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It's funny how people say your parents love you, without even getting to know them.

"Your parents love you," as they beat you senseless.

"Your parents love you," as they yell out how they wish you were aborted.

"Your parents love you," as you slit your wrists and they turn the other cheek with distaste.

Keith looked at the patterns, and maybe, this was love. My parents love me, he told himself. Maybe it's me who's the problem. Or maybe it's not a problem at all.

By the time Keith was nineteen, his anger turned to sorrow. Abandonment, mistreatment and exhaustion always a heavy weight burdening him 24/7. He met this one guy, Lotor, in a grocery store. He was handsome, charming, definitely dangerous but Keith didn't care. He would take anything labelled as love, he just needed something, and someone he could go back to if they ever broke apart.

Within three months, Lotor had already hit him. Hard, on the shoulder, two hits exactly in the same spot. It bruised purple, with hints of green, like a tye-dye sleeve.

Flowers. That's how Keith liked to describe them. Like hickeys, in a way. Beautiful, keeping him in place, reminding him that he's being rude and Lotor loves him and nothing can change that. No, he didn't really believe that--it's a stretch, but so is living. So he took what he could fathom.

Two months later they broke up. Lotor had cheated, and then dropped the relationship. Keith was devastated, heartbroken, empty. So much of this, but he doesn't know how to give up on what he's known for so long.

It's been two months since, and Keith stares at Lotor's contact in his phone. How despatately he wants to call. How impatient it is waiting. He might not like Lotor at first, assuming he'll be angry, but justifiably.

Keith wasn't paying attention as he grasped his phone in both hands, and as he walked he bumped into two strangers.

He froze in an anxious wave.

"S-Sorry," Keith apologized immediately, keeping his bangs in his eyes to avoid eye contact.

"It's no problem," one of the strangers replied, and continued on with an egoistic, self-loving remark.

"Really, Lance?" the other stranger folded his arms at the first stranger.

Keith took a step back, and the other strangers kept walking. Keith looked back at them, finally noticing their looks as they playfully teased each other. They seemed genuinely happy.

No one is like that, Keith reminded himself. They're probably just hanging on by a string. Self-destructing, he thought, and turned away without a second glance.

He looked at his phone again, at Lotor's contact, and pressed call.

Flowers, Keith thought.