YELLOW [[klance]] [[COMPLETED]]

keith.

lance mcclain is a complete hottie.

fuck.

        the second i turned and saw him was the second i wanted to turn back around and not look, 'cause the last thing i want is to fall in love with somebody. that is 100% not an option. falling in love is a recipe for disaster - kind of like driving yourself off a cliff. (there's a pattern here.)

       lance mcclain has curly hair the color of almonds and smooth skin the color of melting caramel. lance mcclain has eyes like tiny stormy oceans and a cocky, shit-eating grin. he wears NASA t-shirts and blue jeans with rips in the knees.

i hate him.

right after he turns around, his oxygen tank squeaking against the shiny linoleum, shiro turns to me with a grin.

"i think you're gonna be friends."

"i think we aren't," i retort as the two of us leave the room, headed for the room that i am now sharing with a very cute, irritating boy.

"he has cystic fibrosis," shiro says as we walk. "he technically has been living in hospitals since he was born."

i raise my eyebrows at him. "and this relates to this conversation how?"

shiro looks at me then looks away. i maneuver myself around a janitor cart. "i just think that maybe you can learn from him? or vice versa."

it dawns on me. "are you tricking me into doing your weird counselling shit?"

"no!" he laughs. "and it's not weird, it's helpful. you'll see."

i roll my eyes. "sure."

he smiles his annoying dad smile.

. . .

       i've always liked my room. i think it's because of the big windows against the far back wall, parallel to my bed. right now, rain falls in sheets, splattering against the windows with a constant thrumming. lance mcclain has claimed his bed, which is to the left of mine and closer to the windows. 

        shiro sits in one of those hospital chairs - squat with cushions the same texture as the carpet - pulled up to the side of my bed. adam sits cross-legged at the end of my bed, the tray in between us loaded with panda express. while we eat and adam talks, i sneak the occasional glance at lance. no, i don't want to, but it's like every time i look away my eyes just trail back to him. ugh. i don't even know him.

      he hums while he unpacks. he strings white dragonfly lights across the top of his bed. he carefully lays out seashells on the windowsill, then leans a skateboard covered in chalk and stickers against the wall. he has a guitar, which he also places against the wall. suddenly, his head turns and he looks right at me. a cocky smile spreads across his face.

i glare and look away, shoving sweet and sour chicken into my mouth in an attempt to hide the fact that i'm blushing.

"it's nice to meet you, lance," adam says, grinning at me. i wish desperately that i could kick him. "keith has been here a couple of months, but he hasn't really made any friends yet."

"i think we'll be great friends," lance chirps, wiggling his eyebrows at me. i sigh exaggeratedly, sending a withering glare at adam and shiro. at that moment, a nurse walks in. lance brightens and immediately starts talking to her. he plops down, criss-cross, on his bed. the nurse pulls out the attached tray and sets a row of pill bottles the dinner (extremely unappetizing mashed potatoes and dry chicken) on it. all the while, lance is talking. at one point, he winks at me over her shoulder and i tear my gaze away.

adam leans in closer, slurping his pepsi. "he seems nice, doesn't he?" he and adam share a grin. "and cute." 

"you guys are both the most annoying people i have ever met," i state.

"mk," shiro says, but they both seem unfazed by my statement.

           a half-hour later, adam gathers up our panda express trash, kisses shiro, hugs me, and leaves. lance's nurse comes back, and attaches a tube to his stomach. the machine next to his bed hums consistently while he pulls the breathing thing over his nose. he doesn't seem at all embarrassed, and throws me a grin when the nurse leaves.

         i give shiro a desperate look, which he easily deciphers, and he pulls the curtain between our bed closed as he helps me dress.

      i hate nighttime, while at the same time, i love it. the hospital never really sleeps, but in this hall, the chaos calms and leaves it almost peaceful and serene. sometimes, i close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me like a blanket, and i almost forget why i'm here, where i am, that people are dying all around me. that i wouldn't be able to get out of this bed if i tried. i stay up late, usually, because sleep brings nightmares and nighttime is the only time where i'm at peace. no nurses or doctors or counselors or whatever. just me, my earbuds and the steady, musical background noises of the world. 

      sometimes i draw because it keeps me awake. no, my arms fucking suck. it gets easier though. at least, drawing does. my arms are stiff and barely ever move smoothly or go where their supposed to go, and my fingers are the same. it's annoying as hell, but when i grip a pencil it's like everything else disappears. i'm in my own world, where none of this stuff is real ('cause let's be honest: this place sucks ass). where i don't close my eyes and see the car floodlights spilling over empty dirt road into nothingness, approaching fast.

"goodnight," shiro says quietly, gently pushing my bangs back and kissing me on the forehead. I whisper it back before he leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

i don't turn to see what lance is doing, 'cause i can see the soft blue light of his lamp and the dragonflies, and instead i let the purple glow of my salt lamp illuminate my paper. with earbuds in, playing xxxtentacion because what do you expect from my depressed ass, i begin to sketch. i let my hand lead the way, barely stopping myself from closing my eyes, letting my mind unfurl on the page in front of me with just a few soft strokes of my pencil. i can feel the face take shape, the sharp jawline and pointed chin, the wavy short hair, the thin, arched eyebrows...

lance mcclain is on my paper.

"what are you drawing?" the real lance mcclain whispers from his side of the room. i look up and to the side. he's beneath the covers but not sitting, his wide blue eyes blinking curiously at me. 

"none of your business," i whisper back, turning the paper upside down and pushing the tray away. 

"i just wanted to know," he says, but he says it like he isn't really irritated. i can practically hear that smile.

   i shift my head to look at him. he's spread out, the white blanket draped over his legs, low enough so that i can see his baggy blue boxers. he's still wearing that NASA t-shirt. it's only just now that i notice, in the muted light, that there is a light smattering of freckles trailing across his arms and the bridge of his nose. his face is thin and perfectly sculpted, the shadow of a smile on his lips as he raises his eyebrows at me. i don't think i've ever seen eyes as blue as his.

"listen." my voice breaks the silence. "you don't know me, alright? you don't want to know me. making friends in this place is a recipe for disaster."

his eyebrows shoot straight up. "well i think that's ridiculous."

i roll my eyes. "why?"

"'cause nobody knows each other until they talk to each other." his smile unfurls, warm and bright and ridiculous. "we just have to get to know each other. it's called making friends."

"you sound like you're in a my little pony episode."

"maybe i am! see, anything is possible."

i sigh. "you're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

stupid contagious grin. "nope."

[a/n

i guess this is going somewhere.]