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1. AloneKeith has always been alone so one could say he has grown used to it.The loneliness, the pain, the coldness.
How it surrounds and traps him, - seeps into his skin.But just because he is used to it doesn't mean he likes it.
Sadly enough, that's something a lot of people forget. He is the Loner, the Emo kid, the one who doesn't understand jokes and is always so serious. So naturally, something as being alone must be easy as breathing air for him.It hurts.Because yes, he may be the one kid standing in the corner while everyone else plays games, he may be the one who dresses himself in dark colors, he may not understand the simplest of jokes. But that doesn't make it okay, - right? To, ignore him, make fun of him.But it's not like it's his fault.It's not his fault he keeps getting this nervous feeling when he is around other people. The way his mouth just snaps shut and his body tenses up. Muscles quivering. The way it feels as if everything is pressing around him, - against him - trapping him, -crushing him in this little and tight bubble that has wrapped itself around him, squeezing and squeezing so, SO tight. Making him not able to breathe properly.
( -Where is the air?! )
And he tells himself it's okay because why is he feeling this way, he has seen other kids doing this and none of them reacted like this. Is he the odd one out? The freak? The kid who can't keep it together?His mind always wanders to those kids, standing above him, taunting, and laughing and hitting him. Kicking him down, laughing at him, saying how he is a worthless orphan with no parents because they didn't love him anymore, saying how weak he is because he can't say a word back, mouth tightly shut, tears in his eyes. And he hates it.He hates it so, sO much.
Hates them.
Hates his parents for leaving him.
Hates the adults for not helping him.
Hates himself.How being alone makes him anxious, panicky, makes his breathing go faster. How his heart rate goes up, uP- and Up- and UP-! Making him feel jittery all over, making the bubble come back, and squeeze -
Making him choke,
and heave,
and cry.
He hates it. So damn fucking much.Don't get him wrong, he loves some alone time, but after a while, it can get suffocating, and he finds himself in desperate need to be in someone's presence.So, yes-
it hurts when he is ignored, it doesn't matter that he wouldn't answer, it would just show him that someone cares. That he isn't alone. That someone understands. It just hurts, so so much.That's exactly what he is doing right now, - hurting.He is together with the other paladins, Allura and Coran. He isn't alone, he knows that, because Shiro is beside him, talking with Allura and Coran. Pidge is in front of him with Hunk beside her and Lance animatedly talking and joking.
But the thing is-
no one talks to him.He sees the way people seem to avoid having a conversation with him, they don't necessarily talk to him, -want to talk to him, only when it's important or to complain when he did something reckless. As always.
He's scared to notice how used he seems to be to it.He isn't alone, physically speaking.
He knows he could at least try to start a conversation with them, but the feeling comes back and - he restrains himself from running away and crying.So he sits there in silence, surrounded by happy chattering, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jealousy
Jealousy was something that quickly overtook Keith the moment he began kindergarten, it developed deep within him as people constantly reminded him of something he would never have, something he had never had; someone who was the heart and soul of all children in his school: A mother.
( It all started with the want of a mother. )
He didn't really think about it, everyone had a dad, and what other person did someone need in their life except a father?.
He thought it was normal, to only have a dad. It didn't matter what everyone else thought.
He had his dad.
And that was the only thing that counted.
He didn't need anyone else to make him happy.
It started with an innocent question, all too innocent for a child to know that it could make someone feel half-empty. He had been in kindergarten, sitting at a table drawing a giant lion with some red crayons with glee and excitement as it began to come together ( yes, he is a firm believer that huge red lions are a thing. Fight him. ) when another child approached him.
"Yes?" he had asked, barely looking up from drawing his giant red lion, frowning as he noticed something seemed to be missing.
It was a girl, with blond hair put into two small pigtails, curious blue eyes and a vigorous blue outfit.
( - Marie, his mind supported him. (it’s that girl Marie)That is Marie. )
"Uhm, I have a question." Marie said, tilting her head, fluttering her eyelashes as she sat down next to him ( completely uninvited ) and picked at his crayons.
"What is it?" he had asked, feeling annoyed at being interrupted drawing his ( awesome ) red lion some super cool armor.
"Where is your mom?" An innocent question indeed.
He had frowned, looking up at her, "A mom?" he scrunched his nose.
