Lance's eyes ached. He wished that he could keep them closed for longer than thirty seconds, but everytime he tried to sleep, the blackened face of Xeris stared back at him. Lance couldn't forget the way it was almost smiling at him, as if he'd taken a dare. As if, somehow, Xeris had won. Laying on his bed, his body freezing despite being wrapped tightly in blankets, Lance tried not to think of his exhaustion or Xeris. Instead, he repeated a mantra in his head, mouthing the words as he thought them. I escaped, I'm safe. I'm with my team. I'm okay.

But he wasn't reassured.

The scars on his forehead throbbed, constant reminders of the last moments of his captivity. The moments when he allowed his cowardice to steal something from him. And he still wasn't sure what it was. He had lost so many parts of himself during his captivity, that he hadn't thought he could lose much else. But as soon as he'd pulled the trigger, something departed from him as quickly as that blast. It had been two weeks since his liberation by the hands of his teammates, and they had rapidly fallen back into a rhythm. They'd returned to their course for Earth, and each day, they ran through the same old routine. They simulated battles, ate meals, held bonding sessions between each other and their Lions, and did absolutely nothing for hours on end. Originally, everything seemed like Heaven to Lance. Except, as time went on, something felt off balance. At first, Lance didn't know what it was, he just sensed something was , as he had hours on end to reflect, he realized that it was him. The team kept expecting him to make jokes, anticipating a light-hearted outlook and a confident attitude from him. However, a cloud of gloom and insecurity hung over Lance like a thunder storm, and he couldn't genuinely act as his old self. When he'd come to this realization, Lance panicked. What if they didn't want him anymore? They'd rescued him, believing that they'd get their old friend back, but they'd recieved a cheap rip-off instead. A hollow shell. So, Lance did the one thing that he'd always done, the one thing that he'd relied on to hide his depression and anxieties for years. He lied. And he smiled. And, man, his sides hurt from laughter. Even though every laugh that escaped this lips was another wall added to the defenses that Lance was rebuilding, he felt a small bit of satisfaction with each one. If they still liked him, if they still thought he was fun to have around, they would still want him. He'd still be significant. They assigned him his worth, whether they were aware of it or not. When he was a child, he'd always pined for anyone and everyone's attention, escalating his escapades to great heights in order to hold someone's notice. This led to sometimes dangerous, or unruly actions, and more than once, his school held conferences with his parents. They'd said he was "impossible to tame", a "distraction", and a "hopeless cause". At the time, he desired more than anything to enter the Galaxy Garrison, to fly among the stars, to see the universe. His teachers knew this, and had all echoed the same sentiment.

"He'll never be accepted with such low grades, and if he doesn't stop these ridiculous antics, he won't even be considered."

They were right, and Lance had known it. From that point on, he'd worked harder than anyone in his class. He studied longer, asked more questions, and had almost entirely stopped functioning as a human. After he recieved his acceptance letter from the Garrison, Lance had been esctatic. He'd paraded about the whole house, waving the letter above his head and dancing dorkily. For once, Lance felt as if he'd accomplished something, without using anyone as a crutch. All of that sense of self-accomplishment completely vanished when he reached the Garrison, however. Right off the bat, Lance was labeled as inferior, as a pilot and as an individual. The kids there were geniuses and prodigies, excelling in strategy, academics, and piloting. No one viewed Lance as important, including him. All of his self-loathing and pity, all of his anger at the world, and all of his hatred for fate, culminated into an intense animosity toward one person. His name never failed to be above Lance's on evalutation sheets, was constantly praised by instructors, was worshipped by his peers, and appeared whenever Lance did something mildly impressive. No matter what he did, he was always compared to Keith. And Lance never failed to be found lacking. The fact that Keith dropped out, randomly and without warning, had further aggravated Lance. Everything that Lance had toiled endlessly for, Keith received freely. And Keith just threw it all away without a second thought. That stung like Keith had physically slapped him. Adding insult to injury was the fact that, when Lance met Keith again, right when this whole crazy adventure to the deep sections of space began, Keith hadn't even remembered Lance. It had taken Lance years to come to terms with his aggression toward Keith, and slowly open up to the other boy, but he still saw himself as inferior to him. And Lance knew, that if the other members of the team didn't find him endearing, didn't love him for his personality, they wouldn't want him anymore. And Lance couldn't face that reality.

"Everybody up!" Keith's voice announced over the speakers of the Red Lion, jolting Lance from his contemplations. His mind had wandered far from its original train of thought, and he'd been so lost, that Keith's sudden exclamation surprised him enough to make him fall off his bed and onto the icy, unforgiving floor.

Groaning, he rubbed his lower back and blinked his weary eyes, knowing very well how challenging the day was going to be.

"Why?" Pidge's voice whined.

"Ugh, man, I was having a wonderful dream about burritos before you woke me. Do you know how long its been since I've had a real burrito?" Hunk complained.

"Can't we have a couple more dobashes?" Allura murmured, accompanied with a chorus of muffled agreements.

"No. Come on guys, we've talked about this," Keith snapped, clearly annoyed with his team's lack of disipline. He was one to talk. Lance gritted his teeth and stood up, discarding his blankets onto his bed with more force than necessary, and ran his hands along his face. Maybe if he rubbed hard enough, he'd feel reguvinated. On the contrary, he just felt sore. While everyone else held a rather witty and annoyed conversation between them, Lance changed into his armor. He paused after he pulled off his shirt, gulping at the many scars that populated his skin. He doubted that they'd ever fade.

"Is Lance even awake?" Keith asked testily, his voice cutting through Lance's thoughts for the second time in five minutes.

"Yes," Lance growled, unable to restrain his irritation. After the word escaped his lips, he physically recoiled, horrified that he'd let himself say that with such a harsh tone. Coughing and patting down his askew hair, Lance added, "Yep, I'm awake. What type of simulation do you have for us today?"

He pushed an extra amount of enthusiasm into his voice, hoping that it would make up for his previous inflection.

"I'm glad that one of us is actually taking this somewhat seriously," Keith commented, relieving Lance.

"Is this where you tell us we could all be more like Lance?" Pidge mocked, making Lance cringe.

"No. I don't think anyone would ever say that," Keith replied, sending a pang through Lance's body. It was true. No one ever had said that.

Snickers and giggles echoed across the intercom system, and Lance told himself that even if he was the source of everyone's laughter, it meant that he still held some entertainment for them. So Lance decided to roll with it.

"No one could ever be like me," Lance flaunted, "I'm one of a kind."

"That's true," Hunk grumbled, while everyone else groaned.

Lance grinned despite himself as he entered the cockpit of the Red Lion and slid into his pilot seat. As the newest battle simulation flickered onto the screens before him and replaced the endless expanse of stars, Lance felt his own facade cover him, hiding the scars beneath.