A house is only as fun as your house mate

Chapter 2: Keith

I sat on the bed staring at the wall. I couldn’t believe I was sat in the same house as Lance. God if I had known ten years ago that I would be doing this right now with the man I hated most, it would not have ended well for anyone. I continued to stare at the wall and didn’t bother unpacking my stuff. I mean why would I, there was nothing in there that was worth taking out. I got knocked from my thoughts when Lance entered the room looking at me with a quizzical expression. “aren’t you going to unpack?” he asked, his tone sounding concerned. “nah I don’t have anything to unpack.” I explained. He didn’t seem to understand. I didn’t expect him to, to be completely honest with you. He was too oblivious when he was young so there was no reason as to why he should change now. He was too oblivious to see one of the most important things to me, that’s why I could never like someone like him. He can’t see what I want him to see the most. I walked past him abruptly, followed by him at my tail. Once we were both out of the room, I spun around and slammed the door shut before he could enter room. To my disadvantage, the door bore no lock so Lance could just come in as he pleased anyway. As if he knew that I didn’t want him there, he didn’t bother trying to open the door and I heard a little sigh before he supposedly went down the stairs.
He tried calling me for dinner that night but I refused. The stupid idiot that he was left me some leftovers and set them in the fridge for me to have whenever I felt like it. He came up to my room and let me know before leaving to go to bed himself. Part of me felt awful for not joining him. I mean it could have been the least I good do since he has been so good to me but I couldn’t face it. Sitting with him at dinner was just drawing a line. One that I could not cross no matter how hard I tried. Once I was sure that he had fallen asleep, I made my way downstairs and found the plate of pasta that he had left for me. I unwrapped the cling film and placed the dish into the microwave. I found the dial that allowed me to set the time for three minutes and then set it ready to go. It had cooked all the way through easily enough and it had kept in the fridge well. It was still moist which was a positive. It felt weird having something so good. In the year that I had been back on earth, pasta had not been on my choice of meals list, though it really should have been. Yet I was thankful that it was Lance’s pasta that I got to eat first since it tasted so amazing. I vaguely remember my mum making it for me when I was roughly five years old, and I remember thinking it was fantastic, though nothing could compare to this.
I polished off the plate pretty quickly and didn’t regret coming down to eat it secretly. I washed my dish in the sink before spending forever trying to find the cupboard in which the plates belong in. The cutlery drawer was easier to find but it took me a good five-six minutes to find the cupboard. I then borrowed a glass to fill with water and carried it back up to my room, hoping that Lance wouldn’t mind me doing so. I carried it up to the bedside table that was in the relatively large room and set it down. I was about to fully settle for sleep when I figured, I had to do something. Lance’s bedroom door was left wide open, enticing me in. I entered and perched myself gently on the edge of the bed so as not to wake Lance. I watched him as he slept peacefully. His eyes fluttered gently and looked at one with his surroundings. His cheek bones glistened as the moon filtered through the tiny gap in his curtains, casting the beams across his face and bare shoulders. I felt the sudden urge to touch his face and caress it but held my urge back so as not to wake him and also in fear that if he were to wake, he would find it creepy. I didn’t understand where this urge had come from so suddenly, it wasn’t something that I had felt for anyone in such a long time. I left him at that then and rise from my spot on the queen size bed. I reached the doorway and before I left entirely, I sent one more glance back. “goodnight Lance.” I breathed, then walked back to my room. As I got back to my door, I thought I had heard a ‘goodnight Keith, sleep well’ but his room was too far away to tell that it was him. A part of me had hoped that he had spoken back yet another part had hoped that he didn’t, because if he did, I don’t think I would have the emotional strength to be able to rationalise how I felt. One thing for sure was, Lance couldn’t make my heart flutter no matter how much it perhaps wanted to when he spoke to me or came in contact with me. It was never going to happen.