falling into darkness | klance

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"Pidge!" Keith ran down the corridors, his eyes still puffy.

"Keith?" Pidge turned to face Keith as he entered her room.

"How's the science shit going? Any closer to fixing the blindness?" He looked at her messy room and all the science stuff.

"No, not yet," Pidge frowned but smiled soon after, "At least not a permanent solution."

"What do you mean by that?" Keith leaned against the doorframe.

"We found a way to temporarily remove Lance's blindness," Pidge opened her laptop, "It won't last very long but it's something."

"You can't tell him about it," Keith sighed.

"Why not? It'll give him hope."

"False hope. It'll fade away and he'll be crushed."

"We can't just hide this from him. If he wants to try, we have to let him."

"Pidge, he's falling apart. He can't handle something temporary." Keith turned away from her, fighting back tears once more, "I know it may seem like I'm being an ass about it. But I really just want what's best for Lance and I don't think this is what he needs."

"What does he need then, Keith?" Pidge closed her laptop, sitting on her bed, legs crossed.

"A support system. He needs to know he's still valued even though he can't see. That just because he's blind everything isn't going to change."

"I won't tell him. But if he asks if we've made any progress, I'm telling him the truth."

"Thanks, Pidge." Keith left the room, making his way back to Lance.

***

Lance walked around his room, touching everything to make sure he doesn't fall. He went to the desk he had gotten, looking for the second drawer. He opened it, carefully searching inside. His fingers touched a cool metal blade, he pulled it out.

He made his way to the bed, pulling up his sleeve. He held the blade over his forearm, a tear slid down his cheek as he pressed the blade into his skin.

Blood rolled down his arm dropping onto the sheets as he cut more and more.

He dropped the blade on the floor and curled up into a ball on his bed, blood still staining his sheets.

"Lance, I brought you — oh my god!" Keith dropped the blade of food goo.

Lance was laying on his bed, blood smeared all over his arm, clothes, and sheets.

"Lance, what —" He noticed the blood on the blade on the floor, "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry, Keith," Lance whispered, his voice hoarse.

"We have to get you to a healing pod," Keith picked up Lance's body.

"No, no. It's fine, it's fine. They'll just scab over. Like all the rest." Lance pressed his head against Keith's chest.

Keith cradled Lance in his arms as he sat down, "Where else have you been cutting?"

Lance lifted up his shirt, exposing cuts on his abdomen and chest, "I'm really sorry, Keith. I just can't take it anymore and this ... this helps."

"Lance, I'm going to tell you something. It's crazy and weird and scary and I need you to not freak out. But I ... for a while now, I've been ... shit, okay. Lance McClain, I love you." Keith looked down to see Lance had fallen asleep.

***
"You've been really quite lately," Lance fiddled with his sheets.

"Just got a lot on my mind," Keith glanced at the Cuban boy.