- Langst One-Shots

A moment too late.

got this idea while reading a fic
[Lancelot]
TW: sh
————

"Lance, I'm sorry... I—"

"No! No, you can't do that!" Hot tears made their way down Lance's face, his skin stretching uncomfortably from the previously dried tears. Anger radiated through his body.

"You can't just say I'm sorry after all of this! You can't say sorry.. when the damage is already done." His voice died out, and he glared sadly at the floor. "You can't fix the glass when it's broken, because the cracks," he looked down at his wrist, littered with thin white lines. "They'll always be there..."

—

Another day. Lance opened his eyes, his face wet with his usual morning tears. Tears shed from the bittersweet dreams he'd have, longing to tell his team the truth. Longing to express the feelings he'd fought so hard to repress because even through the apologies he knew it'd still hurt. It'd still be the reason he felt the need to tear his flesh apart to calm his racing thoughts. And he couldn't bear the guilt, the nonsensical guilt that whenever he was upset, they would be too.

He threw his frail legs over the side, eyes tired and unfocused as he studied his own body. He slipped his feet into the blue slippers he'd been gifted. He looked in the mirror, noting the hallowed look in his eyes. He missed his cheerful glow, but then again— had he ever had one? How long had he gone on like this? Like he was okay, as he crumbled on the inside. As his heart shattered; from hurt to broken, to nothing but an empty numbness.
...He missed being able to cry.

He let himself go for the day. Hair curly, freckles out. He merely washed and moisturized his skin, and brushed his teeth. It wasn't worth it, to keep up his routine. The team would comment either way, and Lance didn't mind anymore. The words were only that to him by now; words. He knew what the team really felt, he knew his place, he knew what he meant to them all.

The hallways were the same, everything was. How long had Lance just been living on repeat? He felt like was just on autopilot. Like he was a passenger of his own train of life. He hated it. And yet he still made sure to perk himself up before stepping into the room for breakfast. He only had enough energy to act so hyper, but pushing himself to fake it till he made it felt better than having to face questions and accusations of his teammates.

Breakfast was normal.

Lance didn't talk as much, but no one thought much of it. They figured he just needed some more sleep. Because everyone came in exhausted from time to time, why would Lance be special? They worked a job of saving the god damn universe, who wouldn't miss a few hours of sleep? Lance pushed at the glob of green gloop on his plate, finding himself missing normal human food; until the alarms blared.

"Paladins, to your Lions!" Before Allura could finish, the team was already jumping over each other rushing to their lions. Lance almost laughed at the team, hearing Pidge bickering with Keith who supposedly was pushing the young girl out of the way. But he didn't, he'd only get reprimanded for joking at a time like this.

[its the accidental bo burnham reference for me 😔 but it gave me an idea for another fic so ;) ]

He plopped down in Blue, his nimble fingers gliding across the control at the speed of light as he prepared for battle.

————

Everything was fine. But he fucked up. He always does, doesn't he. At least now he wouldn't have to stare at the same four walls. Now, he stares at prison walls. Trapped by none other than Lotor's ship because he took one measly hit. The walls were gray, a soothing purple glow lining the corners. A single bed, that was surprisingly comfortable, sat in the far left, a closed off toilet and sink on the right. In the center was a metal door with a small window in the center, on the opposite side was the base of a chain that attached to Lance's ankles. He curled in on himself.