DAY 4 19/03-18

I usually don't shower in the morning - I always do it just before I go to sleep. And I don't understand those who thinks it's something EVERYONE one does, to shower in the morning, I mean. I really don't have time for that.

But this morning, I felt like doing it. It's weird, I can say. You're still drowsy and half awake and over sensitive.

I started off with having very hot water; it burned my back in a way that was bearable. And after two minutes I turned it cold. The sudden change of temperature is surprisingly enjoyable. It's like some kind of massage to your head. But it lasts for only a second, or so, before it's just cold.

That's a thing I remember with dad. I remember being maybe five, and dad washed me. He asked me if he could make the water hot, and as a curious five year old, I let him. He made the water hotter before telling me to wait and went to the kitchen. When he came back to the little bathroom he was holding one of our plastic cups, smiling at me.

"My grandmother always poured cold water over my head when I showered in warm water as a little kid. It's really nice, you want to try it?" he said. I nodded excitedly.

Dad poured the cold water over my hot head and I decided that I loved it. I think I still do. It's like you're mind is overheated, but then you just pour a cup of cold water over it, and you get relieved for a second.

Before it's just hot again.

° ° °

Pidge throws a tater tot at my face and I just look at her as it falls to the dirty table and lays there miserably.

"You know you just wasted a tater tot?" I say and throw it to the side, not caring where it lands in the school dining.

"You know what an asshat you are?" She bats her eyes innocently. But beyond that facade, she's the devil's mother.

"I've learned from the best", I retort and make a demonstratively gesture at her. She rolls her eyes but then adjustes her glasses and looks at me seriously.

"But really, though. You're really dwelling on something. What is it?" Pidge asks and that immediately catches Hunk's attention that's sitting beside her, in front of me. He looks at me worriedly and I sigh. I appreciate their concern, I really do, but it's just too much sometimes.

"I'm fine, if you're wondering that. No pain in my lung or whatever. I'm alive", I grunt, picking one of my tater tots and crushing it under my thumb until it's as sad as the tater tot I threw away. It's completely quiet at our table in the back of the dining room, and the only thing that is heard is the chaos around us, all the students talking over each other and laughing and being too damn happy for a Monday. 

"Keith..." Hunk wails. "Don't talk like that."

"Well, that's just how it is, Hunk." I feel every little cell of anger and irritation build itself inside me. "You just have to freaking accept it. I'm sick, but all of you just want to pretend I'm not. None of you can accept it!"

"I can, and that's why you should follow me." I whip my head towards the uninvited voice from beside our table. Lance is standing there, arms crossed and not a single hint of a smile on his face. He doesn't even look to be joking. This is his serious face again, that one that makes him look weird. It just doesn't suit him. At all.

"Go away", I say and but he just shakes his head and drags me up from my chair to then drag me out of the school building. He's stronger than he looks, but I know that before I got sick, I was much stronger. I could have broken free from his grip without difficulties. But now? I don't know. That, and I secretly want to get away. Away from the humiliation I would have to face all alone after I realize that I overreacted just a little bit, that you just don't scream at Hunk like that. It's something I have to accept too, and that's the fact that Hunk, Pidge and Shiro must be as scared as I am these days.

Lance takes me out, out of the smell of old oil and meat and sweat and school and out into some kind of freedom. It's just like hot water on your head, but then a splash of cold, before he pulls me over to the benches we sat on before and my head is warm again. Everywhere is warm.

"Keith", he says but in my head, his voice sounds distant. I'm still shaking from anger; I haven't calmed down yet and that can only make things worse. "Keith...what is it?"

"You should really learn to mind your own business", I growl.

Lance furrows his eyebrows and grunts. "You made your business mine too when you agreed on letting me help you."

Snap. My functions and senses breaks with a loud snap in my body. I can hear all traces of calmness crumble inside me.

"Help me? Help me?  What the hell do you mean with that?" I slam my hand on the table and Lance flinches. My lung starts to give me warnings. "Don't think I'm a broken object you can simply fix with some glue or something. You can't help me! I don't need to be helped!"

I see the dread in his eyes; it clouds the brightness of the blue in his irises. But I continue anyways.

"Nobody can help me! And nobody can fix me! Everyone is so freaking stupid!" I slam both hands on the table and it shakes under me, and my lung is telling me to stop, to stop breathing so sharply because it will give up soon. "I hate this stupid fucking world!" I bark and give the table a final slam. 

