One mistake is nothing.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
God, what a fool he is, then.
One mistake is nothing.
But what is two?
Three?
What does it matter, Lance?
No one cares anyways.
Well, Keith cares... doesn't he?
He said that he does.
Lies, Lance, lies.
When will you see that?
How many times must I prove it to you?
Why would Keith lie to him about that?
Pathetic.
He wouldn't... right?
You're so gullible.
Keith cares about him.
Stop it, Lance.
He proved that in the call last night.
Stop.
Keith listened... he even said he'd come back to the castle.
Why do you believe this shit?
Keith cares. He does.
Ha. Seems like you're more of an idiot than I thought.
Why can't the thoughts ever just shut the fuck up?
It's so hard living like this.
The only time that they even momentarily stop is when...
No. He can't. Not again.
Oh, but what's one more mistake, Lance?
Yeah... what's one more mistake?
Just one more time.
But, that's what he says every time.
Every. Single. Time.
Lance honestly never thought he'd be so happy that he only ever wears long pants. This way, no one can see his mistakes. Hide them from others and maybe he can hide them from himself. Maybe.
Despite the fact that there's not much risk of being caught, training with the team is truly awful in every aspect, every movement of his legs sending a wave of agony to his brain. Salty sweat stings and blood flows. It's all just a reminder. A reminder of what he's done. A reminder of what he hasn't.
"Lance, pick up the pace!" Allura shouts at him. "You're three laps behind everyone else."
Today, of all the days, is the day where Allura decided that they should do a running exercise. Because, of course, it's absolutely necessary to find out how long and how fast you can run. As if battles don't test that enough.
"Sorry, Allura," Lance mumbles, trying to run faster, trying to run through the pain.
Maybe it's good that he's feeling this way. Maybe it'll convince him not to make the mistake again. But, truthfully, the pain is... good. He enjoys it in some sadistic, self-hating sort of way. It grounds him. It makes him so painfully aware of the world around him and what he's going through. Now, there's no argument against the fact that he's struggling. He has the proof. It's all over him. He's drowning in it. He is the proof.
After ten more agonizing laps around the track, Lance falls to the ground, gasping out curses as he feels blood sliding down his leg.
"I have to stop, guys," Lance says through short breaths. "I'm sorry."
"Really, Lance?" Allura asks, exasperation in her voice. "You're tired already?"
Hell yeah, he's tired. His mind constantly whispers how inadequate he is. How he should run faster. How he should work harder. His legs ache painfully every time he moves. Pain gets tiring. It doesn't help that he really hasn't been sleeping all that much either because... well...
Denying himself sleep... it... it makes him feel better.
You don't deserve sleep.
And, so, he doesn't.
It's not all that bad, really. Sure, his eyelids constantly droop, and, for the first few days, he really couldn't do anything right and felt like literal shit, but it's not that bad now. It's kind of enjoyable, honestly. He feels like he's floating on air. Like he's not really present. It's a light feeling. A good feeling. Surely it can't be hurting him that badly... right?
It's not like it really matters much anyways. As long as he can do what he needs to to protect the universe, it doesn't matter what he does to himself.
As long as the others don't know... it doesn't matter.
Don't worry them.
"Lance, are you quite alright?" Allura's voice breaks through his thoughts.
It's then that he realizes that he's still kneeled on the floor, breathing heavily.
He stands up, only swaying a little, before flashing a smile at the girl, who has a concerned expression on her face.
"Yeah, Allura!" He says, false confidence in his voice. "I'm totally fine. I'm just catching my breath."
Maybe it's just Lance, but it seems to be that whenever someone says that they're "fine", they're definitely, one-hundred percent not.
"Are you sure?" The pity soaks her voice, and Lance inwardly cringes. God, he wishes that they'd never found out about his issues. They didn't need to know. It'd have been easier if
"Yes, of course," Lance says, rolling his eyes for added effect. "You don't need to worry so much."
Allura chuckles a bit at this, which makes Lance's heart ache slightly. She worries too much. She trusts too easily. "Yes, you're quite right. I should, as you humans say, 'chill out'?"
Now, this draws a laugh from the boy. A real one. "Exactly."
As Lance finally makes his way towards the shower rooms after convincing Allura of his complete and utter fineness, he stops and remembers that he can't use those. Those are too risky. Too public. Yeah, forget that. Nah. No, thanks.
"Hey, buddy!" Hunk calls from behind him, causing Lance to jump slightly. He must have just finished his running and was aiming to do the same thing that Lance was: get the fucking filth off of him. "Where ya going?"
Shit.
"I'm just going to shower," Lance says, gesturing towards the hall which leads to the paladins' rooms.
"Uh... okay?" Hunk says, eyeing the boy curiously. "Why don't you just use the ones here?"
Shit shit shit.
"I like mine better," Lance says with a shrug.
Hunk moves closer to the other boy. "Okay, but... well... I just... I want to ask you... Are you..."
Lance laughs nervously at Hunk's incessant stuttering. "Just spit it out, Hunk. What is it?"
Hunk sighs softly. "Are... are you okay, dude? You've been acting super weird since Keith left."
Lance's smile just completely drops at this. "Yeah, I'm fine. I don't think I've been acting any differently than before."
"Well, I..." Hunk's eyes dart towards Lance's wrist before quickly looking away once more. "You've just been more... sluggish, I guess. You're not making as many jokes as usual... I just want to make sure you're alright."
Lance visibly rolls his eyes. "I'm fine, Hunk. Don't be so damn paranoid."
Hunk shrinks away slightly, eyebrows furrowing. "What the heck, Lance? I'm only trying to help."
"Well, I don't need your help," Lance snaps.
Hunk frowns deeply. "Fine, but don't think I believe you. Something's fucking wrong with you."
Fueled on pure adrenaline and anger, Lance doesn't think about the events that just transpired as he makes his way back to his room. He quickly walks into the connected bathroom, with a now fixed mirror, and turns on the shower. He strips off his sweaty, slightly bloody training clothes, revealing red striped thighs, and Lance just stops.
Hunk was just trying to help... Why did... Why did Lance push him away like that?
You don't deserve help, Lance.
You know that.
That's why you pushed him away.
The water is cold and stings the open wounds on his body, and Lance just stands there underneath the constant pelting of the water and his thoughts.
You can't do anything right, can you?
You only make mistakes.
You make mistakes all the time.
Look at yourself, Lance.
Look at yourself.
Can you see it?
Can you see what you've done?
He can see it.
He can feel it.
He hates it.
He hates it so much.
He hates himself.
Hate.
He's filled with it.
He's such a hateful person, isn't he?
All he can do is hate, and all he does is receive hate in return.
You only get what you give, right?
God, it's such an awful law of life.
If only he could get the opposite of what he deserves.
Though, that probably wouldn't end well for any of them.
No, that law is there for a reason, and it's certainly in full effect for Lance.
He should probably apologize to Hunk.
He should definitely apologize to Hunk.
But first... he needs to shower and...
Water can wash away a lot, but it can't wash away your feelings.
Only one thing can.