Warning, if mentions of depression and cutting make you uncomfortable or are triggers for you please don't read on, I understand, don't worry and most of the other chapters won't have things like that if I can help it, I just believe that this is the best way to show Lance's story and there will be a recap at the end so you don't miss anything. Also I've personally never cut so if some things I said are unrealistic message me or review, I'm really not good at this and I need help.

Lance looked at the blurring image in the mirror, the tears slowly dripping down his face as he dragged the razor against his forearm. The pain slowly bringing himself to what he thought was reality. He slowly tried to push away the thought flooding him but that little voice kept shoving them at him and whispering those horrible things in his ears. He felt as if the thoughts were trying to float him away and the pain was like chains feathering himself to the ground. He felt as though he could see and hear the kids laughing at him when they saw the scars. The memory surfacing and hurting him. They mocked him for not being tough like the other boys, not hiding his emotions and sticking it out. They didn't even know how many more emotions he had been hiding. He looked over himself and saw every imperfection the too darkness of his skin, the hair that never looked right, the muscles that never appeared, the flab of that little bit of stubborn fat, the scars along his arms and upper legs. The blood running down into the sink. The tears staining his face and making himself look blotchy and even worse, the thoughts swarming like butterflies covering him and smothering him, the friends he didn't have, the parents who he thought didn't care, he didn't even deserve the release the pain brought him. The thoughts crashed over him, prompting him to cut harder and deeper, more release comes with death, just do it. He grabbed a hairbrush and chucked it at the mirror and slumped down to cry. His mom yelled up and asked him what happened and he put on his mask he had carefully constructed over his whole life. He yelled back he was fine and had just dropped something. He slowly shoved the thoughts aside and basically shoved it in a drawer to come back later. He wrapped his arms and covered them with his sleeves. He applied the cosmetics to hide the blotches and started itching his eyes to look like he was just itching them. He had practiced this routine for so long it was natural, like a mask snapping into place. He slowly descended down the stairs to where his parents were sitting with his siblings. His mother asked again if he was ok, ever the loving mother. His father sat at the head of the table, his face stern but caring. From the outside they looked like a perfect family but no one knows of Lances depression, of the intrusive thoughts that plague him day and night. The thoughts screamed at him that his family wouldn't care if he died, they would forget about him in a few days. His face still unreadable but inside there was a war going on and the bad guys were winning. His mother and father tried to get him to show a little happiness but he knew if he started faking more complex emotions the mask would crack and crumble. Lance finished quickly and escaped to his room. The mask leaving his face and the tears coming out. The thoughts prompting him to leave and never come back. He was so tired of those thoughts, so tired of fighting, he finally succumbed to those horrible thoughts and packed a bag, full of blades, a gun and bandages, almost no essentials besides some clothes. He left that night out the window and just started running. He ran until he found a secluded area and pulled out those blades he had hoped he wouldn't use. He pulled up his sleeves and removed the bandages then slowly moved the blades back and forth, up and down. All over the underside of his forearm until the thoughts calmed down a little more. That night he fell asleep in that back alley with tears drying on his face.

He continued the routine from hell, cutting, wrapping, sleeping, and eating if he could find food. He slowly descended into a dark hole he couldn't climb out of, losing more blood than he could make in a day. His heart couldn't keep up and most days he could barely move. Then one day he just collapsed, the only thought going through his head was one of gratitude for the death he was sure was coming.

Then he woke up. Instantly his senses flooded, the smell of a stew, the sound of a fire cracking and a boy about his age muttering to himself, the view of the bright fire, and the feel of his hands tied together. Wait, tied together! Lance started panicking, was this guy gonna kill him? What was happening? Who even was this dude? He slowly observed, trying not to alert the guy he was awake. The man looked to be about Lance's age and had a slightly bigger build. He had darker skin, dark black hair with a thin yellow band keeping it out of his face and chocolatey brown eyes. Lance couldn't help but notice he had a knife in his hand and the thoughts started telling him to start cutting himself with it. Then the man met his eyes and threw a kind smile in his direction "I'm glad you're awake, I was worried you might not wake up! You were scraped up pretty good you know."

"Who are you?" Lance said, the fear written clearly on his face.

"Hunk Garrett at your service, how about you." Hunk's cheerfulness was rubbing off on Lance even after only meeting for a few minutes somehow calming him down.

"Lance, Lance McClain. So on to the most pressing matter, why'd you tie my hands up, your not gonna hurt me right?"

"Oh no no no I just didn't want you to hurt yourself again, that is how you got those scratches right?"

Embarrassed Lance quietly said yes. "Don't worry, I know what your going through, my sister had the same problem as you with the only difference was I was too late to help her." Sadness expressed for a few seconds before another cheerful smile replaced it.

"So you can figure why I'm here, why are you?"

"It's nothing, don't worry yourself with that, ok?"

"Ok" Lance said skeptically "Can I have some of that stew, I'm starved!"

"Of course! I'm excited no one has ever tried my food before but my sister so I need to see what you think!" He slowly passes Lance a bowl. Lance quickly spoons some of it into his mouth, the hunger of the last few days finally showing itself. A look of pure bliss passes over his face and he quickly finished the rest of it exclaiming "Oh my god! How is this so good! Wha- huh- more! Please!"

Hunk laughs and ladles more into the bowl Lance was using "So I take it you liked it." He says with a chuckle.

"Oh yes! This is probably the best thing I've ever had."

"I'm glad my food worked it's magic."

"Magic?"

"When I gave it to my sister she said it would help her feel better, like someone actually cared, I was hoping it would do the same for you."

"Well it sure helped. Thanks." Lances face turned red as he asked "Um could you, you know, stick around with me, I don't want to be alone anymore."

"Of course, I feel like we'll be good friends you and I."

Synopsis for anyone who skipped the story, Lance ran away from home after believing no one cared about him and passed out after a few days of running. Hunk finds him and they start becoming friends and agree that Hunk and him shouldn't stay alone.