hearts don't break around// klance

four: laundry and ladies

Keith woke up earlier than Lance that morning. He didn't want to move when he remembered the gentleness of Lance's body curled around his. He wanted to stay forever in Lance's warm arms. Lance's hot breath tickled Keith's neck as he breathed heavily in his sleep. Keith arched his back in a stretch, yawning. Lance didn't stir, so Keith decided to just go ahead and get up. If he lingered while Lance was asleep, he wouldn't be happy when he had to force himself away. So he got up carefully, avoiding Lance's long legs to keep from waking the boy.

The jacket smelled like Lance now, his skin smelled like Lance from curling up in Lance's arms for the whole night. He rubbed his eyes, the cold dorm floor soaking through his socks. Keith decided to do a wash. The blue sweatshirt needed to be stained and both boys had wash from the week. Keith grabbed the purple basket and piled everything in it, balancing the basket on the jut of his hip bone.

When Lance woke up, there would be the bottle of Advil right on the bed stand with a note that told him where Keith was. Lance was fast asleep, and Keith watched for a moment. He wasn't supposed to remember the kiss, but that was all he could think about. Before Keith let himself smile anymore at Lance, he left. He was kind of mad. That felt like more than just a drunken kiss, and that's all Lance said it was.

Lance was miles away and several pages off from Keith. Keith found himself refusing conversation as he headed straight for the laundry room. He let himself fall in love with a boy who was totally unattainable. It's not love, Keith, you just met him Keith's mind scolded. His heart hurt, physically hurt from the pain of Lance. Lance was a pest who'd wormed his way into Keith's heart just like any other pest.

Keith set the laundry basket angrily on the top of the washing machine, the door shutting with a quiet click. The room was big and brick, the wall to the hall all windows so people could see how many machines were free. Keith rested his head on the basket and grit his teeth. Lance wouldn't leave his brain. Lance complains, Lance pouts, Lance cries, Lance is annoying, so why is Keith so enraptured with the boy?

He began to toss the clothes into the machine, leaving the sweatshirt out to spot it for Lance. The clothes hit the bottom of the machine with a dry thud. When Lance ran the water, it splashed against the clothes and spread the soap out over the fabric. Keith found a random spotter on the shelf and used it. He sprayed the blood and rubbed the cloth together in attempt to rub the soap deeper.

Keith figured he did all the could've and tossed it under the water stream, pouring the rest of the soap in and closing the lid. He sighed, the machine vibrating under his elbows. He was the only one there, which meant he could think. Lance wasn't there in his bed right next to him, no one was there to judge, his brain had space. He could breath.

The laundry room always smelled really nice. Fresh clothes always smelled nice too. Keith imagined a home smelled like that on laundry days. He messed around on his phone, humming some song. There were people commenting on his most recent Instagram that he posted last night just before him and Lance went to the dock. Lance had an arm around Keith's neck and was grinning eagerly, eyes shut. Keith had a shy smile on his face too. People commented everything from hate to love to encouraging them to date. Keith didn't reply to any of them, he just tucked the picture in his favorites in his heart.

On his feed, there were mostly celebrities today. He wasn't interested. Instead he switched to explore to find some dumb shit he could send Lance for a laugh. Lance? Keith gritted his teeth and threw his phone on the top of the machine. Not Lance. Keith buried his hands in his hair and focused on the crisp white surface of the machine. It was cool against his elbows which were red from his weight on them.

The door clicked and Lance was there, a smile tugging at his lips. "Even with a hangover you wake up to do laundry." Keith smiled, cheeks flushing. Lance's sweater sleeves were bunched up by his wrists as he held the edges of his sleeves in his fists. His basketball shorts were a fiery red, Keith's favorite color. Keith pushed himself off the machine slowly as Lance walked over.