Boxed In [Discontinued]

three

Three is such a weird number. Like, spelled out. It doesn't even look like a word. Or sound like one. Whoops, I'm getting off track :)

I don't really have an uploading schedule and I've been busy, but here! Have this *pushes forward unceremoniously*

When I woke up, it still felt like I was sleeping, if that makes sense. The whole world felt like a dream, hazy and still and quiet but reckless and moving at the same time.

And I was leaning on Lance Mcclain's shoulder.

Thoughts whizzed around in my brain and stayed there, making me squirm. How'd I get here? I knew the answer. Why was I okay with this? I knew the answer. Was Lance okay with this? That, I did not know.

I sat up and rubbed my head, startled to find soaked bandages wrapped around it. Then everything from the past hour or so (how long had I been asleep?) came flooding back and I began to panic, turning around and shaking Lance's shoulder.

"Lance," I hissed, shaking him less gently, "Laaaanceeee."

Finally, he moved, pushing my hand away. He was leaning against the wall, slouching with his head resting sideways on the shoulder mine hadn't been on. I wanted to kiss him, right then. I scooted forward, imagining it. First, I'd kiss his freckles. Every single one of them, the ones dusting his cheeks and nose and also the ones sprinkled lightly on his arms. Then I'd kiss the moles on the back of his neck, then his sharp cheekbones, then his eyelids where dark eyelashes were fluttering open. I immediately recoiled, knowing I was bright red, hopeful he couldn't see me in the dark room, though I could see every inch of his spectacular face.

"What's up?" Lance yawned, sitting up and scratching his neck. If he noticed my flusteredness, he didn't show it.

"Nothing," I lied. Obviously, something was up, the cute idiot. I knew he wasn't blind. I'd been checking him out, something he was an expert in.

"You woke me up for nothing?"

Shit. I had forgotten about that part. "Um, no. I..." I searched around for something, anything excusable in my brain, but nothing came. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," I finally said, awkwardly reaching up to scratch my nose, hiding my face growing hotter by the minute.

I must've been dreaming. Am I dreaming? There appeared to be a hint of red on Lance's cheeks. No, it was absurdly hot in here, he was just hot. Definitely hot, I thought, staring at his body, before flicking my eyes back up to his face.

It was super hot, though. I felt like tearing my clothes off. And his, too.

I sighed and shook my head. Where were these thoughts coming from?

"I'm fine," Lance answered, crawling toward his suit to pull out the first aid kit. He hesitated before moving over to me, clutching it in his hands, his knuckles white. "How are you?"

"Great." I cleared my throat, staring at Lance's hand that felt like he was petting my head, but really he was just taking off the old bandages. "I mean, okay. I'm doing okay. I'm okay."

God, say okay one more time, why don't you?

"That's good," Lance said softly, stuffing the old bandages into a plastic bag before wrapping the new ones around my head. The touch felt so good, I almost leaned into it. It was almost enough to drown out the pounding in my head, but I wasn't sure what the pounding was for, my maybe-concussion or Lance practically sitting in my lap, smoothing my hair back to pull the bandages around my head.

"All done," he said a moment later, grinning and patting my head gently before scooting back to the wall. I joined him in leaning against the cool metal. I fished around for something to say, but Lance beat me to it.

"We should play a game?"

I looked at him, raising my eyebrow. "Like what? Hopscotch?"

He laughed. Lance's laugh sounds like wind chimes on a windy day, high pitched and friendly and welcoming, making my heart flutter.

"No, man. Like, 20 questions." He shot me an award winning smile. "I feel like we've grown apart. Maybe we should get to know each other."

I wanted to scream, you keep telling me we're rivals and denying any form of physical contact!, but instead I just said, "okay."

Lance smiled again, sat up, and cleared his throat. "Do you currently have a crush?"

Jesus. Way to start with something easy. I turned away, staring at the wall. Should I tell the truth? I mean, it is Lance. He's completely oblivious. I swallowed. "Yes."

I swear I saw his smile falter for a second. "Your turn."

"Okay," I hesitated. I'd been wanting to ask him this ever since I admitted my claustrophobia. "What's your biggest fear?"

Now was Lance's turn to stare at the wall. He just sat there, blinking and frowning before finally whispering, "love."

My head tilted to the side. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "Yeah. I guess...I've been rejected so many times, I just..."

I stared at him. I couldn't help it. This beautiful boy, freckled and blushing and not looking at me, rejected? I couldn't imagine it.

And then I realized. I'd rejected him before. I mean, Lance flirted with everyone. Was he really flirting with me those times I thought he was? Had I accidentally rejected him?

Suddenly, in a split decision, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around him. At first, he tensed up, but after a moment he hugged me back, snaking his arms under my armpits and squeezing.

"Oh, Lance," I whispered. I almost kissed him. I wanted to, so badly. I sighed as I crushed him against the wall, pulling him into me. I hated this feeling in my stomach, pressing against my chest, hurting my throat. I recognized it. I'd felt it often around Lance.

Love.