a/n: langst. langst. woohoo. past. and more langst in current time.
tw: vom, ED mentions, sad
Lance didn't know what was happening.
It wasn't the food goo this time.
Lance threw up everything that he swallowed the next day. Never mind going to a breakfast, he thought he couldn't do any sort of meal.
He didn't know.
He couldn't even keep down water and had pain the worse he ever experienced. It was late into the night and Lance managed to call Coran, since he knew the man stayed up during ungodly hours. Coran gave Lance medicine that kicked in around dawn in space time. He fell asleep empty, he woke up emptier.
The feeling of emptiness made him feel oddly strong, he blinked slowly, staring at his ceiling.
A hollow feeling was both liberating and draining. He had no energy.
He didn't feel well so he stayed in bed all day, dozing off every once
It reminded him of his days with Hunk, training, eating less and less. Then confrontation from a worried friend, it was not Hunk but somebody else. Maybe Hunk noticed, maybe he didn't. Lance knew that Hunk didn't help. Just asked from a distance if Lance was "OK". The yearly physical came up for everyone, so Lance did it like everyone else.
Lance took the physical, failed for his weight, and was placed on probation until he got his weight up to " " number.
He hit the number.
Lower than his last physical weight but it got him off probation.
This whole food-reactionpthing reminded him of that, of the empty days, floating through training in a haze, barely remembering that time in his life. Lance was flying during that period in his life. Then he dove straight into the chaos of Voltron, something he didn't even mean to join.
Being this empty reminded him of his training days, of the suffering that felt like an achievement.
Lance fell into a restless sleep, remembering the haze.
Then he woke up and felt the pain all over again.
Lance was hunched in the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet.
This lasted half a day. The medicine helped with the sleep but not with the vomiting. His stomach twisted, begging for something-anything to be put in it. But he could barely keep down water.
Some sleep, retching up nothing, sometimes water, then back to bed to lay down. His life was mostly sleeping now, triggered by the dumb space goo. Oh why did he have to prove his dumb point?
Lance sighed, feeling beads of sweat pour down his forehead. He felt so cold too.
He felt like he was going to die: that's what being really sick felt like.
