Things always go wrong. They must. It's the way that the universe functions and keeps itself alive.
Nothing goes right. Not ever. At least not for Lance. But it's okay. It's fine.
It doesn't matter. At all.
Lance was still sitting on the window sill in a back hallway in the castle with Pidge's headphones on. He was trying not to think too much about the situation that he was in, but it simply wasn't working. When your whole reality comes to be at risk again and again and again, you'd think that you'd eventually get used to it. But you never do. Not ever. It's always terrifying. You never know what's going to change this time. What will people think of you now? No one knows. Sometimes you don't even know after the fact. It remains a mystery.
People tend to keep their true opinions about you to themselves. They'd never admit that they hate you. They'd never admit that you're completely worthless and useless. That when they found out about your... unhealthy habits... they secretly agreed with your philosophy that you deserved it all. They won't tell you that because that's not a socially acceptable thing to say. At least not out loud. It makes them feel better about themselves if they can get a smile to appear on your face even if the smile is obviously fake. They love to live in ignorance. The less they know about you and your feelings, the better. They don't care. And, like you, they pretend. Every. Single. Day.
There's a lot of things that don't make sense, Lance decides, but there's nothing that can be done to fix that.
Lance attempts to turn up his music even louder before seeing that it's already as loud as it will go. The louder it is, the more likely it is to drown out his thoughts, but they eventually adapt and return. He closes his eyes and leans back. He's sure of one thing, and one thing only: that the situation that he's in currently is not the greatest. He heard what the others were saying about him, and he can tell that they're pouring everything they have into their caring facade. For some reason, it was decided that the best thing to do at the moment would be to check Lance's room. His notebook was hidden under the mattress, but they probably wouldn't look under there. God, he hopes that they won't. If they do, then things will definitely change again.
Nothing stays the same, and that's obvious, but Lance doesn't even have time to adapt anymore before things are changing once again.
It's okay, though. It really is.
God, why does he keep repeating that lie? It's obviously not okay. Not even close. Maybe he thinks that he'll eventually believe that it's true. Maybe it's that he knows that a lack of sadness is the closest he will get to happiness ever again. He has to think that that's fine. Maybe it's that he knows that he'll never again feel like he's truly worth anything because, truth be told, he isn't. He needs to think that's fine too. Maybe he thinks that the more he lies, the more he repeats it... the more he'll actually believe that it's true.
Maybe that's it. Or maybe not. There's no way to tell.
Lance sighs, or at least he thinks that he does. It's hard to tell when he can't hear anything but his thoughts and the distant sound of his music. He keeps on getting caught up in his thoughts. In the things that he only thinks to himself. Things that he knows no one else will want to hear. That's okay too. Just pretend. Pretend enough and maybe his real self will finally get lost.
The air around Lance seems to get colder and colder, the deeper he gets into his thoughts. He really should stop. Bad things happen when he gets too deep into the truth.
Lance notices when he opens his eyes, that the stars that pass are many different colors. Some are white like they're always stereotyped to be. But many are more than that. Some are red and fiery like Keith. Some are yellow and energetic looking like Hunk. Some are pale green and small like Pidge. Some are orange and gleeful like Coran. Some are pinkish and stable looking like Allura. Some are light purple and have more shaky outlines like Shiro. And some are blue and sad like Lance. There's so many different stars. Not one is the same as the other. He wonders how many aliens there are staring up at the same stars as him. He wonders if they see people in the stars too: one's that they know and care for dearly. But maybe that's just Lance. He might be the only one.
Lance feels a hard tap on his shoulder and looks up to see an angry looking Keith holding... oh no.
Lance pulls his headphones off quickly and leaps up from his comfortable spot on the window sill. He opens his mouth to try and say something, but he's cut off by Keith's angry and shaky voice.
"Lance, what the fuck is this?" He flips to the first page of the notebook and shoves it into Lance's face. "Why did you write this? Why?"
Lance remains silent. How is he supposed to explain this?
Keith's eyes lose a bit of their rage, and he looks down. "I thought that you wouldn't- I thought that you'd tell me if you..."
Lance turns his face away from Keith and shuffles his feet a bit. "I wasn't actually going to-"
"Then why, Lance?" Keith shouts, anger back on his face. "Why?"
"I... I was just... I wanted to have it. Just in case," Lance manages to say quietly.
"Oh my god, Lance," Keith mutters. "Just in case of what?"
That's a good question, Lance realizes. What was he preparing for? It can't be what Keith is suggesting... or maybe it can. That really wouldn't be too surprising to Lance.
"Answer me, Lance," Keith pleads. "Please. Tell me what this is."
"It was just a precaution. For if I died somehow." This isn't a complete lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Not even close.
"Are you sure, Lance?" Keith says, his eyebrows creased in frustration. "Because this sure seems a lot like a suicide note to me."
"Keith, I swear, I wasn't planning on-"
"Bullshit!" Keith screams. "That's bullshit!" A tear drops from his eye, and his whole demeanor changes. He takes a few steps back and tries to hide his reddening face. "You're lying. I know you're lying to me."
Lance tries to advance towards him to take the notebook back, but Keith clutches it close to his chest with a slightly scared expression on his face. Keith's eyes dart over to the door. It's obvious what he's thinking. He's going to show the others.
"Keith! Please don't!" Lance begs. He stops moving forward and clasps his hands together in front of him. "Please, please don't. I swear to you, I wasn't going to do anything."
Keith's face changes to pure anger. "Liar! You're a fucking liar!" He makes a break for the door, and Lance doesn't even attempt to stop him. He knows that there's no point in trying. He'd never be able to.
Instead, he simply collapses to the ground into a small ball and presses his hands to his face. Tears drip down his face. His whole body is shaking as he thinks of all of the things that are sure to happen to him now.
Was Keith right? Was he lying? Probably... he probably was. Or maybe it was definite this time. Lance knows deep down why he really wrote that note, and Keith was right. He'd been debating over whether the solution to all of this was really death or not, and, after mulling it over for a while, it seemed pretty obvious that it was the only viable solution. It was true when Lance said that he wasn't going to do anything. Lance didn't have a plan yet, so he couldn't, but he was getting dangerously close to actually needing that note. It would be better that way, really. For everyone.
You had better hurry up and do it, Lance. His mind spoke rationally. The option will be gone soon, and you'll be left with no escape.
Yes. Yes, that's right. He'd better hurry. He has to hurry and get it done.
Lance stretches out his arm and his bayard appears in his hand. He feels it transform into his familiar weapon that he uses against his enemies in battle. He finds it a bit funny that the last person he'll use it on, in his greatest battle, is his greatest enemy of all.
He raises his arm slowly, ever so slowly, until he feels pressure on the side of his head. It was cool and comforting.
Keith was right. He did write the note just for this. He is is a liar. A terrible, horrible, useless, pathetic liar.
Footsteps can be heard coming down the hall, coming closer with every second.
Your window is closing. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
Lance's finger starts to move closer to his palm, and he squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for what's coming.
It's fine, though. And this time, he believes it. It really is okay.
"Oh my god! No, Lance, no! Stop! Please!"
A scream can be heard and Lance snaps his eyes open in fear and squeezes the trigger quickly.
But he doesn't do it quick enough.
He feels his arm be pulled away from his head as the gun goes off, and a solid mass barrels into his body. Suddenly, he's pinned to the ground by strong hands.
Now you're stuck. You've failed. That's all that you are: a failure.
Lance squeezes his eyes shut once more and lets a sob rip through his throat and pour out of his mouth.
And as reality is slowly processed in his mind, Lance is quite sure that he's never felt like this before.