My fists are throbbing, and my chest is pounding. I can't find a normal rhythm of breathing. I am wheezing for air, hissing and shrilling. Lance appears just in front of me and he's reaching for my hand. I don't accept the help; I'm trying to calm my breath down on my own by leaning my head back to open my air tube. It doesn't help much with the pain in my chest, but it does give me access to breath easier. Lance's voice is distant, as my heart drumming, but I know I'm alive. My heart hasn't given up yet.

"It h-hurts", I press through chapped lips. It's like the worst kind of cramp, like multiple punches at the same spot at you can't even dodge them. You stand completely still, receiving all these hard punches.

"Keith... what... What should I do? I... oh God...what the hell should I do? Tell me..."

"C-call... Shiro." My whole body suffers from a violent shudder; it's like the temprature around me dropped to zero in mere seconds. I try to take out my phone from my pocket in between all shaking and I press in the password with trembling fingers. Lance quickly snatches my phone from my hand and easily finds Shiro in the contacts; my contact list consists of only four people. Everything is fuzzy and out of shape. 

"We should call an ambulance", Lance insists but he still presses his phone to his ear. I realize - through my warped sight - that he is shaking almost as much as I am. I don't know when he appeared just beside me but deep down I'm glad I'm not going through this all alone.

"Shiro!" Lance exclaims as soon as he picks up. "It's Lance, and Keith is in pain, and I don't know what to do and he just started breathing weirdly and he says he's in pain and we're outside school and you need to come right now and..."

He takes a deep breath and ends his rambling. I whimper when this punch to my chest is worse than the other's. Lance shrieks and almost drops my phone. 

"You need to come now!" Lance demands Shiro and I can already sense Shiro just dropping everything at the office and flying towards his car.

"Hang on there, Keith", I hear Lance coo and I don't know how he can switch voices like that. It calms me down just a little bit. I feel his hand on my back and he's rubbing different patterns on my cloth, making me want to figure out what shape he is drawing on my rear. "Shiro is on his way."

I see past the pain for a moment; I like the way he's drawing shapes on my back, even if it makes all my insides scream from the contact. It's not even skin against skin, but my body is touch starved enough to react to this. I feel the shapes he's drawing. Circle, circle again, a curvy line, square and circle again.

We sit like this; me breathing heavy, hunched over the bench and my forehead pressed against the gruff surface while trying to figure out which shapes Lance is making on my back, and the sound of cars in the background, until Shiro arrives.

° ° °

I never liked Easter, because I never got a good impression of it. It's too many colors and too much brightness. I never understood why colorful eggs or chocolate bunnies came into the picture, and the perfect time for children to stuff their mouth with sweets. It was never a holiday spirit in mine and dad's house. Easter would be just like any other day; gloomy and grey and quiet. I remember, when I was ten years old, that I wanted a change for once. Without dad noticing, I took some of his money to buy me an egg after school. The supermarket back then was filled with kids and their parents and their baskets was filled with chocolate bunnies and candy separately. I was so jealous, because they spent money on it like it was nothing at all, like this was something obvious, to buy this amount of sweets.

I picked the smallest egg I could find, which was of course the most cheapest. I managed to save five cents of dad's money, and I was very mirthful as I proudly went to the cashier and handed her the money. Thinking back at it, I think she took pity on me, but back then, I couldn't care about anything else than the fact that I had bought me an egg for Easter.

I pressed it against my torso all the way home and treated it like it was a part of me. As I came home, dad sat comfortably in our worn out cough and the TV was playing at a low volume, showing what must have been a comedian. I could hear the audience laugh loudly at every joke he pulled, but dad didn't move a single muscle in his face. As if a comedian on TV could set the right mood in our house; there was barely any joy anymore. Every breakfast and every dinner consisted of silence, and every time I tried to joke with him, dad would give me the tone that meant that he wanted the conversation to end. 

"Hey, kiddo", dad said automatically, not looking away from the screen. He switched channel and yawned loudly. 

I quickly took off my dirty red shoes and threw them to the side, alongside with my bag, and I was too contented to care about the bad reaction I could get from dad. With a broad smile I went into the little living room and waited for dad to notice me. When he looked at me I showed my Easter egg, outstretched in front of me. He had to blink several times to realize what I had in my hands, but he never smiled. 

