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You know, mourning is always difficult. Often this feeling is divided into seven stages. There is shock, denial, pain and guilt, anger, sadness, resignation, acceptance and rebuilding. Seven steps, seven steps that are as important as one another. Unfortunately for some people it's not as simple as writing on paper. It's more complex than that, more human too. Sometimes acceptance can hide a deep denial. But who could know?
In a field of flowers, eyes raised to a magnificent night sky, his brown hair gently grazing his face at the whim of the wind, he contemplates the stars that sparkle. A sweet smile is tattooed on his lips but the dark circles under his blue eyes are only deceiving him. He tried. He really tried to be happy. But how can he be when the only person who makes you who you are disappears?
Yet he was surrounded by everything that could make him happy. Flowers, nature, his family. But nothing to do, there is in him a void that seems to feed on everything but to be satisfied with nothing. Nevertheless, he accepted his disappearance, it was for the sake of the universe, for peace and he knows that it was what she wanted. He knows that she is happy where she is, that she has found her people. And he also knows that she would like to see him happy. Because he was her friend and she wouldn't like to see him so torn by his death. But what do you want him to do? His feelings were so powerful and now that she's gone he doesn't know what to do with them anymore.
He takes a deep breath. Little by little he began to understand why she loved these flowers so much. Their scent is so delicate but so striking. Like a memory that we would forget in happy moments but that would come back when needed. Like a person you rarely see but who is there when you need them. He ended up loving these flowers as much as she did, perhaps because he sees in them her memory?
The moon is full that night. It illuminates the entire flower field as well as the marks under his eyes. He wonders if they sparkle like they did this time, a year ago. Already a year since this inauguration. A year, but two since she disappeared, two years of taking care of these flowers.
The moon is full tonight and that's the only thing that lights him up, because he doesn't have any light in his life anymore. He can see her anxious face in the middle of the stars, her transcendent gaze observing him, full of sadness. He closes his eyes, the soft air brushing his face and carrying the flowers' perfume, it's as if she were there, near him. He whispers, like a promise to her.
« I'm fine, don't worry. »
_
It's pain, anger and guilt. They are the questions that we ask ourselves, a world that we rebuild with what ifs. And what if, what if, what if. It's a feeling of abandonment, of having been abandoned, or of giving up in return. Is it his fault? And if he had not been there, would she have survived? Why did she do that? Didn't she want to live by his side? Was death easier to confront than a life together?
It's anger against oneself, against others, against the whole world. It's anger that consumes him from within. That eats his heart little by little, twists his guts, makes him want to throw up and cry.
He is under the sky. He doesn't know if it's starry because a layer of clouds is covering them just as his blanket is covering his shoulders. You can see a gibbous moon blurred by the clouds, it's cool outside but he's bubbling from the inside. He is seething with rage and guilt. In truth, he can't say what he feels precisely. It's a storm in him, a storm of emotions. A storm that he contains as he can, but until when?
« Hey, how are you buddy ? »
The big teddy bear sits next to him. His best friend, who has become his confidant over the years. He is tall, wide and comfortable, like a huge stuffed animal. A benevolent smile on his lips, he gently rubs his friend's back. He immediately feels calmer, as if an aura was encompassing and reassuring him. He takes one end of the blanket and passes it over his friend's broad shoulders before placing his head on his shoulder. They stay like this for a long time.
He wants to hit, to hit everything that moves, everything that can suffer, so they could suffer as he does. But he also wants to hurt himself, to hurt himself physically, to hurt himself to forget the pain that hit him internally. Everything is jostling in his head, thoughts, emotions, memories. Yet, if anyone were to look at him now they would think he is calm. But not his best friend, he knows him too well for that. Unfortunately, Lance is far too proud to confide in him, and that too his best friend knows.
« You know, during this intergalactic war, I went through a lot of emotions. Well, mainly fear but also anger, especially when we arrived on Earth and my family wasn't there. Or sadness when I abandoned Shay to her fate on her planet. But feeling angry or sad is okay, we are allowed to feel things, even when we are supposed to be heroes. »
The more his friend speaks, the more his face sinks into his shoulder. Even with his eyes closed, he can still feel his vision getting blurred by tears. He hasn't cried since the day she disappeared and it won't happen now, much less in front of someone else. Even if this person happens to be his best friend. Rubbing his face against Hunk's shoulder, he swallows his tears before raising his head and smiling at him softly.
