Dirty Laundry [Klance]

Chapter 3- Day 3

Day 3

Sunday, December 18th

1:06 A.M.

"Move your ass over."

Keith grunted into his pillow. "No."

Lance made a deep, overly dramatic noise at the back of his throat. "Why can't you be nice to me?"

"Because." Keith spoke blankly. "You're taking up the entire bed."

"Um, no I'm not, I'm the one who just asked you to move over."

Keith moved farther away from Lance's side of the mattress, hoping that the two extra centimeters would satisfy him. At this rate he'd fall into the space between the bed and the wall. Keith could already foresee what an awful experience that would be.

"Is that better?"

He could hear the disappointment in Lance's voice. "Not really."

Keith couldn't take this. It was hot, he was sleeping on a tiny twin mattress, and his unfortunate bed mate was Lance Sanchez, the notorious bed hog. He missed the basement couch. Missed it.

In a spur of annoyance, Keith thrashed out of his crushed position against the wall and crawled over Lance's body to reach the nightstand. Lance complained the whole time, and Keith whacked at his protesting arms.

Once Keith flipped the lamp's switch bright light flooded the room. It was an eerie sort of light, making strange shadows on the wall from any sudden movement. Keith slid off the bed and limped to the closet, sweat sticking to his skin.

"What are you doing?"

Keith reached into the closet half blind, searching for any other leftover blankets and sheets. "What does it look like? I'm making a bed on the floor."

"Why?"

The glare on Keith's face should've said enough, but Lance is stupid, and sometimes he doesn't understand body language.

"Because you're the worst bed hog I have ever come into contact with." Keith began to unfold the few blankets he'd found onto the floor. "And it's fucking hot."

Lance gave a sheepish frown. "Ah, sorry. My room is the hottest in the house."

"Yeah," Keith mumbled. "No shit."

Keith lay a few more blankets onto the floor before snatching a pillow from the bed. He was grumpy, Lance could possibly tell, and it didn't help that the time was past one in the morning. After a few more adjustments to his bed and shutting off the lamp, Keith finally flopped down onto his back and glared up at the ceiling.

Stars. There were glow stars stuck to Lance's ceiling.

Maybe it was his exhaustion, maybe it was the heat. Keith wasn't sure, but something about the glow-in-the-dark stars made his heart feel hollow. He'd never had stars like those as a kid, never had a permanent place to put them. Lance? Lance had lived in this house since he was a child. Lance had a place to put his stars. Right there, up on the ceiling that glowed above him.

Keith tried to close his eyes so he didn't have to look at the stupid things, and for a moment he thought sleep might just take him.

"I can't sleep."

Keith was ready to fucking kill this kid.

He let his eyes open a crack to peer in Lance's direction. Lance had turned the lamp on again.

"What."

He forced the simple word through gritted teeth, and he hoped maybe Lance would get the message that he was tired. Tired, as in wanting sleep, as in wanting silence. And for him to turn the damn light off.