"I bought an egg!" I said like it wasn't obvious. But it clarified everything for him, because I think that he wanted me to state that I did actually buy it, and not get it from someone, so now he had reasons to get mad.

"With what money, exactly?" dad growled dangerously low. His voice may have been low, but it still shook the whole house with rage. I lowered my arms and pressed the egg hard against my chest, suddenly terrified. I didn't have to say something, because it was clear. Some of dad's money had been wasted on something that I know he calls bullshit. Those money could have been wasted at much more important things than this crap, is what he yelled at me. We are already broke as it is! he barked. Why would you burn those money away?

I ran in to my room and locked the door. I could hear dad curse profusely, and I know he didn't care if I heard it. It took some while until he had calmed down, but by then, I didn't even know if he was still in the house or not. Maybe I was alone the rest of the afternoon.

But I still had my egg. I sat on my little bed and I opened the little object, with less anticipation than I thought I would have. What I saw in front of me wasn't chocolate, it was burned money for something that would only store more fat in me. It's just like New Year; I had asked dad once if we could also buy some fireworks, cheap ones that maybe even didn't light up the sky enough. He always sighed and told me why? Why should we literally shoot up our money and let it burn away? I never asked for fireworks ever again since that day and instead I had to see other's money explode in the sky, give a seconds of awe before it ended. Just like with my egg. I prompted myself with chocolate but it didn't even give me one second of satisfaction, because they way I bought it, made dad angry. Even I couldn't enjoy it.

I never liked Easter since then. Just like now. As I'm sitting in my bed, drowned in blankets and pillows, and I see the busstation just under us, at the other side of the road, and the big advertisement of Easter crap at Target. Those advertisements always comes early, and it awakens hope into kids almost two weeks before Easter even occurs. I hate the way parents promises their kids that they will get tons of eggs when Easter comes, and I hate the way the kids eyes lights up with happiness, because they know  they will get their damn egg. Dad never promised anything like that. And the orphanage wasn't any different; Roima had to take care of fifteen orphans with issues, so getting something on a holiday wasn't really an option because there were much more important things she needed to buy than that.

"Yes, yes I understand. Thank you." Shiro appears in my room just as he ends a call with whomever. He sighs so long I get surprised he even had that much oxygen inside him. Then he massages his forehead and sighs again, not as long. He sits on my bed and types something in his phone, probably texting someone. I don't let myself look outside my window again, so I wait for Shiro to finish texting before he places his phone aside, giving me a look to heavy for me to carry, so I let it drop and look down at my quivering hands on my lap. It's too warm, but I don't have enough energy to take off a layer of blanket.

"Doctor Jonson said that all you need now is plenty of rest, and that it shouldn't be something serious otherwise", Shiro informs and he sounds exhausted. I don't know if it's because of work or just taking care of me, making sure I don't die too soon. Shiro needs to look out for my health as much as I do, if not even more than me. "Therefore, you can't go to school tomorrow. You need to listen to Doctor Jonson."

I never really liked Doctor Jonson; there is something about his askew yellow teeth and bony long dry fingers that sets me off, and he overall makes me uncomfortable. I bet he snuffs, too. That explains his terrible breath. Weird, for a doctor to snuff, but maybe he doesn't actually snuff and just drinks too much coffee everyday.  

"I'm not complaining", I say in all honesty. I would gladly stay at home. 

"What happened back there?" Shiro asks and his brows are furrowed in concern. "You know that you can't overwork your lungs like that. Did you run, or something? Is that why..."

"No, I didn't run", I spit out and make the mistake in looking out my window. I can feel my irritation go up one degree as the big picture of Easter eggs taunts me. "I just got very angry and breathed too hard, that's all."

"Angry at Lance?" Shiro guesses.

"Partly", I admit, but what Shiro doesn't know is that I was angry with everyone, including him. It was a moment of uncontainable rage that just kept getting bigger in flames, burning all my right senses. "But it didn't start with him. It was nothing, really. You don't have to worry about it."

I know Shiro doesn't believe me but he knows too well than to ask me further questions. Instead he sighs in defeat and glances at his phone, before looking back at me. 

"Then you don't mind if Lance is coming over right now?"

I choke on air. "Excuse me... what?"

"He's worried about you, Keith", Shiro says quickly like it would make me rethink and open my arms for Lance. "He was the one to witness you having difficulties with your health, and I completely understand why he wants to look if you're okay."