« I'm fine, don't worry. »
_
She is small but has character. Standing on tiptoe, she categorically refuses his help to catch the tool that her brother, according to her, purposely put too high to bother her. To be honest, he doesn't know what he's doing here. He came to collect plant seeds that Colleen has managed to grow after thousands of trials and ends up in her daughter's lab.
« No, but I swear to you that I will kill him, it's a shame we don't have our bayards anymore because I would have used it well against him. »
A chuckle comes from the back of his throat. He can't help himself anymore so he reaches out and takes the tool that, he supposed, was the one she was looking for. She takes it and thank him, which is very strange coming from her, he really thought she'd hit him for helping. Maybe she softened with time?
Through the window, a half moon illuminates the room more than the electric light hanging from the ceiling. The boy wonders if she has chosen the Garrison's darkest room herself or if she hasn't been given the choice. It's obvious, she took it on purpose. It's very much her thing, being able to create such extraordinary things in such places and with material of poor quality. How can we make something ugly so beautiful? How are we able to see light even in the thickest darkness? He doesn't know it, but strangely it doesn't worry him as much as he imagined. Maybe something beautiful can spring from the darkest depths?
« What is that ? »
It's by holding the object in front of him that he asks the question. A soft plush, or rather, a piece of fabric vaguely resembling a soft plush. It was sitting in a corner of one of the many tables, between the plans, the tools as well as bits of scrap metal, forgotten. This stuffed animal is probably not finished, some threads hanging in some places and a missing eye. If he had to guess, he'd say it's supposed to be a blue cat?
« I tried to teach Keith how to sew, as you can see, it was a failure.
- Wow, wait, wait, you, you tried to teach Keith how to sew? But why didn't he ask me? I am much better than you are at this kind of stuff!
- He didn't ask you because it was for you, moron. »
She sighs as she goes back to her hacking. He remains shaken up by the news, he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up. He watches the stuffed animal. He imagines his two friends sitting at this table, the smallest doing her best to make this stubborn boy understand how to sew with a minimum of care. He imagines his rival, better known for his brutality than for his delicacy, a needle and thread in one hand, wearing that little frown that appears when he concentrates. He imagines one of his black locks falling in front of his eyes, making him growl.
He brutally puts the stuffed animal on the table and clears his throat. No. No, no and still no. He turns to look at the window and stare at the moon, trying to still the beating of his heart that's going a little too fast for his taste. Why does he feel like this? Where does this heat come from? He never felt that way, not even with her. With her it was powerful, like being in the middle of a whirlwind of intense feelings. A rollercoaster on which you can only catch your breath when it's over.
But right now it was more of a sweet heat. The one you feel when returning home after spending a day out in the cold winter. Like drinking hot chocolate next to the fireplace.
A sudden anger against himself springs up in him. He doesn't understand what is happening to him, he no longer understands his body, his heart, his head. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling lightly on strands of hair before sighing. Is he losing his mind, losing her?
« Lance, are you okay ? You look pale.
- I'm fine, don't worry. »
_
It had been a long time since they had all met. All being busy in different parts of the galaxy, it's now increasingly difficult to regroup as before. But it's always good when it does happen, because it brings back memories. It reminds him of the time she was still there.
They are all in the main hall of the newly finished castle. It is different from the other. Built with exactly the same bases and the same plans but still different. It's as if it's missing something, something like a soul. This new castle seems so cold. But it's still a familiar cold that feels good.
He stands outside, on one of the balconies, under the crescent of a bright moon. His eyes are on the dance floor where his friends are dancing in a politically incorrect way. He wonders if that evening would have pleased her. For the first time, he has trouble finding an answer. She would probably be happy to see her castle rebuilt but at the same time, it would not be hers, but a brand new one, maybe it would have been difficult to adapt in that case? It's as if, the more time had passed and the more difficult it was to imagine how she would have seen things. It's frightening, though, without his understanding why, that his shoulders seem to lighten up a bit at this thought.
The brown sees his eldest come closer. Square, imposing but releasing only good waves, not like a big teddy bear that you would like to hold against yourself, but more like a strong man who could bear all the misfortunes of your world. He approaches him with a sure step, a glass in each hand. He is tall and elegant, as he has always been. Sometimes he regrets not having fallen under his charm, him and his incredible luck. How many times was he supposed to be dead already? But life is never as simple as you want it to be.
When he reaches his height, the oldest gives him a comforting smile and offers him one of two drinks with a curiously greenish color. He then moves to his side before looking up at the starry sky, remembering surely the adventures that they lived there. After a short silence and a few mouthfuls of the mixture that happens to be quite good despite its color, the younger can not help but break the silence.
