(You Can) Drop Your Façade ; klance

hands

After about five consecutive minutes of snap, snap, snap, Lance's bracelet had finally had enough, and it snapped right in his hands.

Keith smirked at the broken band, silently thanking whatever god was up there for stopping the abuse towards Lance's wrist. Lance huffed, staring at the bracelet sadly.

Keith sighed and to a blank page in his notebook, quickly scribbling a note. He pushed the book to his right, towards Lance, who read it over with a sad expression on his face.

He took a pencil and wrote down a response, making sure to hide it from their teacher, who was currently giving a boring lecture. He passed the notebook back and Keith took a moment to admire Lance's capital-letters-only handwriting. It was vastly different from his own inconsistent bubble(ish) letters. He skimmed it over.

it finally broke huh? Keith had written.

Yea, and it was a gift from my niece Nadia, Lance wrote back, a small frowny face beside Nadia.

Keith hummed in amusement, raising an eyebrow at Lance's over exaggerated pout. Lance only rolled his eyes and shook his head, hands going down to his lap. He played with his own fingers, flicking at his right hand with his left.

Keith hummed again and began to doodle on the page, trying to listen to whatever their teacher was still droning on about. Sighing, Keith gives up on his mini art project after about seven minutes.

Keith turns towards Lance, who is staring intently at the teacher, and it seemed as if he were actually paying attention. Keith would've thought so, but he knew better.

Lance just...wasn't like that. If there is one thing Keith knew for sure, it was that Lance couldn't focus for shit. Poor guy was always nudging at Keith's shoulders, silently asking him to explain what was going on most of the time.

But of course, Keith being Keith, he never knew what was going on either. He never bothered paying attention to lectures because, most of the time, whatever powerpoint was being shown was also on Managebac, a website used by the county to keep record of grades and assignments.

In Keith's first week of transferring, he learned that Lance wasn't the most attentive person. He would space out when the teacher spoke and would usually get notes from someone else in the classroom.

But sometimes, he would have moments were he did focus, just, too much. You wouldn't be able to get his attention when he got into his hyper-focus mode. Keith learned to not bother him when it happened. It didn't happen often, though.

So Keith started paying attention to lectures to help Lance when he zoned out, because half the time, Lance didn't even realize he was spacing out. So within the past three weeks, they've created a system.

Keith would (try to) pay attention to lectures and discussions, writing down as much information as he can, and Lance would copy off of him. Lance would help Keith study for anatomy and pre-calculus in return.

(Not that he needed it, Lance was aware Keith knew he didn't need it, but it's nice to have an excuse to hang out anyway)

Keith squints at Lance's profile, realizing that Lance was looking at the teacher, but the board behind her. Lance was staring at the date, completely deaf when it came to the teacher's lesson.

His hands were flat on thighs, fingertips digging into the rips of his jeans. Keith nudged at Lance's calf with his foot.

Lance jumps slightly, startled. He whips his head towards Keith, furrowing his eyebrows. Keith slid his notebook toward him, scribbling six lines. He nodded at it, hoping Lance got the idea.

Thankfully, he did. He smiled and picked up his pencil, drawing a sloppy 'o' in the center. They continued the game while Keith half-listened to their teacher.

Lance had written down Mullet - 3 and :) - 1 on the top of the page after five rounds of tic tac toe. Keith had whisper shouted how "it's not a mullet, it's just long!" Lance had snickered and crossed it out, writing down emo instead. Keith had glared at him and crossed out his happy face, writing down lanky binch.

Lance had to muffle his laugh with his hand so he wouldn't disrupt the class. Keith was the one snickering this time.

They stopped playing after that, Keith going back to halfway listening and Lance going back staring at the date.

Their teacher eventually stopped talking (thank fuck) and had given out an assignment, due next class. Keith didn't bother starting it, he just stuffed it into his binder for after school instead.

Keith highly doubted Lance would get it started, so he took his copy as well. "We can do it at the library," he whispered to Lance. Lance only stared at the date, his hands in his lap again. Only this time, they were balled up, his fingernails digging into his palms, and not lightly.

Keith panicked, his right hand reaching out to snatch Lance's left wrist. Lance flinched, looking back at him, eyes wide. Keith offered a small smile. "You're hurting yourself," he whispered, showing Lance his palm.

Lance looked down at his hand, relaxing his clenched fists. A "sorry" bubbles up in Lance's throat, but he refused to let it out.

Lance sent Keith a wobbly smile, attempting to assure him he was alright. Keith wasn't buying it.

"Here," Keith murmured, slipping his hand into Lance's, heat rising up his face. He smiled bashfully, and Lance squeezed his hand in return.

Keith turned away, pulling out his phone and trying to stay calm.

But he was holding Lance's hand, how the fuck was he supposed to stay calm?

He glared at his screen, trying to control the blush on his cheeks. But of course, it was useless, he was cursed with red face for the rest of the class.

And Lance had found himself in a similar situation, trying not to worry about how sweaty his hands must be right now. And trying not to think about how warm Keith's hand felt in his.

So he didn't think, he brought Keith's hand onto his lap and played around with his fingers. Lance had been surprised to find out how short they were. He unclasped Keith's hand from his and compared them instead.

Keith's hands weren't small, per say, but they were dainty. Not to mention, soft. Lance would've never guessed.

As Keith watched Lance mess with his hand, he smiled to himself. Their hands were roughly the same size, but Lance's fingers were long and slender, while Keith's were shorter. And they fit so neatly together, Keith might swoon.

It just felt...nice...and right.

Lance then tangled their fingers together again, his hand firmly grasping Keith's, his fingers curling against his knuckles. Lance pulled at Keith's fingers, leaving them outstretched.

He began to lightly rub and scratch at the pads of his fingers, as if they were just some kind of putty he was toying with. He pressed his thumbnail onto Keith's thumb, creating a light crescent mark. He did this to every finger and then repeated it over and over.

It didn't hurt, Lance never dug in too deep, so Keith didn't mind. After a few minutes of playing with Keith's fingers, Lance suddenly stopped and went to grab a pencil with his free hand.

He began to write down something Keith couldn't read until the paper was slid towards him.

Everyones gonna go to the plaza this weekend, wanna come?

Lance smiled hopefully when Keith looked back up at him. Lance squeezed his hand. Keith chuckled.

"Sure."