"Well, I don't understand it", I snarl. "Can't he just call and ask if I'm okay, or something? And, doesn't he have a life to live? You know, homework or friends or family and all that crap? Why the hell should he waste his precious little time on making sure I'm okay?"

"Keith", he says sternly. "Sometimes it's better to do things the old way, and not just with your phone. It's actually very nice that he wants to check up on you. He could have just forget all of this and maybe never talk to you again."

"That would have been better", I mumble to myself, but not low enough to prevent Shiro from hearing. He shakes his head in disappointment.

"He never got the chance to check up on you, as I picked you up and drove us home, so it's understandable if he wants to see you now. I admit, I could have just called him to tell him that everything is fine with you, but that doesn't help much, does it? Sometimes you just have to see for yourself."

"Do I look fine then, Shiro?", I ask and I know the sacks under my eyes are visible, and deep. But Shiro must be looking past that. 

"Fine enough to meet Lance." He smiles and it provokes me but I need to take a deep breath.

"How did he get your number in the first place?"

"Hunk gave it to him", Shiro answers simply and I think of course. "It's good that he has my number, you know... If something would happen to you again when you're around him and he can easily call me."

I try to picture Shiro getting the call from Lance and his terrified expression on his face when Lance tells him what happened to me, but it just can't fit into my head. I don't know why, but it's like my head is already prompted with too many thoughts and there is no space left for more.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted you on your work", I still say, even if I can't paint the possible picture. Shiro takes my hand and rubs circles on the soft spot between my indexfinger and thumb, like he always does to comfort me. It's surprisingly calming.

"Don't apologize, Keith", he warns like he actually means it. "You always come first. Know that. I would never let you wait. Work can wait anytime if it comes to you."

I smile but my smile must be hollow. Despite his words, there isn't this bubbly feeling in my body of affection. I think that I lived so long without it I can't really believe it's there for me. It's like a silhouette of an imaginary person that even I can't fully accept into my crazy little world. It's like this silhouette just started following me to some places but I can't really understand it all.

It takes ten minutes of meaningless chit chat between me and Shiro before the sound of the doorbell echoes through the stillness of our apartment. A second one following right after before I can't even react. Shiro squeezes my hand again but my heart won't calm down. I want to rip away all the blankets from me but at the same time I want to hide under them for an eternity.

Before I even know it, Shiro is up to his feet and he's leaving my room without hesitation, greeting what I know is Lance in the hallway. I hear the exchanged words between them and the loud thumps echoing through our thin walls.

I start to panic; this is the exact moment Lance will simply enter my private sphere, my room that is messier than my life is right now. To the boringness of it, the empty walls and the plain white desk and no characteristics features to it. I didn't agree to this, and I don't know why Shiro suddenly did. He was the one all about can you really trust this guy to suddenly invite him openly to our home. 

Before I have time to hide, I can see Lance peeking his head into my room, his eyes wide and his mouth formed into an o-shape. I look around my room and I hate that I can't know what he's thinking about it. He can have any thought going on in his head about my life and I wouldn't even know what those are.
I feel myself shift and try to press my body further into the wall beside me.

"Hey..." Lance says and he takes a small step into my room - he takes a step into my private sphere and I can feel the bubble around me getting bigger to leave room for him. The door closes automatically behind him and I know that it's Shiro doing his job from the other side. Lance flinches when the door closes and we're left alone.

Silence. His hands are behind his back and I don't know if he hides an object or if he just wants to hide his fiddling hands. His cheeks are tinted red and his forehead shimmers under the light coming from the outside and he has small stains of sweat on his t-shirt. 

"I...ehm... bought you something on my way here", he sheepishly says, clearing his throat loudly and taking his hands away from his back, holding something small. "Thought it might cheer you up."

In his hands is a little chocolate egg, in red foil. Red that I like, that he must have noticed. It's shaking slightly on his palms and I look at his face and he's blushing, looking down. 

For a second, I feel a small flutter in my chest and I get scared that I might be having another pain attack in my lung, but this is more like butterfly wings opening in my chest.

"I hate Easter", I say without thinking, and Lance's face drops. I quickly try to smooth it over with a smile I know looks painful. "But thank you. Really. You shouldn't have bought that."