« So, how are things going with Curtis?
- I feel like I'm alive again. You know, after Adam's death I felt that love was no longer for me. I didn't imagine myself falling in love with anyone else, he was my soulmate to me. The one and only. But, he appeared in my dreams once.
- Awn, to comfort you, so cute.
- No, it was more like, to give me an earful. He turned our reunion into a nightmare, lectured me all night long, I woke up the next day with a hell of a headache but with my ideas strangely in place. »
They both laugh. The eldest has always been able to cheer up the troops and that from the beginning. He has always been the big brother, the mentor and the father. He's always known how to turn around when necessary, how to take the lead when others needed it and that, no matter what he himself needed. They couldn't dream of a better model.
« But you know Lance, what I went through taught me at least one essential thing: love is vast and variable. I don't love Adam and Curtis in the same way, they both own a different part of my heart. I'm not with Curtis to replace Adam, I'm with him because he makes me happy no matter what people think. »
He is beautiful like that. Moonlight full on his white hair, his black eyes filled with love addressed to the person who owns part of his heart. And at the same time under the stars, it's as if he were standing beside the person who owns the other part of that same heart.
« And you? Are you doing alright? You seem tired.
- I'm fine, don't worry. »
_
Since the inauguration of the new castle, he has never spent so much time in a training room, trying to escape his thoughts. Every shot, every hit, every fall, takes him a little further away from those thoughts that paralyze his mind. He falls on his back for the umpteenth time, a painful groan breaking the barrier of his lips. When he opens his eyes, stars are circling his vision as it becomes troubled. The droid runs towards him, he hears his metallic steps approaching quickly. He stands up, hoping he could dodge it but a strong desire to vomit takes over him.
Before he even has time to understand what is happening, the weapon of the droid is a few inches from his face, blocked in its tracks by a sword. It's long, purple and has a shape of its own.
« End simulation! »
His savior approaches and squats in front of him, he puts a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. Purple eyes that reflect a concern that doesn't suit them and that annoys him even more than he already is.
« Are you okay Lance? »
He wants to answer, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He feels himself falter dangerously, the half-galra hugs him to maintain his balance. He wants to push him away, he really wants to, with all his strength. Or maybe not, because when the warmth of the other boy strikes his body, he can't help but melt into this comforting cocoon. They stay like this for a few minutes or maybe they were hours.
In the silence of the room, he can hear the melody of his heart buzzing in his ears. He can also feel the beating heart of the one who is holding him against him. Slowly regaining consciousness, Lance pushes his rival away weakly. This is not the time to feel anything, let alone for Keith.
« I'm fi-
- I’m warning you, if you tell me you're fine, I will hit you. »
He closes his mouth. His gaze meets the purple one of the dark boy, all worry disappearing and leaving room for anger mixed with something else he doesn't understand very well. He can't help but feel this emotion is much better for him, anger.
« Lance, you have the right to cry. »
And he doesn't need it anymore. Tears pass the barrier of his eyes and run down his cheeks, more and more numerous. When hiccups start getting mixed up with his sobbing, Keith hugs him a little tighter. Lance's face finds refuge in his rival’s neck while his hands tighten with all his strength on the other’s clothing. He feels the warmth of the hand on his back gently caressing him. He clings desperately, like someone shipwrecked would cling to a buoy. And that's who he is now, a shipwrecked man drowning in an ocean of feelings that overwhelm him and that he doesn't understand anymore. And Keith is his buoy, but wouldn't he be the sea’s border, the beach, the solution to all his problems instead?
« I'm so so sorry... »
He keeps on mumbling excuses profusely. The other doesn't say anything, he just cradles him rubbing his back, patiently waiting for the youngest to calm down. He had never been in this state, at least, never in the presence of anyone other than his mother. But it feels good to be able to let go from time to time. He held onto this overwhelming array of emotions for too long and his barriers had just been broken by the simple words of the dark haired man.
« Why are you apologizing? »
His voice is soft, which is unusual coming from him. Lance takes a breath slowly, wiping his tears with the bottom of his sleeve. He must be looking horrible, eyes and nose red, he is never been very attractive after crying.
« I apologize to Allura.
- Why ? »
No answer. He himself doesn't know why, he just feels the need to apologize. Like a strange realization. Is he apologize for the sadness that has been eating his life away since she was gone? Or for his feelings for her that have been disappearing little by little?
