Voltron One Shots

1 Year 2 Months 26 Days

Summary: Lance thinks back on how long it's been since he last hurt himself.

A/N: More self-projecting lol. (Dw about me though I'm okay~) Don't forget that if you support me on patreon https://www.patreon.com/prince_yoongi you can gain access to all my patron-only fics and many other cool perks!

Trigger warnings: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, blood

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1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

That's how long it had been since the last time. The last time that Lance had stood hunched over the bathroom sink, his arms shaking as he stared himself down in the mirror. 

1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

That was the last time that Lance had. . . 

Lance had made so much progress. He was getting better. He was better.

He really thought he was.

But now, as he stood staring at his bloodshot eyes. He couldn't cry. He almost never did. Sometimes he felt that if he could just cry, he would feel better. But the tears stayed locked in his eyes, refusing to fall.

Lance's gaze darted down to the half open drawer near his hip. The object inside was calling to him. Taunting him. Lance tore his eyes away and gulped.

1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

He hadn't wanted to do it in a long time. Sure, he thought about it from time to time, but he never seriously considered it until today. Until this moment. 

Lance curled his fingers and bit his lip so hard it bled. Lance watched numbly as the drop of blood trailed down his chin and dripped into the sink, until it disappeared down the drain. He brushed away the remaining blood off his face and then without another thought he drove his hand into the drawer and pulled it out.

1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

He was going to throw it all away, and for what? Why was he even doing this? Why did he feel this way? 

Lance didn't know the answer to any of those questions.

He didn't know why.

Lance clenched the object in his fist, careful not to squeeze too tightly. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could feel sweat form on his brow as he stared down at it.

At the blade.

So many times he had tried to get rid of it. But there was always that voice, that thought in the back of his mind. So, it stayed there, in the drawer.

1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

Lance couldn't tell anyone about it. They wouldn't understand. It hadn't even been a problem again until now. They would think differently of him. They would ask him, "why do you do it?" Lance didn't know the answer. He didn't know why every bad thing, every bad thought, made him want to run his blade against his skin. He couldn't explain it.

He knew it was irrational. He knew there were other ways, better ways, safer ways, to make himself feel better. He knew that.

1 year, 2 months, 26 days.

The longer Lance stood there looking at himself in the mirror, the stupider he felt. He didn't need to do this anymore. He was passed this. He really was.

He knew that if he just waited it out, he would be okay again.

Lance closed his eyes and took a breath. He dropped the blade and hastily shoved it back into the drawer, slamming it as he did. The clock on his dresser flashed twelve as he passed it on his way to his bed.

1 year, 2 months, 27 days.