Street Racing- Klance

thirty five

It was getting close to 10 am, an hour has passed since Lance's argument with Keith. He was laying on Keith's bed, aimlessly scrolling through twitter. He caved and decided to look through what everyone has been posting since last night, and boy was there a lot.

Typically, no ones really fussed over police raids at events because they're normal. You get a few people post about them, but they usually happen at the end of events so no one really cares. This time however, the raid stopped everyone from witnessing the race they had all been waiting for. So, as you can imagine, people were highly disappointed and had a lot to say about it.

Lance gave up with the scrolling, putting his phone down and going into the bathroom to look at his forehead. The bandage should have been changed ages ago, but Lance didn't have the energy. Instead he decided to just take it off. It hurt like hell, all the dried blood peeling off his skin, but he couldn't make a sound. Keith wasn't allowed to know how much he was hurting.

He put the bandage in the bin and looked at himself in the mirror again. Tears started forming in his eyes as he stared at the man looking right back at him in the reflection. This wasn't Lance. Lance would never let himself get to this state. He looked hideous. As he peeled off the bandage a few minutes ago, the dried blood peeling off the wound forced it to open even further, irritating it and causing it to start bleeding once again. The thick, red blood dripped slowly down the side of his face as he started to let his tears fall down too.

He couldn't control his sobs. It was getting hard to breathe and even harder to calm down. Keith must have heard him, because just as Lance walked out of the bathroom, Keith walked in to the bedroom.

"Lance? Why are you- Where's your- What?" He couldn't decide what question to ask first.

Lance couldn't reply, and he didn't exactly have anything to reply to, scared that if he opened his mouth he'd just start crying harder. Instead he just stood there, looking at Keith, blood and tears still streaming down his red face.

Keith grabbed the first aid kit that he left on his bedside table and signalled for Lance to sit down on the bed. Lance complied and sat down in the same way he did last night, facing Keith with his legs crossed. Keith did the same. Their knees once again touching, but this time it was deliberate.

Keith once again grabbed some wipes and spray from the kit and put his arm up to Lance's head, looking at him for permission.

"I can do it myself." Lance said, attempting to take the wipes from Keith's hand, but Keith pulled his arm away.

"You clearly can't."

"I can."

"Then why haven't you yet? You know if you left it on for any longer it could have gotten infected or something? If you get an infection now you're as good as dead."

Lance looked away from Keith, staring down at his knees. "Why do you care?"

"What?"

Lance looked up at him now. "Why do you care?" He repeated.

"I'd rather not be dealing with a dead body in my house."

"Right. As if you haven't had to deal with dead bodies before."

Keith's eyes shot wide open. "What the fuck is that meant to mean?"

"Nothing. I can take care of myself." Lance quickly snapped and this time took the wipes out of Keith's hand as he stood up to go to the bathroom.

"You know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I'm not doing this." Keith started, also standing up after Lance, making Lance turn to face Keith. "Tell me what the fuck your issue is."

"I don't have an issue."

"You clearly do. We were fine last night, and all it took for you to snap was seeing a few bottles of alcohol? You just see me as a criminal, don't you?" Keith was yelling now.

"I thought we were fine too. And honestly, yes, all it took was for me to see some bottles of alcohol. You don't fucking know what I've been through. You don't know me. And yes Keith, I do see you as a criminal. It's what you fucking are. Don't act all high and mighty as if you aren't just because you have some fucked up rule to not drink during races as if that makes up for literally terrorising the city with your fucking gang of drug dealers. At the end of the day you just can't help but drink your problems away to forget how much pain you inflict on everyone else." Lance was crying even more now. Stuttering over his words and vision going blurry, this time from the tears and not the agonising headache.

Keith realised Lance is right. Keith doesn't know him and what he's been throug, and given his reaction to the sight of alcohol, it clearly wasnt anything good. "Lance, I didn't drink last night." He stopped yelling now.

"Right so you just took out some bottles and had whiskey in your glass for the fun of it. Cut the shit."

"No, Lance. Listen. I was going to drink. You're right, I'm never sober unless I'm racing, but just before I was going to drink I stopped myself."

"Why?"

"Because-" Keith paused. He looked down at the floor. What was he meant to say?

"Great Keith, really. Thanks for answering my questions. Are we done here? If I'm meant to spend the day here I'd at least like to sort myself out. Alone."

"No we're not done." Keith said before Lance closed the bathroom door. "Can we sit?"

"I'd rather stand."

"Okay." Keith was still looking at the floor. "Look, I don't know what you went through, but not everyone who drinks is shitty enough to not realise when enough is enough. I stopped myself because if anything happened to you, if your head got worse or whatever, then I needed to be sober. When I start drinking it takes a lot for me to stop, sure, and that's bad. But that doesn't mean I'm incapable of not starting in the first place."

"You really didn't drink?"

"No Lance. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Why? Why are you being nice to me?"

Keith looked up at Lance, he didn't know what to say. "I don't know."

"Alright. But none of this explains why you dodged my question last night after saying you would actually answer me."

"I don't want you to know."

"Why not, Keith? What could possibly so bad that you can't tell me? I know you're involved in gangs and some messed up shit, the whole fucking world knows. Whatever happened isn't going to surprise me. I'm already imagining the worst."

"Then why do you care how I got it? It's just a scar."

Now Lance was stumped. Why did he care? "I don't know."

"Then I guess we're even."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Keith sighed. "Do you want a change of clothes?"

"I'm not wearing your emo shit, thanks."

"Seriously? Grow the fuck up. Not all of my clothes are like that."

"Sure."

Keith rolled his eyes. "You can pick out whatever will fit you. When you get out the shower let me know and I'll patch your head up again."

"How many times do I have to tell you I can do that myself?"

"Alright, whatever you say." Keith said as he left the room.