Mark Me Yours ; klance [Hiatus]

III: Excuse The Mess

He leans over the end of the bed and lifts his sheets, searching for his glasses. When he doesn't find them, he gives out a frustrated huff, whispering, "I don't have time for this!" in an annoyed tone.

He gives his sheets a shake, pulling them up and about into the air. Unceremoniously, the glasses plop down onto the mattress, the metal frame clinking against itself softly.

"Eureka." Keith blurts uselessly, grabbing the pair of glasses and slipping them on. His eyesight improves immensely as he scowls at himself, embarrassed for not having noticed their obvious absence earlier.

He settles back into his previous position, legs crossed and MacBook on his lap. His finger dances over the mousepad gently before stopping on safari and giving it a double click. Immediately, Keith starts to type. I-n-s—

Instagram pops into the search bar with only three letters, redirecting Keith to the website when he presses enter. Already logged in, Keith goes to his profile, searching for any clue to what happened on Sunday night.

He only finds one blurry picture he must've drunkenly uploaded—one of him and Lance, their cheeks flush against each other as they both sported face-splitting grins. The caption is only a jumble of letters and one decipherable word.

werghot machibf tattoos.

Keith cringes, an embarrassed blush reddening his cheeks as he scrolls through the comments. They're mostly all playful jabs from other classmates, saying things like "i didnt know keith could have fun." A good handful of them, however, were awfully...lewd.

Shuddering, Keith shakes away the thought that just came to him and deletes the picture. Him and Lance? That's...no. No, thanks.

Quickly, Keith makes over to Lance's profile, snooping. He scrolls down a couple of recent pictures from yesterday and finds some from Sunday.

There's one of Lance and Allura in a dimly lit hallway and Keith finds himself faintly recognizing their outfits as they posed for said picture. (Caption: party time!!) The next one is Lance holding a red solo cup to his lips, mischievous glint in his eyes. (Caption: refreshing ;))

The last one, well...the last one is what gets Keith to bury his face in his hands, cheeks glowing hotly.

It's their tattoos. Broadcasted shamelessly to the people of Instagram—Lance's hefty thousand-something following. Their shirts are lifted up their torsos and their jeans are pulled down slightly, showcasing their v-lines.

Their hips, Lance's right and Keith's left, are pressed against each other, tattoos on full display. LANCE on Keith and KEITH on Lance.

The caption is a simple heart emoji, one that stirs something deep inside Keith—frustrates him to no end. He doesn't know how to feel about this anymore. He wants to be angry. He wants to feel bad about what he's done.

Right now, he just feels...not much of anything.

A loud knock on his door is what catches his fleeting attention, being followed by the calling of his name. Blinking, Keith unfreezes and peels his eyes away from his laptop, picking it off his legs and setting it back down on his bed. He pads over to the door and swings it wide open, just wanting the knocking to stop already.

The sight laid out in front of him is surprising, if not a bit embarrassing, to say the least.

Because it's Lance with a big, dumb grin playing his lips and a plastic bag clutched between his fingers. He stands not even a foot away from the doorway (he's so close), catching and holding onto Keith's stare with a knowing crinkle in his eye. (His eyes are blue. Like the ocean, but that's a bit cringe to say out loud, isn't it?)