"So you don't have one?" the blonde girl pouted, "Why?"
Keith shrugged, replacing his red crayon with a blue one, before deciding to start to draw another big lion, this time in blue though! He was sure it would look so cool! If only the girl would let him alone, he hasn't got much time! He needs to surprise his dad!
"No, I don't," Keith answered. He was tired of her and really wanted the girl to go, but he has never heard of that, a mom... What is that? Some kind of toy maybe?
He voiced his thoughts.
A small and high-pitched gasp got him to look up again, the little girl, — Marie —looked at him with wide eyes, filled with horror. "You don't know what a mom is?" she loudly squeaked, gaining the attention of some other kids nearby.
Keith had furrowed his eyebrows, giving her an annoyed look, "No I don't," he huffed, "Can you let me alone now?"
Honestly, doesn't this girl understand that he has better things to do? Just tell him what that mom thing is and leave him alone.
"How can you not know?" she asked, looking Keith up and down as if his appearance was the reason why he doesn’t know.
Her judging stare made Keith uncomfortable, "Well I'm sorry then," he had snapped, annoyed.
"But I don't, so I'd like it if you would tell me." he glared at her, what's her deal anyway? It's probably just some stupid toy. He doesn't need that, he already has his super cool red bike, his crayons (with a lot of reds!), and a stuffed hippo, he doesn't need more stuff.
“And what’s with the question anyway?”
Marie hummed thoughtfully, “Well,” she started, “ You always come with your dad,” she tilted her head, “never with your mom…”
Keith blinked, “ So, a, mom…” he said the last world carefully, quickly putting things together, “Is like a, girl dad?”
Blue eyes looked at him, “I suppose,” a pause.
He hummed, “What do you do? — With your mom, I mean.” he added, because the girl looked at him confused.
“Well, she is the best! We always play together! I can help her cook, and on the weekend we sometimes bake cookies together! We go shopping together, for clothes and stuff or for food ya know and before I go to bed she always reads me a bedtime story, always.” She nodded to herself, as if pleased to have it explained so well.
He didn’t know what to answer, staring blankly at his drawing of a scribbled something in red and something else in blue. His dad is the best, that much is true. And they do sometimes play together, but dad is often tired after work, so they lay down together before eating and going to bed. They don’t really shop, much less together, his father has an own farm, so they don’t need to worry about food and other stuff. And bedtime stories? Well, he had a few of those, but that’s it, not a lot.
The silence stretched on for a few seconds, the girl awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other.
“So you don’t, have one?” she asked, after a while, a hesitant tone to her voice.
Keith stilled, “...no?”
The blonde girl huffed, “That’s weird.”
“Huh?” was his irritated answer, “Why?”
“Everyone has a mom here!” Marie called as she threw her hands in the air, waving them around to prove her point, “Why do you not have one? That is weird.” After another pause, “You, are weird.”
The kids nearby seemed to agree;
“Totally.”
“Who doesn’t even have a mom?”
“So weird.”
They whispered, looking at him with curious little frowns, distancing themselves from him.
Keith had stiffened, clenching his hand around the forgotten crayon, a frown marrying his face.
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, a caretaker seemed to notice the tumult and came to clear everything up.
“Everything okay?” she asked, a worried smile on her face, looking at each kid.
“He doesn’t have a mom,” a kid said in a not too friendly voice, “Isn’t that weird?” it asked for confirmation. Not having a mother is weird, everyone here had a mother, the exception being him. What a weirdo.
The nice caretaker frowned, a knowing look on her face as she looked at Keith. Keith saw something akin to pity flash across her face, before she let out an uncomfortable laugh, “That is really rude James!” So the name of the kid was James.
“You do not say that!” she reprimanded him, “That is not weird at all! It’s not his fault, so stop it!” she glared at the children, daring them to say something else.
“But— he doesn’t have a mother!” a kid piped up in an offended voice, as if that reason was good enough to let them bother him.
She took a calming breath, “You’ll understand when you are older, now hush! Stop bothering him!” She waved the children away, all the while smiling apologetically.
“I’m sorry, dear” she had said, “Ignore them, they just don’t understand. Give them time.” With that, she went away.
Keith just sat there, blankly staring at his picture.
After his father came to pick him up, Keith could practically feel the children's accusing and inquisitive stares.
He ignored them as good as he could.
