Dirty Laundry by Gibslythe

Day 3 Ch. 11

Lance sat upright. "I can't sleep, alright?"

"Can't you just close your eyes? What's the issue-" Keith halted, watching from a fairly pleasing angle as Lance began stripping off his old t-shirt. The lack of clothing revealed brown skin freckled with moles, and shadows from the lamp danced off his shoulder blades.

Keith gulped. "W-What are you doing?"

"Taking my shirt off?" Lance spoke like this was obvious. "I'm hot, I can't sleep with it on."

Lance tossed the shirt towards the laundry basket in the corner, missing entirely. He was completely oblivious to Keith's eyes on him, not finding the willpower to rip his eyes away. It was, in some ways, just as Keith expected. Keith knew what shirtless men looked like, he wasn't a virgin. And he could use his imagination, he was smart enough to guess what Lance looked like bare. Yet, looking at Lance like this for the first time still managed to surprise him. It was just so entirely Lance . The skin was unique to him and him alone, the tiny mole near the seam of his pants, the small dimples on his lower back, the faded blemish under his hairline. Yet, the one thing that struck Keith's attention the most was the large scar that ran across his abdomen. It wasn't a pretty sight, stitched up and pink, like there had been an incision in his belly.

"Do you mind me asking you a personal question?" Keith whispered, his lack of sleep forgotten.

"Depends on what you're asking." Lance moved to lay on his side and prop his head up with an elbow. At this angle Keith could observe the scar even more, and he noticed it draped over his left side. It looked so out of place on Lance's skin, contrasting the rest of his skinny torso.

"How did you, um," Keith bit his lip, debating if asking the question was worth it. "How did you get that scar?"

Lance's face paled, a gulp of air rolling visibly down his throat. "It's, um," He stuttered, fumbling up his words. "It's sort of, ah-" It was evident he didn't want to answer, or even knew how in the first place. "It's sort of personal."

Keith watch Lance subconsciously reach to cover the scar with his hand, as if he was self conscious it even existed. Keith couldn't help but let theories flood his mind. What was it? Why was it there? Why was Lance so self conscious about it? Was this something Lance had been hiding?

Keith pierced his lips in deep thought. "Alright," He muttered quietly. It was obvious Keith still desperately wanted an answer. Keith wasn't good with patience, especially when it came to Lance Sanchez.

Lance switched the lamp off again, enveloping the room into total darkness. Even though he couldn't see anything but the ceiling's glow stars, Keith let his eyes stay open. The two boys were silent, no noise except for the occasional ruffles of movement from the bed.

Deep thoughts plagued Keith's tired mind. This is what Keith did at night when he wasn't sleeping. Keith would think and wonder, making mental checklists, cringing at old memories, indulging in his fantasies, and dwell on his insecurities. Laying on the hardwood floor, staring up at glow stars, it all just added to his existential thoughts.

"We should play a game."

Keith wanted to smack his head on something. Wasn't Lance asleep? He'd been so sure the kid had zonked out. The silence had lasted so long, even Keith had begun to let his eyes drift closed.

"It's one a.m., Lance. Just go to sleep."

A small, tired yawn radiated from the blackness. It was cute, if you considered twenty year old man yawns to be cute "But I can't."

"You just yawned," Keith pointed out, talking to the dark room. "That means you're tired."

It was like talking to a restless toddler. Lance was so vastly against sleeping when he was so obviously drained. Keith could hear more blanket ruffling, Lance moving around in the bed to find a comfortable position.