YELLOW [[klance]] [[COMPLETED]]

keith.

"to the left or to the right?"

"uhh...to the left."

"..."

"not your left, idiot, my left."

"ohh, okay, okay."

i sigh and look back down at my computer screen, fingers hovered over the keyboard. the fact that i had put my earbuds in did not seem to deter lance, and by the time he had said my name for the eighth time i decided to give up and take out one earbud. now he stands on tip-toes on top of his bed, grunting with his tongue between his teeth as he wedges tacks into the wall.

the bi flag hangs in colorful ripples over his respirator machine and a coiled strand of butterfly lights.

"i didn't know you were bi," i said when he pulled it out, like the fucking moron i am.

he seemed somewhat bashful and smirked. "is that a problem?"

i just shrugged because duh, it's not a problem. 

except it kind of is because distancing yourself from a hot asshole doesn't work very well when you 1) sleep five feet away from him every night and 2) he's a raging bisexual who is physically capable of being attracted to you.

also, that was kind of a lie. lance radiates bisexual energy so hard it practically blinds me - from his shit-eating grin to his finger-guns to his fucking high-tops.

"is that good?" he asks, turning to me and placing his hands on his hips. he beams like he's proud of himself.

"mhm," i say, because i'm trying to watch buzzfeed unsolved and ignore the fact that it feels like overnight each and every one of my bones have been replaced by lead molds. 

that's the way seizures are. drains you like air being sucked out of a balloon, and now my neurons are fried and my muscles feel like undercooked meat and i just know i'm gonna feel like roadkill for the rest of the day. unfortunately, when shiro and adam stopped by with denny's at the asscrack of dawn this morning, they insisted i get out of bed and do SOMETHING before physical therapy, so, due to the sheer intensity of their utter dad-ness, here i am. 

sitting beneath the suspended tv and next to the empty armchair, browsing youtube and providing snarky commentary whenever lance prods at me.

speaking of. he hops down and surveys his half of the room, stroking his chin. here's what i've gathered from his room - other then the fact that he doesn't believe he's gonna be leaving very soon. the place is packed.

he's a skater - his skateboard propped up in a corner. he's a fan of shitty eighties anime and sci-fi, and he plays the guitar resting gently on the window seat. he's got pictures and pictures of sunny beaches and big families. he puts records on the wall like a walking indie blog. 

"perfect," he announces.

"huzzah," i say flatly, scrolling until the never-ending youtube videos turn into a shapeless stream. 

lance puts his hand on his chest, as if appalled. "well don't get TOO excited about it."

"i won't," i reply truthfully.

he laughs and flops onto his bed, flipping me off. "asshole." he rolls onto his stomach, oblivious to the oxygen tube getting tangled around him, and picks his guitar up. back on his back, he hums a vaguely recognizable tune and strums random chords thoughtlessly. after staring for awhile at the ceiling he cocks his head and looks at me.

"what're you doing?" he asks.

"googling 'how to get your new roommate to leave you alone'."

"hardy har."