Bloody Texas

How Long Can I Make These Titles Before Wattpad tells Me to Fuck Off?

Lance watched the hills of color spin around through his window. The sky was a whitewashed blue, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. A smile warmed his face as he tasted the freedom he never had. He had finally done what he wanted. No rules.

"What are you thinking about?" Keith's voice filled the cozy car.

Lance audibly sighed and turned to face him, "What do you mean?"

"You just look really interested in something." Keith wore a white tank top that hung from his body. A red beanie sat on his head, causing his shiny black hair to curl around it. His eyes were dark, but they had a glow to them.

"What are you doing?"

Lance didn't realize he had leaned over the middle console while he stared. As embarrassing as it was, he decided to play it off. "I'm looking at your eyes."

His smile dropped. He kept his gaze on the road. "Why are you doing that?"

Lance leaned up and kissed his cheek, then pulled away to sit in his seat. "Cuz' they're pretty," he said in a singsong voice. Keith's cheeks gave off a faint red tint. Lance high-fived himself in his head. Nice one, Lance.

Keith had been so eager to touch him before; but now it seemed like every time Lance got close, he seemed to get really flustered. Lance wasn't an expert on the whole "sex" thing, but he was pretty sure that was it. He didn't blame him, though. Even Lance himself was apprehensive about it. Maybe Keith didn't want to have sex with him?

...No. That couldn't be it. Even if he knew it wasn't the problem, Lance couldn't keep his mind from wandering. What if he was repulsed by it? Was it the AIDS? Or the Sickle Cell? Either one can cause problems on their own, but when they're combined things get complicated. Maybe Keith doesn't want to touch him out of fear and repulsion.

"Well, now you look sad."

Lance was sucked out of his thoughts by a snarky Keith. He gave Lance's thigh a light squeeze, "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

Lance opened his mouth without thinking and almost told him, but quickly shut it and chose his words. "Nothin'. Just watching out the window."

"Sure." Keith returned to his driving.

"You know," Lance started, leaning on his elbow. "When I was a kid, I always dreamt of leaving. Just—leaving." He used a hand to emphasize. "I would lie in bed and listen to music, only to dream of watching out the window of a car or train or plane. Sometimes," he let out a somber chuckle, "I would just fly up to the sky and stand on the blue, then I would look up to see the world above me. It—it was like I was free, but not really."

He could feel Keith's gaze burn into his skin. "Lance?"

He turned to face him, "What?"

"You're crying."

Lance reached up to touch his face. Much to his surprise, his finger came back damp. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, shaking his head into the fabric.

Keith held up a hand, "No, you can't just—" He stopped with a sigh and pulled off the highway into a random parking lot. Lance watched him put the car into park and get out.

More tears fell onto Lance's sleeves, darkening the fabric with freckles of somber halos. His door opened and a neutral Keith motioned him out. "Here, come here."

Lance hesitantly stood up and got out of the car. When he gained his footing, Keith wrapped his arms around Lance's shoulders and held him tightly. Lance slowly brought his hands up and latched onto his back as he shushed him and pet his hair. His deep cello voice calmed his shaken and confused body. "You're gonna be okay."

Still anxious, Lance let his eyes drift around and become aware of his surroundings. The parking lot happened to belong to an abandoned gas station. Rust and graffiti covered the walls and broken-down pumps. Unlike the lush hills Lance had seen from the highway, the ground was barren and dusted his shoes with beige powder. It was like time was distorted a little bit. A bubble of an alternate universe where it was only them. It wasn't a bad thing, though. Maybe for just a moment, Lance didn't have to be sick. He could just be Lance.

Keith pulled back and wiped Lance's cheeks with his thumbs, "Are you alright?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I think I'm fine." He turned to scan the area once more. "More importantly, look at this."

Keith looked around, "It's an old gas station. What about it?"

Lance pulled away from him and walked up to the large glass window on the side of the building. Blue spray paint spelt out cunt along the glass. A crack cut the word in half, separating the top from the bottom by half an inch. Lance let his fingertips glide over it as he made out the little deformities in the paint. His chest glowed with warmth as a wide smile painted itself across his flushed cheeks, "It's so beautiful."

Keith furrowed his brows in confusion and stepped up behind him. "Uh, I guess?"

Lance whipped around, grabbed his wrist, and lead him to the back of the tiny building. Graffitied over the white brick was a colorful You Are Free*. He skidded to a stop and planted his fists on his waist. Lance looked at the paint, then Keith's unamused face. The paint. His unchanged face. Finally, Lance groaned and took his hand, "Just feel."

He brought Keith's hand up to rest his palm against the wall. Then, he inspected the picture with his own fingertips. His tongue scratched his teeth like an old radio as his mouth opened and he began to speak. "Someone was here." He tapped the brick with his index finger. "They stood in this spot and took the time to paint this." His boots scraped the gravel when took a few steps back to admire the whole piece. "You see, people like to leave their mark on the world. Their souls yearn to be remembered in some way—even if it's by the word cunt spray painted on the cracked window of an abandoned gas station."