Why... (voltron angst)

love and loss. pt3

tw: alcohol, pills, implied suicide attempt.

"Keith, I know you're in there," Lance called through the door, "open up." There was no movement from what Lance could tell, so he pulled out his keys and opened Keith's door with the spare he had. "Keith," he said, "I'm worried about you." He walked through the living room to Keith's bedroom and knocked on the door. "Hey," he opened the door, "Keith?" Keith was lying on the bed, an empty bottle of vodka beside his bed. Lance sighed. "Keith," he sat down beside him, "wake up." Lance shook Keith, who rolled over and mumbled "just 5 more minutes." Lance shook him again. "What?" he said, not opening his eyes. "Are you okay?" Lance asked. "Doin' great," he slurred, "never better." Lance got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of water and some Tylenol. "Get up and drink this," he set the cup on Keith's bedside table, "now." Keith huffed and put his pillow over his head, "What are you, my mother?" "God damnit, Keith." Lance slammed his hand on the table, "If you don't sit up and take this Tylenol, I'm going to kick your ass." Keith sighed and sat up, rubbing his face and reaching for the medicine. He popped the pills in his mouth like he'd done it a million times before. "Better?" he asked sarcastically, dropping back down to his pillow, "How'd you even get in?" Lance sat in Keith's desk chair, "I had a key," he rubbed his temples, "Keith, are we not gonna talk about this?" "About what?" Keith sighed, "The alcohol or my notebook?" Lance took a deep breath to stop himself from getting too upset, "Keith. What's going on, man? This isn't like you," he looked to the floor where an empty bottle of pain meds lay next to the vodka, "what's this?" Keith pulled his blanket up to his neck, "Exactly what it looks like," he mumbled. 

Lance started to tear up at the sight. His best friend miserable in bed, hungover. his heart hurt for his friend, "Keith, what happened?" Keith didn't respond. Lance walked around and lied next to Keith. "Please," he whispered, "I just want to know you're okay." "Do I look okay to you?" he said harshly. He closed his eyes tighter, "sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I did it." Keith managed to get out. "Talk to me," Lance said, "I'm your best friend. All I want to do is help you. Please let me." "I-I think I need help," Keith's voice broke, "I'm not okay. I haven't been for a w-while." lance put his hand on Keith's shoulder, "Let's get you some help, okay?" Keith nodded and sat up, "You don't have to help me," he mumbled into his hands, "I can do it." Lance shook his head, "I want to help you," he said sternly, "I care about you, and I want you in my life. But I want you to be okay." Keith stood up from his bed and winced. "Why'd you do that?" "Sore," he lied, "slept weird." "Keith," he grabbed his friend's shoulder, "don't fucking lie to me right now. What happened?" Keith looked away, shamefully. "I told you I need help," and Lance assumed the worst. "Hospital first, then therapist." He grabbed his keys from the desk, "Throw something on," he closed his eyes so Keith could change. "I'm sorry, Lance." Keith said quietly, "really sorry." "Don't be. I'm just glad you're alive, asshole." Keith laughed, "Jerk," he joked back. 

"Thanks for, you know," he started, closing his door and locking it, "h-helping me." Lance ruffled Keith's hair, "Don't mention it. If this was me, you'd do the same, Mullet." "Thanks," "No worries, man. We're gonna get through this. Together." he promised.