( A mom, huh. )
He didn’t understand either
They were at home, sitting on their small couch and watching something on their TV.
It was silent, both concentrating on other things.
“Dad,” Keith started, a hesitant tone in his voice.
His father didn’t answer, just turning his head to look at him.
Keith hadn’t said anything directly after that, deciding to meet his father's gaze, biting his lip self-consciously.
“Why, — ...“ he broke his gaze, staring at his fingers instead. “Why—, why don’t I, have a mom?”
Keith looked up from his fumbling fingers, to see his father looking away, a pained grimace on his face.
It was silent for the next few seconds, “Dad?” a hesitant voice asked.
His father seemed to perk up, remembering where he was, leaving his memory lane.
“Everyone has a mom.” he had answered in a pained voice.
He was looking out of the windows, to stare at the stars.
Keith followed his eyes, that seemed to be looking at something, very far away. At something, one wouldn’t be able to see with a naked eye. Something, not even a telescope could reach.
“Where is she then?”
Silence.
“With the stars Keith. She’s with the stars.”
Keith didn’t say anything else for the night.
( Whenever the kids pestered him for his mother he always answered the same. )
( “She’s with the stars.” )
( The other kids seemed to hate it when he said that. )
( His bruises proved it. )
It was mothers day.
His class planned on making something for the children's mothers that day. Every child sat in small groups at a table, drawing pictures, hearts, making flowers.
Keith pressed his lips together, hair covering his eyes as he clenched his fist.
He didn’t do anything.
He doesn’t need to.
Keith waited for his father.
He clenched his hands to his sides as he watched every single one of his classmates walk home, hand in hand with their mothers and left him by himself.
No mother to hold his hand, no mother to ask him how his day was or kiss his forehead and tell him ‘let’s go home’.
He would always feel that strange thing in his chest, burning and filling him up with anger like a balloon whenever he saw that.
He didn’t know what that meant.
He didn’t like that feeling.
( His father didn’t come. )
( He went home alone. )
Keith always knew his father was a brave man.
He was always “Fighting fire” as he was told.
Fighting fire was a big thing, because one was rescuing other people from it.
A hero, his father was a hero. That’s what he always said to him.
( “You’re
a hero dad! Always rescuing other people!” )
Keith had loved it—
— But now, standing in front of his grave, it didn’t seem too great to have a hero as a father.
It made him angry.
( “He was a hero kid.” )
( “He saved us, like a true hero would.” )
( “ You should be proud.” )
His father died. While protecting other people from the fire.
What’s there to be proud of?
“There was an accident,” they said, “Your father got hurt” — “He didn’t make it.”
He didn’t understand. Not at first.
( “Wh-what do you mean?” )
What did they mean? He didn’t make it.
( “He’s dead, boy. I’m sorry…” )
His father, died.
He’ll never see him again, never smell him again, never touch him again.
“So, he’s, with the stars?”
The policeman looked at him startled, before smiling gently, “Yes. He’s with the stars now.”
Keith grimaced, tears running down his cheeks.
( At least he’s not alone… )
( Unlike me… )
He got stuck into foster care after that.
And that weird feeling happened more often.
That weird burning sensation, that filled him up and made him tense.
He saw it every time he saw the other children with their parents.
Thoughts running through his head the whole time.
Why are they allowed to be happy? Why him? Why did he have to go? To sacrifice himself? Why did they have to go? Leaving him all alone, and vulnerable in the harsh and brutal world.
Keith cried the whole night after his father's death.
( Keith never cried after that. )
No one wanted him, …
No one.
They all just took him for the money, but not even those people lasted long enough.
He was a hopeless case, a discipline problem, too aggressive, too mean, too everything.
He hated them, the other kids, for being able to have loving families. Everyone seemed to have loving families, but him.
The feeling of hate burning within him never seemed to stop, always flickering like a fire, not filling him with warmth, — but rather with spite, resentment— , never truly burning out, just waiting there, glowing embers waiting to be ignited, to be a blazing flame again.
He met Shiro, and was able to enter the Garrison.
The feeling left.
But even that was just a matter of time.
Shiro left him, and he was alone again.
As always.
The feeling came back, like a big wave of negativity, drowning him, and making him choke, and claw desperately for air, for hope.
A year later he found himself on a castle-turned-ship, in space. With Shiro. And three other Garrison students.