« I feel like I’m forgetting her. »
The more his feelings for her dissipated, the more this unpleasant sensation she’s escaping from him intensifies. As if she had never existed, as if he had never loved her. It's a mixture of guilt and relief. The guilt of letting her down, but the relief of moving on. And he feels guilty for feeling relieved. It's a vicious circle from which he can't get out.
« You know, I'm bad with words, but when my father died, I also had the impression I was forgetting him. In truth, you never really forget the people who are dear to you, you just move on to something else and you have the right to. I'm sure Allura would want you to be happy, even without her. You have the right to happiness Lance, like all of us. »
There is a long moment of silence as they look at each other in the white of their eyes, he guesses that the other is trying to comfort him by the way his understanding eyes are looking at him. And it's stronger than him, a new stream of tears takes over him. Seeing his rival, the one who struggles the most dealing with others, trying to cheer him up, trying to calm him down and help him, it's too much for him. Through his tears, he can see the brunette panicking, not knowing how to react to his tears.
« What the quiznak?! What did I say?!
- You really are stupid, mullet! »
A chuckle mixed with hiccups comes out of his mouth. A strange blend of happiness and sadness. Again, as every time something is closely related to Keith, Lance feels inexplicably happy. To know that he worries about him to the point of forcing himself to comfort him, to see that lost look on his face as he laughs without any explanation. But, to be honest, he would not even be able to explain why he's so happy.
But for once he feels relieved that he doesn’t have to lie to one of his friends.
_
Do you know what's fun in the different stages of mourning? It's that, sometimes, the human passes several stages at once. These steps are just simple words about complex feelings. One step may take a year while another a few seconds. And yet, it still is a step. It's the same thing in life. It's not because it's fast that it isn’t intense and it's not because it's long that it cannot be just as intense.
The flowers tickle his face. He is lying on them. He doesn't know if they belong to him or her anymore. Or maybe they don't belong to anyone other than themselves? The earth trembles, footsteps getting closer. He doesn't move, his eyes still glued to this big blackboard filled with glitter. It's a moonless night, the stars are shining brighter than all other nights combined.
He hears clothing rustling in his left ear, they lie next to him, very close, too close perhaps? He can feel the warmth coming off the other person’s body. A little gust of wind comes to whip their faces. A new scent replaces the delicate one coming from the flowers. A mixture of sweat and blood, as well as leather and heat. The smell of a fireplace in which one could have thrown a leather jacket after a fight. It’s a perfume that stings, but you don't want to lose the aroma. Like one could keep asking for more and more spice even if it burns their tastebuds.
He turns his head towards the recently settled person beside him and stays in admiration for a few seconds. The stars of the sky are reflected in the jet black hair of the boy, as if a whole new universe just appeared inside, just for him to see. There is no moon outside but he feels dazzled as if there was one. The boy's scar breaks the harmony of his white skin without any imperfections. Motivated by a sudden desire, he stretches his left hand and grazes his thumb along the cut. One could think it would tarnish the elegance of the face in front of him, but not for Lance. For him, this scar added a mysterious touch, an adventurous side that goes very well with the boy.
Their eyes are locked. Blue against purple. Or maybe blue with purple? His hand, still in place, is quickly joined by Keith's. The tips of his fingers protruding from his gloves are cold but it doesn't bother Lance. It's even rather pleasant, accompanied by the summer’s breeze. Their hands entwine, they let them fall between them, the grass gently tickling their skin.
There is no sound, you can only hear their breathing and the nature that surrounds them. But they don't need a word to understand each other. Now that he thinks about it, they never really needed a word. They have always managed to understand each other, even through the insults, the fights, the silences.
He doesn't know if it was him who drew near first or if they did it at the same time. But when their lips clash together all coherent thoughts -or not so coherent ones- fly away.
It's a pure kiss, like a children’s kiss, a kiss that comes from hearts in need of care, delicacy and time. When their eyes reopen, it's slowly. Not because they are afraid of the reaction of the other, but more so because they want to indulge in the moment. To burn that moment in their minds, make it a happy memory that they can forget and then remember at the right time.
In his eyes, inexplicably purple, he sees it. He sees the answer he's been searching for for so long. He sees it very clearly. Why did she accept his feelings? She accepted them because she was hurt herself. She too had a void that she needed to fill, a void that even he couldn't fill. Because he was not the one she needed. And she was not the one he needed.
« I'm fine, don't worry. »
And for the first time since Allura disappeared, it wasn't a lie.