"Well, now I know for sure that I shouldn't have bought it." He tries for a small laugh and I try to do the same, but we both just sound awfully awkward and cringe. He places the red egg on my desk and sits down in my chair, just beside my bed. He tries to keep a generous amount of space between us. "But it's good that you told me. Now I know something about you. But why do you hate Easter, though?"

I quickly push away the image of dad's face in my head. "You know those stories that are just too long and complicated to tell?"

Lance nods slowly. 

"Well, this is one of them." 

"I have time for a long complicated story", Lance quickly says, and I know he's trying to change my mind.

"No, you really don't, Lance."

The harshness in my voice shuts him up, and he just presses his lips together in a thin line. I can see his freckles shining up the universe of questions on his face again, and the weight of his unspoken words burdens my shoulders. 

"Another time, maybe?" Lance tries to move on the chair carefully but it still creaks loudly in the awkward silence.

I don't say anything.

"How are you doing?", he asks after a good amount of silence. "Shiro told me you'll stay at home for a few days."

"Sorry you got to see me like... that." I don't know what it's with the apologizing today, and the worst part is that I don't even know if I'm sincere; it's like that I don't only have a poker face on the outside, but also inside.

"Don't apologize", he says with a sloppy shake with his hand. "I'm just glad that nothing worse happened and that you're somewhat okay now."

"Mm", I hum and my eyes fall on the egg on my desk for a second and something in my stomach drops. But Lance picks it back up when he smiles at me.

"You know what I like to do with my siblings when they're not feeling well?" Lance asks with excitement lighting up his face. He pauses for a dramatic effect, and I shake my head to make him continue. 

"What?"

"I tell them dry jokes!" He leans in close to me and the chair creaks miserably.

"You tell them dry jokes..." I repeat slowly, unimpressed.

"Yes! It actually works. They're so bad that it actually gets funny at the end."

I doubt I would even crack a smile, but I still sigh and press a feeble alright.

"Okay okay, here's one... Why don't you shower with a Pokémon?" He doesn't wait for me to answer and says the answer right away. "Cause he might Pikachu!" 

I furrow my brows. "Why would you shower with a Pokémon in the first place?"

"That's not the point here! Don't think about the realism of the joke, just think about the joke itself."

I roll my eyes, and he leans back on the chair, thinking.

"Okay, another one... If I put cream in my eyes, can I call it eyes-cream?"

He waits for my reaction but lifts his hand up when I open my mouth. "Don't ask why you would put cream in your eyes."

I close my mouth again.

"You know what, I'm better with pick up lines. Let's go with that instead. I'll try to make you blush."

"You won't make me blush." But secretly I'm afraid he might.

"We'll see about that." He flashes me a devilish grin but then there is a sudden switch on his face; his eyes are brighter and his features more relaxed and his gaze seem seductive.

"Alright", I say with a rigid shrug. "Go for it."

"I thought 'happiness' started with an 'H'. Why does mine start with 'U'?"

"This just proves how bad you are at spelling", I say but I feel the blush slowly  creeping up my face and I need to cough to turn my head away from him.

"How about this one... You smell like trash. Can I take you out?" He winks and grins, and I can imagine the little ding when his teeth shines.

"Really? Have you used that on someone before? I'd be surprised if you got something else than a trash in your face out of it."

"Yeah..." Lance scratches his neck sheepishly and leans back in the black chair again, his long legs outstretched in front of him. "I got slapped. By the girl and her friend. Two times each."

"Such a shame that even that couldn't knock some sense into you." I imagine the confounded look in Lance's eyes as he experience the consequences of his words, and I can't help the littlest smile that takes over my features.

Lance glares at me and crosses his arms with a moue. The noise from the outside world slithers inside the quietness of this apartment. 

"You haven't made me blush, yet", I say, hoping that I can lead him to his surrender, but his pout is gone, and he's dead serious as he leans closer to me again, moving so the foot of the chair hits my bed. I can hear a child shout outside and the honk of cars but other than that, it's completely silent.  

Lance stares at me intensely. "You have beautiful eyes."

Every word I planned on saying dies in just seconds, and I feel them sink down into my stomach. I immediately blush and hate the warmth of my face.

"T-that..." I clear my throat loudly. "That... wasn't a pick up line, right...?"

"No", he says and I look at his lips to see him form the next words. "It was a statement."

° ° °

So, dear reader, I may be hot-headed, but know that there is things, people, that can be the cold water on my head.