Everything seemed to be good again, that didn’t mean Keith wasn’t apprehensive.
He waited.
Something would happen. He was sure about that.
One of the Garrison students ( “The name’s Lance— “ ), was really loud, Keith didn’t like him.
Their personality just clashed too much.
It was exhausting.
Not to mention that he was a real pain in the ass.
( How could he forget our bonding moment?! )
Keith’s relatively good mood vanished in about three seconds.
He was leaning against a wall at a huge party, with some weird alien drink in his hand, that kinda reminded him of strawberries, looking around the colorful mass of bodies. The paladins landed on some weirdly colorful planet called “Spalva” which roughly translates to color. On here, everything seems to have crazy pigmentation. Not to mention massive plants in orange, yellow, pink, some with dots, others with stripes, and some other with swirls.
The species that lived here kinda looked human, the only thing separating them from the real deal being their skin—/eye—/ and hair color.
They seem to come in all colors, red, yellow, green, blue, purple, something in between, some having weird spots in another color.
They were on this planet, that in those ten thousand years hasn’t been touched by the galra, to convince the species called, “Zukongole”, the colorful, to join their coalition.
They are a very powerful species, being able to read minds and use something akin to telekinesis.
The reason Keith’s mood was ruined?
Lance.
You see, Lance didn’t really do anything wrong per se, but just seeing him surrounded by those “Zukangole”—women, made his heart clench uncomfortably in his chest. It only held on for about a second before the fire ignited once again, burning him from the inside out and making him clench his teeth.
This time, he was able to identify the feeling. Jealousy.
The sight, makes him angry, — jealous, with those swooning females around him, because he knows, Lance would never see him, the way he does with those, exotic, girls.
Keith is male. A man. And Lance—
Lance isn’t gay.
He is as straight as a ruler.
( “I, really, l—like you, Lance…” )
Keith clenches his hand around the glass, feeling it creak beneath his hand.
Keith never wanted it to end that way, Keith never wanted to fall in love with that stupid idiot. With his stupid blue eyes, and his flawless skin, and his fucking annoying personality.
He hates it.
( “I—I’m sorry, Keith, but I—” )
He catches Lance’s eyes and turns his head away, not wanting to be caught looking.
( “I, I’m not into men, so, yeah, … I’m sorry.” )
He feels his eyes burn and quickly places the glass on a table, so he won’t break it any further and decides to go outside, — no one should see him like this. So weak.
Pushing himself through the colorful mass of handshakes and inquisitive questions, he finally makes it to a balcony.
He takes a deep breath. Breathing in the cold air, that is thank god breathable for him.
His eyes burn and his throat closes up, his heart beating hard and quickly in his chest.
He blinks a few times, tilting his head up, so that the tears won’t escape.
( He won’t cry. )
( He won’t. )
He knows Lance’ll never love him… So why is he acting that way? Why does it hurt so much? To see him with other girls, or just anyone else— why can’t Lance just stay with him? He doesn’t like it. He wants to be happy with him. To kiss him, to smell him, to touch him wherever he wants, to have him in his arms and just, love him. He choked on a sob trying to escape him.
A lone tear escaped his eye, and he fiercely scrubbed it away. He told himself he wouldn’t cry, he’ll take it silently like a man.
He doesn’t need him anyways.
( (All) Lies. )
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Lies
The heat is everywhere, above — around— under, heating up the already hot and arid air even more. The flames in front of him, — yellow and orange and even a bright red, illuminate and douse everyone and everything in an amber glow. Screams fill the air, blending together with a mixture of smoke, fear and worry, choking Keith. He tries to take a deep breath, he doesn’t know why he is so anxious, — so scared. His dad is a firefighter, he fights the fire. That’s his daily job. He does this every day. But it’s dangerous, and while he is proud to have a brave dad, he doesn’t want him dead. He really doesn’t.He remembers how he tried to stop him.
( “ Don’t go dad!” )
He remembers the way his father held his cheek, the worried look on his face, and something filling his eyes, something Keith could not decipher, forehead smudged with ash, — face slightly red because of the tremendous heat.
( “I have to son.” )
He didn’t want him to go, everyone was outside anyways, so why did he have to go and check again?He didn’t understand. He thought he was important to him. So why is he so reckless?
