Break Bad

The moon landing is fake.

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June 25th, 6:42Am

Whereas normally Keith was used to being woken up by a nightmare, or screaming neighbors, or perhaps his 7AM alarm that Lance despised, this time it was the pain in his neck that woke him. He opened his eyes to the still dim apartment, with hints of sunlight beginning to gaze in through the curtains, and shining straight into his eyes.

Keith realized he had been covered up. He knew he hadn't bothered getting his blanket after Lance went to bed, so it was clear that even pissed, Lance had still come to cover him up. The thought sent both a sharp pang of guilt, and a warm sense of affection through him.

"Fuuuck." Keith said out loud to the room, hating the mix of confusing emotions. He put his palms on his face and drug down. Then yawned, and slowly stood up, throwing the blanket over the back of the couch.

He checked his phone.
6:34AM
"Fuck." Keith said with annoyance at having been woken so early.

Keith stretched his back, hearing the bones pop with a satisfying crack, that was quickly accompanied by pain in his neck from the odd angle his head rested on the arm of the couch.

"Fuck!" Keith winced as the pain radiated through his spine, and neck.

He walked into the kitchen, not noticing the chair was out of place from when he had kicked it last night. And so, he kicked it again.
"FUCK! Keith now yelled, and he bent forward, grabbing his foot, and falling back into the asshole chair.

"Fucking sunlight, fucking back, fucking feelings, fucking chair!" Keith muttered under his breath, as he took in slow breathes, trying to calm his nerves.
Keith knew he probably looked like a mentally ill man in an insane asylum. And he didn't give a shit.

After a few minutes, he stood back up, and swore to himself he would one day get steel toed boots so he could kick that asshole chair back, shattered it into pieces, burn it to ashes, and scatter the ashes in the rankest dump he could find.

Keith began to brew a pot of coffee, then made his way back the hall and opened the bedroom door. Lance lay curled on the bed, uncovered, his limbs pulled tightly to his chest, wearing a tank top and boxers. He was completely out, and Keith decided not to wake him. Instead he walked over to Lance, and felt his skin. It was cold. Keith realized Lance had given him their only blanket that wasn't a thin veil of a sheet that provided no warmth.
More pangs of guilt, and waves of affection.

Keith rolled his eyes, not at Lance's actions, but at his own inability to react to them like a normal human being.
'Why can't I just fucking appreciate it, thank him, and move on? Fuck.'

Keith took a moment to simply stare at the man. His skin clean, and smooth. But a slight stubble growing, and spots on his cheeks that weren't obvious before.
Nothing bad, just slight imperfections on the skin that you would expect. Atleast you would, were this not Lance.
Keith wondered if his lack of face masks was causing it. He wondered how much it bothered Lance.
He looked at Lance for another minute, enjoying the rhythmic breathing of the boy. The peaceful look on his face.

'At least you can escape it when you sleep.'
Keith thought. Glad that Lance found comfort somewhere, since Keith seemed incapable of giving it.

Keith thought of what Lance had done, covering him up in the night, instead of himself. It was utterly obvious that he cared. And it didn't take a single word for Lance to prove it..

'Maybe....I can do the same. Actions speak louder and all that bullshit.'

Keith walked out to the couch, and grabbed the blanket, he brought it back the hallway, and carefully covered Lance up.
In his sleep, Lance instinctively curled into the blanket, and let out a satisfied breath.
Keith took that as his unconscious body saying thank you.