightings of a strange man. Said man was said to have been observing an English class at approximately 12:30 this afternoon before making advancements towards one of the students. The student in question seems to have remained physically unharmed but the stress of the situation has taken a toll on their mentality. The man who approached the student has been apprehended and has been proven against being a student of our campus. If any other occurrences take place please report them to a professor, a security officer, or call the security office’s main number: 555-XXX-XXXX. We wish to keep our campus and our students as safe as possible from now on and into the future.
The new addition to their system continued on into the next few months. Keith somehow always had a new stone ready to go for Lance to focus on, keeping him grounded into reality as he described all he could about each one. There were never any repeats, and they were all equally as beautiful in both look and meaning. The process was always the same: Keith would hand him a stone to investigate, he would try his best to describe its unique beauty, then Keith would take it back once Lance wasn’t actively in an episode and tell its story. And just like the stones, the system was beautiful.
Lance found he calmed down faster with something to focus on, a topic so neutral and detached from anything that could cause him to break down that he forgot about his anxiety. They had gone through many stones -- as Lance had many breakdowns to account for -- and he could never pick a favorite. As it was, whatever was currently in his hands was his favorite because it reminded him that Keith was there, was always there, and he would stay as long as needed.
Right now , they were on quartz.
“It’s pretty clear for the most part, but there’s a lot of scratches and blemishes on it. And, it looks almost cloudy in one area? The shape is weird too, like you grabbed a corner of a square and pulled it. And it’s lumpy. And… Keith, why does it look like someone tried to bite it? Who would do that?”
Keith couldn’t help but burst into laughter, falling away from Lance’s side and lying on the floor instead, holding his stomach the more he laughed.
“No, seriously, Keith look!” Lance shoved the crystal into Keith’s face, pointing at one corner where, sure enough, it looks like a bite mark surrounded it. This only fueled Keith’s outburst and caused a pout to make its way to Lance’s face.
“Asshole,” Lance muttered and leaned against his bedroom wall, rolling the quartz between his fingers to find every last scratch and crack and blemish that he could. That wouldn’t be hard, the thing was littered with imperfections, but that only made it more beautiful. He only stopped examining the crystal when Keith plucked it from between his fingers, unaware he had already stopped laughing.
“This is clear quartz, and because it’s meant to be clear it’s easy to spot all the mistakes both on and in it. You see this cloudy spot?” He pointed a little to the side of the ‘bite mark’ Lance found.
“They say quartz it used as a worry stone or rubbing stone. It’s best when people carry it around with them or wear it on their person. Whenever that person is feeling any bad feeling, they rub their finger over it until they feel better. Their negative energy is then displaced within the crystal, making it cloudy. You can only ‘clean’ your quartz by placing it with a certain stone but I’ve forgotten which one.”
“This person must’ve had a lot of negative energy then.”
“I would joke that it was you, but crystals are attuned to their specific person. ‘You don’t pick the stones, they pick you’, or so they say.” Lance gave him an incredulous look, skeptical yet still curious.
“Says who?”
“Wiccans.”
“Wiccans?”
“Mmhmm,” Keith hummed as he closed his hand around the quartz, reaching to place it back in his bag’s secret pocket.
“And how do you know this?” Lance gasped and placed his hands on Keith’s bicep. “Are you a wiccan?” Keith could only snort in response, shaking his head as he zipped up his bag and leaned back into the wall.
“You know I’m not religious nor do I partake in anything dealing with putting your belief into something.”
“Then where do you keep getting all your crystals? If I’m understanding this correctly, wouldn’t having those be attached to some kind of belief?” Keith quietly sighed, biting his lip for a second before he spoke up.
“You know that box that sits on my nightstand, the one I yell at even Shiro to not touch?” Lance hummed in confirmation, remembering when he first spent the night at Keith’s house their freshman year of high school and practically cried when Keith flipped on him for trying to open it. He hadn’t known it was off limits, he thought it would contain cool collectors items or something. Turns out it was much more valuable because he didn’t even get the lid off before Keith was yelling at him to get away from it. That was the first and last time Keith had made him cry.
“Well, that was my mom’s. These stones and crystals I keep bringing to help calm you down? They belonged to her, and they’re all I have left of her.”
A thick silence fell over the pair, Lance dumbfounded and gaping at his friend and this newfound information. Keith had never let anyone near that box, guarded it with his life that he so much as never opened it around people. And he let Lance hold the contents from inside? For months?
“Why…?” Keith chanced a glance at the boy beside him, a shy smile landing a spot on his face, his voice quiet as falling snow when he spoke.
“Because you’re important to me, Lance. Because,” Keith bit his lip and looked away, instead training his eyes on the floor below them. “Because, I love you. I have for a long time. I was actually planning on confessing that first night, with the dalmation stone. Confess by showing you something I hid from the world. But when I walked in and you weren’t answering me, when your attack was so bad that you dissociated… I couldn’t do it then, and I never found a good time.”
Lance sat back, shocked with the truth and meaning behind the stones. He hadn’t just confessed this once, he’d confessed so many times over the past few months. With every new stone Keith showed him a vulnerable piece to him, exposed more to Lance than he had anyone else and only now Lance was finding out?
“It just hurt seeing you every time you broke down and it made me so happy knowing those stones helped you recover faster that I just… never confessed. Because then they would carry a different meaning and I didn’t want to take that from you.”
Oh Keith, ever so selfless, aren’t you? Lance was quiet for so long that it startled Keith when he started laughing, feeling both butterflies in his stomach at the sound but also a weight on his chest from such a response. Before he could answer, however, Lance simply leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Keith’s bicep, pulling him closer to kiss his cheek before resting his head on his shoulder.
“We could’ve resolved this months, if not, years ago. We’re such idiots.”
“Huh?” Keith could only stare at Lance, his cheeks red and flustered and his brows knitted in confusion.
“Keith,” Lance tilted his head up to get a better look at those violet eyes that anchored him to this world, “I’ve felt the same for so long now. And I think the whole world knew except for us. Pidge thinks I don’t hear her and Hunk talk about us when they sleep over. I was just in denial you’d ever feel the same.”
“Then… What do we do? Do you want…”
“Absolutely.” Lance didn’t let Keith finish his question before blurting out his answer, his eyes shining with mirth as he smiled up at his best friend -- boyfriend? -- before he leaned in and gave a chaste kiss to Keith’s lips, laughing when Keith pouted at his all too soon retreat.
“So, what made you choose the dalmatian stone first?”