( “I don’t want you to die dad!” )
He needed him, what would he do if he was gone? Who would bring him to school and back? Who would play in with him in the desert together? Who would hug him and tell him it’s alright after another relentless day of teasing in school? He needed him, he can’t just go like that. He can’t.
( “ I won’t. I‘ll come back, I promise.” )
And so he waits, anxiety and uneasiness clawing at his stomach, digging and digging, not stopping, filling him up and making him jittery all over. He isn't able to stand still, silently shaking
( "Promise?" )
He sees it, the way the burning building crashes, falls into each other, flattening everything that is under there. The horrified screams increase and he can feel himself freeze up, throat closing up. No, nonononono—
( "Did I ever lie to you?" )
He is running before he could realise what is happening, — trying to reach the burning building, — trying to meet his father halfway through. Hoping to meet his father half-way through.
( "No...." )
Once there, he collapses into a heap in front of it, blankly staring at the flames in front of him, watching it burn down, blazing ambers turning into unbearable flames, consuming everything in it's wake. He ignores the heat stinging him and singing his clothes, the way it’s burning his eyes, making them feel dry in a matter of seconds.
( "See? I won't leave you." )
He promised that he’ll be back. He promised. He’s never broken a promise before.
( "I'll see you later, son. I love you." )
He believed in him. Believed in him to come back. He didn’t......He lied. Nothing but ash was left behind of the once nice school building. Scattering in all directions as a breeze flows by.The memories following with it.
( "I love you son." )
I hate you...
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
4. Abuse
Keith never had the most lucky life. Having been in the orphanage and Foster Care for most of his life, he, — as did many others, stumbled upon countless “abusers”.
He always thought that abusive is physical, — brutal; Consisting of slaps that made your ears ring and punches that made you weak in your knees. Shoves that made him stumble and loud shouting that made his heart race in fear, and adrenaline pump through his veins.
And while he may have had his share of those, he also had tons of people who made him feel like crap just by talking. He also knew some who did nothing. The silent ones, ignoring him and not talking to him, excluding him as if he were non-existent. They made him feel unimportant and insignificant.
He hated them the most.
A sob rang through the air.
It was small, — quiet and vulnerable.
A small body was cowering in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, trying to draw comfort by the darkness surrounding it. Blending in almost perfectly.
A sniffle sounded from the body, small hands wiping tears from it’s cheeks. A good look at the figure showed that it was a small boy around 11 years old.
He wore a tattered shirt that was way to big and frayed at the ends, almost slipping off too bony shoulders, showing the room skin underneath.
Bruises were littering his thin body, standing out sharply against the milky skin in various colors. Some a deep purple, and some beginning to heal, becoming an ugly yellow and brown.
Skinny arms, being so thin that they were bordering on anorexic, wrapped themselves around equally thin legs, with the head resting on sharp knees. His face looked sickly, deep circles under the eyes, rivalling an amnesiac and sharp cheekbones, able to cut the hardest material, throwing shadows.
It hurts
, the boy silently whimpered to himself.
It hurts so much.
Tears gathered in his eyes, purple orbs beginning glisten.
He can’t help but ask himself why those things are happening to him, did he do something wrong? He can’t remember doing anything that may offend him.
Why was that man so mean to him? He did everything he was tasked with.
Stay quiet. Be nice. Look cute.
He was pretty sure he can do the first two, and the last one, he is unsure but the man never said he
was not
cute. So he guesses he does alright in that department.
The brunette tried to change his position, whimpering slightly as he did so when his muscles screamed at him.
He knew he should tell someone, but the last time he tried the punishment he received was even worse.
No.
He couldn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to get hurt even more. Not, when it already hurts so much. Not when he is
so vulnerable.
He hates that feeling. He absolutely hates it. It makes him feel
weak
and reminds him of so many unpleasant things. Like those people who hurt him
The one who always stank like alcohol, and threw bottles of beer after him, when he tried to escape.
Or that one woman who yanked at his hair when he was not nice and used to dig her fingernails into his skin, when she was not pleased with his performance, always drawing
(warmwarmwarm—)
blood, making it run down his arms and glide down his palm around his fingers and drop onto the ground
(dropdropdrop— ),
creating a red puddle on the wooden floor. He remembers her screams when he wasn’t able to get rid of the blood stains
(, “ — You stupid child!”)
