Anathema | KLANCE

TWELVE: The Idea of Growing Old

Zipping noises were coming from all around the hotel room, Keith helping Lance pack up everything at the last minute. A bitter sensation clawed at the fragile heart of his, watching Lance rush around the place to load up his items into the huge bags he had: maybe it was another caffeine overdose so he wouldn't miss work, or maybe it was the dread of Lance leaving to go check out upstate with his odd friends without him.

"So yeah, Pidge wants to check out Potsdam and is quite keen on Canada. I honestly don't know why, maybe because they have Trudeau fever, but it sounds like a cool place. Hopefully the drive up there won't be bad," Lance quickly spoke with each step he made, jogging back and forth between the connected rooms in the rented space. "Then it's back to Colorado, and I'll probably be meeting up with my family again. I hope Fran comes back home to see me..."

"I'm pretty sure he will, he seemed like the nicest out of your siblings."

Keith's blurted comment made the frenzied-boy freeze in his tracks, squinting at the confused fellow leaning against the counter, staring into blank space. "How do you know them?"

"Didn't you remember? I came home from Korea as quick as I could and visited you, so ultimately, I ran into them. Your dad's really not that great compared to your grandfather – oh, no offense, though."

"You visited me?! I had no clue! I just thought you came in pity that one time-"

"The time you blew me off?"

"... Let's not talk about that."

Stuffing the wrinkled shirts into the packed carry-on, he swooped his two arms through the straps in a hurry, shuffling into the bathroom to double check that he put everything away, or discarded what he didn't need for the ride upstate. A lengthy sigh was eased out once he stared at the reflection in the dirty, smudged mirror, focusing on the whole body he had rather than one.

He did lose a lot of weight this past year, and it was starting to make his features appear more prominent, yet hollowed-out: the puffy cheeks he once had, that enhanced each grin he wore and each laugh he rumbled out, were no longer showing. As asinine as his choices were, he realized that no matter what he does to himself, he wouldn't feel comfortable in his skin until he accepts himself first, and in hindsight – that would not be achievable in his current state of mind.

Locking the hurricane of self-deprecation away in the back of his mind, he let one of his fingers traced the outline of his figure on the glass, weirdly entranced by the shape of his face. Particularly, the still-broken nose of his, along with the array of wounds and scars clashing together, all displayed on the dark skin. "Did you starve yourself after I left?"

The unforeseen voice made him audibly gasp, attention shifting to the person in the corner of the mirror. "That's not... it's not because of you leaving."

"Is it because you're depressed?"

Even though Keith tried to make it seem as gentle as possible, the phrase still came out blunt and graceless, the content expression visibly falling into a peculiar frown. "It's because I didn't care about anything relating back to my health after I just... gave up, you can say. I put all my energy into work and school, skipping my meds and eating if it was needed. Being with my grandfather was the breaking point for me, and I let myself drown by my own hands this time, so there's no need to feel bad or worried. I'm... I'm going to get better."

"Please take care of yourself, Lance. Not just for me – or your friends & family, but for yourself," Keith whispered, slowly wrapping his arms around the slender waist in front of him, and placing his chin on the sharp shoulder above him. "Take your meds once you get there, and spam me with photos, too. I want to hear about how your day will be, even if it's just complete shit. I'll listen whenever, wherever."