"Lance?" Krolia gave him a confused and solemn look when she opened the door.
Lance couldn't keep still, rocking from side to side. "Is Keith here?"
Krolia opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. She motioned for him to come in and crossed her arms, "He's not here."
Lance darted inside and quickly searched all the rooms. He was no where to be seen. "Ugh! Where is he?!"
Krolia leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen. "I've told you before. We haven't heard from him." Her eyes darkened to show off their motherly pity. "You've got to stop this."
Lance's eyes teared up for the third time that day. "I can't!" He tugged on his hair and tried to calm his breathing. "It's been weeks! I need to know where he is!"
Krolia took a deep breath and stared into his eyes, emphasizing every word. "Lance, I don't know where he is."
Lance spun his body as he took one last look around the house. Still nothing. He cowered his head and headed for the door. "I'm sorry. Call me if you hear from him."
"I will." Krolia shut the door behind him.
Lance went through another week of uneventful school and coming home to an empty house. Even though he knew it wouldn't happen, he always had a small pulse of hope every day that he would walk in to see Keith asleep on the couch. But everyday the house was still and cold. The first two weeks, Lance was a wreck. He cried in bed all day, hugging one of Keith's shirts or burst into tears while making coffee.
The following weeks, Lance stopped caring and went out with Isaac. He took whatever drug he could get his hands on. This constantly put him in dangerous situations with drug dealers and junkies. Even after waking up on his doorstep in the morning fog, he still didn't stop. If he couldn't have Keith, then what was the point of living?
Lance searched everywhere for Keith. He never stopped. He seemed to vanish without a trace, leaving no evidence of ever existing in his house besides the soap bottles in his shower or the clothes in his dresser. Krolia and Eric didn't know where he was, Allura was so out of the loop that she didn't even know he left until Lance told her three weeks later, Pidge and Hunk were concerned and told him they'd keep an eye out in case he showed up there. No one knew where he was or if he was okay. Lance spent all day and night driving around and looking for his car as a last resort. He never found it. After skipping out on school for an entire three weeks, his parents called and forced him to go.
Most days, Lance was coked out or high on meth. He'd pass out on the couch with a picture of Keith on his phone, waking up way too late with absolutely no motivation. He wished that he'd get over him in time; but as the months went by, Lance's love only grew and broke his heart.
Now Lance sat on his kitchen floor with crystal lines on the counter and empty syringes sprawled out around him. He fought with the tourniquet on his arm, tugging on one end with his teeth. Being as high as he was, he couldn't find the coordination to get it to stay tight. When he heard the door open, he stopped and listened to the footsteps. They were much too heavy to be Keith, so he continued to fight with the band.
Whoever it was walked into their bedroom and spent a little time there. They came out and threw a duffel bag in the entryway and walked around the counter to greet the struggling Lance.
A disappointed Shiro stared down at the array of drugs he had spilled on the floor. His eyes traced the syringes and coke lines on the counter. With a deep sigh, he crouched down in front of him and stared in silence as he continued to fiddle with his arm.
After a minute, Lance let the tourniquet snap off and fall on the floor. He spoke in an annoyed and pitiful tone. "What?"
Shiro's face stayed neutral as he stared in his eyes. "Did that help?"
Lance sneered, "What?"
Shiro motioned to the floor of drugs, "Did that fix anything." He looked at the tracks on his forearm, "Do you feel better?"
Lance stared back at him until his eyes overflowed. He threw the syringe down and curled up into his knees. "No!"
"Do you think this is what Keith wanted?"
Lance's sobbing intensified as he rocked back and forth. "No!"
Shiro placed his hand on Lance's knee and gave him a supportive squeeze. "Lance, do you want Keith back?"
Lance lifted his head and locked wide eyes with him. His chest ached and pulled on his ribs. "Yes!" He clawed at Shiro's jacket. "More than anything!"
Shiro supported his elbows as he clung to him. "You gotta get clean." He made his words crystal clear. "Keith doesn't want to come back to a druggie."
Lance inspected his face. He searched through all of his expressions for any clues. When he finally put it together, he gasped and yanked on his coat. "You know where he is."
Shiro sighed and hesitantly nodded, "Yes, I know where Keith is."
"Is he okay?!" Lance nudged him, begging for information. "Where is he?!"
Shiro grabbed his shoulders with firm hands, keeping their eyes locked. "Keith is fine. He's safe."
"But he isn't with you!" Lance's eyes wavered frantically. "I-I-I mean-I checked everyone's house!"
"No," Shiro shook his head, "he's not with me. If he wanted to be found, then he would be."
"Please take me to him!" Lance cried into his chest.
Shiro took a deep breath to let out a long sigh. He pushed him away to look at his face, "Lance, I'm here to take you to rehab."
The words ran through his head a few times before he could grasp them. "What?"
"I'm taking you to a rehab facility." Shiro patted his shoulder. "Everything's set up. I've got your bag packed. C'mon, let's go." He stood and held out a hand.
Lance hesitantly took his hand and let himself be pulled up. He stumbled a little, but quickly found his footing. "I'm going to rehab?"
Shiro nodded and supported his shoulder as they walked out to his car. "You've gotta get clean. It's time."
Lance was put into the car and made comfortable. He placed his hands in his lap and waited for Shiro to put his bag in the trunk and get in. He started the car and backed out of the driveway in silence. At this point, Lance was so broken that he decided it was best to comply. He had hit rock bottom, and it was time to claw himself out of it.