, making him eat the food off the floor, exactly on the red spot, making him cringe but he
had
to.
Or that one family who always turned a blind eye when he was bullied by his “siblings” or when they touched him in inappropriate places making him cringe and plead for them to stop (“Stop, — stop please!!”), buttheydidn’t. They didn’t stop them, and he hated it, because he really didn’t want this but they were all so much stronger and so much bigger and he wasn’t able to defend himself, scratching and biting and screaming didn’t help, — until sometimes he stopped completely. He only got hurt even more anyways.
He never liked those parents who always insisted to be with him, watching him like a hawk, and making him even more uncomfortable. He just wanted to be left alone.
He does not feel safe around them, around anyone. Scratch that, he never feels safe anymore, every foster home he visits, no matter how nice the parents are, he always feels exposed, defenseless, liable. At least he has his dagger to make him feel at least a little bit safer. Without his dagger with him, he feels like a sitting duck. Pushed into a corner and cornered by something that may or may not be actually there.
The only thing that makes him feel, not safe, but powerful, is the dark. People don’t like the dark, it is scary. And that’s exactly the reason why he likes it so much. People don’t go and venture into the dark where they can’t see and they can’t be seen. So they stay in the light where they feel better and stronger, and superior.
In the darkness he can hide. The shadows fall around him like a second blanket, covering him from all evil, sharing it’s comfort with him. He thrives in it.
It’s funny how everyone symbolizes the dark with something bad, — evil. When in reality it’s the light that has the most monsters in it. They are in the open, and because they can be seen so openly, they seem good. Oh how false they are. So narrow-minded.
He knows the truth, hell, he has experienced the truth first-hand.
He’d rather stay alone anyway.
Other people just hurt you. Friends even more so. They are able to dig into your self-made defenses that you were able to hold up for so long, they come and they dig and diganddig— they see you at your most vulnerable, stripped bare with all your thoughts and feelings and fears out in the open, making you choke on your panic, because you don’t want them to hurt you, use this against you, manipulate you into doing stuff, because they tear open your old scarred over wounds and— No.
He doesn’t want friends.
He doesn’t want to get hurt.
Not even more anyway.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
5. Alcohol
Everything around him seemed to blur into itself together, color and shapes mingling to become one. Time seemed to go by in a haze, — he doesn’t know how much has passed, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care for anything anymore. He shakily picks up his wine glass, trying to fill it with nunvill, frustration filling him when his grip on the bottle slips slightly and proceeds to spill some of it on the table in front of him. He grimaced, lips curling and baring his teeth, black eyebrows furrowing, eyes straining to see properly. In a drunken manner he grabbed the whole bottle and took a big gulp, tears forming in his eyes as his taste buds came in contact with the way too strong liquor. He forces himself to not choke and spit everything out. That would defeat his purpose of even drinking that stuff. He wants to die. He craves death. It’s the only thought keeping him sane and steady. If death claimed him, he would be able to be happy again. He wouldn’t have to deal with the pain, — the memories. Tears run down his cheeks as he steadily downs his fifth bottle of nunvil. It burns his tongue and down his throat, but he doesn’t stop. The burn makes him remember everything he wants to forget. But he can’t just stop. He can’t. He must forget.
Disoriented he tries to stand up, what happened?
His body starts trembling when memories begin to flood his brain.
Warmth, unbearable warmth, — heat. It was everywhere, above him, around him, surrounding him, cornering him in, making him unable to move far. It was so hot, — hothothot, it was making his eyes burn, drying them in a matter of seconds.
It makes his heart beat faster, blood pumping through his veins in a new frenzy. His fingers twitch around the bottle and he grips it even harder, hearing a small crack. He doesn’t stop.
Keith couldn’t breathe, there was no air, no air for him to be able to breathe and he chokes and chokes and chokesandcoughsandcoughs. His lungs are screaming at him, rattling with every breath, his eyesight is fuzzy, his muscles protest but he has to push through, because where is he? He has to find him, he can’t let him be alone, so where is he?
The brunette squeezes his eyes shut and tries to drink the liquor even faster. Maybe it would help him forget everything. Maybe it will drown his sorrows and problems, washing it away somewhere where he isn’t able to reach it. Somewhere where it will lay, closed off and forgotten. Forever.
