yo keith
meet me behind the school after last pd
dont wuss out
⭐ lance
The corners of Lotor's lips curl up tight as he tries to hold back his laughter. He looks up at Keith to see the same dead stare that's been on his face since he first got thrown into in-house suspension for fighting some dude off his back.
"Is he—" Lotor snorts trying to hold in his laughter, "Is he calling you out?" Once he says it out loud, he can't help but start laughing again because the very notion of Lance McClain starting a fight with anyone is ridiculous. "With a hand-written note?"
Keith throws his bag down on the chair and says nothing.
Lotor can't stop laughing. "I can't believe even the school's most desperate wannabe wants to pick on you."
Keith leans over his desk, folding his arms on top, and dumps his face in his arms.
Lotor remains in high spirits. "At least this one's not worth worrying over. Nobody likes him because he's delusional and can't keep his mouth shut. If you ask me, he's long overdue for a beating."
"I don't care," says Keith.
Lotor's laughing dwindles to a snicker. "Don't tell me you're scared," he says, his smile curling mockingly on his lips. "Would you like me to knock him out? It'll cost you, though. You know I don't do things for free."
Keith says nothing. He doesn't move.
It is oddly strange to see someone who's pummelled six jocks over the past four days look so defeated. Lotor doesn't know if he should extend his condolences for whatever pitiful mindset Keith has thrown himself into, or to say a few words of sympathy.
Finally, Keith says something, his voice soft like a fading whisper.
"I'm sick of this shit. I just want it to stop."
Lotor says nothing. Instead, he observes.
Keith has his face in his arms, his hair wild and tangled unlike the stylized mess of fine, thick strands combed and well conditioned. There's a missing stitch on the seam on the collar of his jacket, a fraying thread poking out along the seam. A faded scratch drags a diagonal line from the missing stich down to the middle of his back, as if something had dragged down from the seam of the collar.
The seam isn't supposed to be seen like this on this jacket; the lapels fold over to hide it away. But Keith has unfurled the collar and let it stand straight around his neck. It looks horrible; a distasteful choice eliciting a false sense of delinquency and obstinatance.
With a sneer, Lotor hooks a finger over the collar and pulls it down.
Keith's hand is an iron clamp around his wrist. His eyes burn murder into Lotor's face. Lotor finds amusement in Keith's fury until he finds something else: a thin red line trying to fade away from existence runs along the side of Keith's neck.
Lotor feels something hot searing his throughts. It lasts only a second before he banishes it away wtih a smile. "Who did that to you?"
"Nobody," comes the hissing reply. "Don't touch me." Keith all but throws Lotor's wrist back at him.
Lotor is still smiling when the door to the classroom slams open. A few kids snap to attention; even Keith stops slouching over his seat. In seconds, papers start to fly up and down the rows of chairs in the classroom.
"Pass these down and get started. Don't make the same mistake the class idiot's doing and flunk out. You do what I tell you to do and you'll pass that damn— Lotor! You wanna waste your time smiling at the board, then do it somewhere else! Get your head back in class!"
"My apologies, Mr. Iverson." Lotor glances to Keith and his smile widens. "It won't happen again."