He looks and looks and looks for him but he can’t find him anywhere. Panic washes over him and Keith calls his name into the smoke around him, making him choke and cough once again, lungs protesting to work in their condition. His chest hurts, he can’t breathe. Broken ribs.
He finishes the bottle before promptly throwing it away, he doesn’t hear the sound of glass shattering against the wall and falling on the floor.
He desperately tries to find some air, ignoring the overwhelming pain, but his helmet is broken, the glass panel has a huge crack in it, that won’t save him. But that doesn’t concern him as much as it should, because where is he? Keith needs to know, has to know.
Keith doesn’t want to relive this, he knows that it’s all his fault. He knows that if he acted faster, — hesitated less, that this wouldn’t have happened. He would be here beside him, alive and well and laughing, they’d be teasing each other, and laughing with each other, they’d hold hands and kiss and hug, — so why do those memories have to haunt him? Isn’t he suffering enough? He knows he can’t do anything about all those things anymore. Because he isn’t here .
Not anymore.
He tries to stay calm, he really does but he simply can’t. He is out there, possibly hurt, what if he— he can’t continue his thought, chest constricting as he struggles for air. He can’t think like that. He has to look.
It makes his heart clench. It’s as if someone punched a hole through his heart and left him on the ground. Wound open for everyone to see. To die in silent misery.
He hurries through the halls, body trembling in shock and pain. Walking through debris and smoke, normally sharp eyes are now dazed and filled with fear while scanning the surroundings. He froze when he saw it.
He looks at the picture of him in front of him and remembers everything.
A bloodied helmet on the floor.
His oh so beautiful laugh, able to brighten his day. His deep expressive eyes, drawing him in and making him drown, his skin, clear and soft and so so flawless, it’s bronze color contrasting so beautifully against his own pale skin. His charismatic personality making everyone laugh, his funny jokes and cheesy pickup lines and— oh god
It’s his.
His throat tightens, cutting off his air supply.
Once beautiful bronze skin now pale and cold, clammy with sticky blood, usual deep eyes, capable of drawing him in, nothing more than glassy hues of blue, all light in them gone. A normally happy expression is turned into a pained grimace, filled with sadness and resignation. Lips which wore a beautiful laugh, are nothing more than stained with blood, red lines falling down to his chin.
He falls on his face, sobbing onto the ground. His shoulders are trembling, his throat tight and through teary eyes watches as drops of salty fluids fall onto the floor. He sobs tiredly, his heart clenching painfully as he grabs for another bottle, downing it before flinging it into some corner.
Red drops dripping onto his armour and the floor, creating a puddle underneath his mangled body.
He watches it shatter against the wall, the rest of the liquor creating a (redredred— ) puddle (of bloodbloodblood— ) on the ground. He was his. The use of past tense brought him a sharp pain in his chest. He couldn’t even tell him how much he loved him. No, it was way too late or that.
He remembers the pain in finding him, the way he struggled for air and tried to stay calm because he must be alive, no way is he dead. No he won’t accept this.
Keith chokes, chest heaving and ugly sobs leaving his lips. He tries to stand and lean against the wall, everything is twisting and turning and he feels even more sick than before. He promptly crashes onto the floor, a single thought running through his head in circles. Let him die.
He remembers the way the red stained his suit. It clung to his fingers, the sticky substance stubbornly refusing to let him get a good grip on him.
His fingers tangle into his hair to pull at it, nails pressing against his scalp, body curling into itself, trying to protect it from his negative thoughts.Stop.
No, nononononononononono—
He can still remember, everything. How it started. The crash, the shouts, the explosions—
The burning heat surrounding him, the backlash throwing him in the air and making him land on cold and hard unforgiving ground. He hears his ribs crack and he wheezes as the air is pressed out of him and the way his blood rushes in his air.
Disoriented he tries to stand up, what happened?
It didn’t work. He doesn’t want this, he wants to just forget. Why can’t he do that? Let him mourn properly damnit.
Where is Lance?
He doesn’t want to live. Not without him. A wet sob left his lips, saying more than thousand words ever could.
“W-where are, ... you?!”
Why him?
“NO!”
Why did Lance have to die?
“Please don’t leave me…”
Why?
“NO!”
“Lance ...” “Please ...”
“Don’t leave me…”
“I’m sorry…”