"Hey!"
Lance Wingman can barely hear the familiar voice over the crying wind. He feels cold. Not just because his body is buried in snow, but in his chest. "It was not supposed to be like this." He mutters to himself
"Hey!" The closing-in-voice calls out to him again, but he is slowly dragged in old memories.
The clinking of porcelain plates and silverwares, heavy silence and judgmental stares; he remembers it all. And she, who Lance is suppose to call mother, sat at the helm. Relentless in her attacks at dinner time, her tongue lashing was ruthless, and it made the warm dining room turn chilly. All heads were faced down eating, numb to a too familiar scene, listening quietly until the Matriarch finished venting.
The matriarch looks at him with frosty black eyes with a touch of disdain. "You will protect the Marian's illegitimate boy, since you are not good enough for the legitimate ones." She sneer before letting a servant wipe her mouth with a napkin. "We won't have a big backlash if a disappointment like you fail to protect a bastard."
Lance can feel that moment— the youngder him clenching and unclenching his hand, red marks appearing in his palms, matching the daunting rhythm of the cuckoo clock. He is not a failure— at least he thought so, but time proved her words right.
Because at the end of the day, he's always facing that little girl's back. He's always watching Rin standing by Ken's side in a fight. No matter how many times he sacrifice himself or his body takes the shot, he always end up seeing Rin's face sneering down at him like that woman. What could he do but joke around, and stop getting Ken's sympathetic stares. It's better to be seen as a fool than being seen as a pitiful background character.
It made Lance cold. Why was he so useless? They trained at the same time, same place, so why is he so behind?
"Hey!" He hears the voice above him, but Lance doesn't move.
He doesn't want to.
Long, thin hands pick him up and guide Lance's arm around a scrawny shoulder. An iron grip around his waist wakes Lance up. He suddenly tries to push the man away but the shorter guy's grip is surprisingly strong.
"Lean on me," X commands him and throws him a side glance with empty gold eye.
Lance freezes from the sight of X's cool glaze. He unconsciously gives up and leans on him. Mocking himself inwardly for giving in so easily, but he didn't feel too bad. Ever since he met X, he knew this guy was incapable of true emotions. X had the looks and acting, but his eyes were always lifeless. Like he was just a passerby, and it made Lance feel a little better at knowing X is not really judging him.
"So, are you going to tell me why you were napping in the snow?" X asks in an angry voice.
But Lance knows the truth, X didn't really care. A mask just like him. Lance laughs, quickly thinking of how to spin the story in a funny tale with a lame joke, but—
"You don't need to pretend, if you don't want to." X says, as he trudges forward through the knee-deep snow.
Right, he does not need to. Lance tightens his hold around X's shoulder and grits his teeth. Two fake people should be able to figure out the other is acting. "I pissed off Rin," Lance reluctantly tells the truth. He had nothing to lose anyway.
X snorts. "Of course you did." X rolls his eyes at the masochist's antic. "What did you do this time."
Lance scoffs at his reaction. "It wasn't even on purpose. The current was too strong and pushed me back. Next thing I know, my face landed on that washboard's chest," Lance frowns at the memory in disdain.
"Let me guess, she punched you all the way back down here. And you decided to just lay there, half-dead to the world."
Lance doesn't reply to X's smart response, silently confirming what happened.
X hums, "I would have done the same thing as her too."
Lance didn't care what this bastard would do; he had to go back to Ken.
"Let me go," Lance protest but X didn't listen.
"Do you think you will be useful when you go back." X says softly
No. "It doesn't matter." Lance replies louder than he wanted to.
"Of course it matters, after all, this is a team exercise." X smirks at him.
"What?" Lance didn't want to admit it, but he wants to know what this crazy guy have in mind, yet X does not answer.
They keep moving. Soon, they find other students either buried or frozen to death.
At first Lance looks at them in pity, until—
"Hey you come here and help us!" X shouts.
Everyone looks at X like he's crazy, including Lance.
"I have an idea that can get us all up to the top," X smirks at them, "It's not like you have anything to lose."
He's right they didn't have anything to lose. Feeling cornered, some already gave up the notion of completing this exercise. Others, with some pride left, originally wanted to turn away but they were also desperate. In the end, they all follow X.
It's not like they were going to always depend on him, and they can always pretend this never happened later anyway.
"Alright everybody, huddle together." X orders.
The students follow his instruction, only to look at X in wonder. The guy is a natural human-heater! They didn't feel cold around him. In fact, it felt like the heat was transferring to all their bodies simultaneously.
"We must have a constant pace just like earlier with the drums." X explains.
"And how do you know this," Lance questions the guy. Doesn't packing together like a can of sardine slow them down.
X's smirk grows bigger. "Don't you remember, I tested my theory on you."
"Huh?" When was this?
"When you started to match my pace of a certain speed, I realize the pressure became bearable. And when you dragged your feet, you were a dead weight that slowed me down, so I changed my pace. From slow to fast, I realized going faster than my partner will add more pressure to the current." X explains.
"And going slower will make us even slower, so—"
A student interrupts Lance's struggle to understand this new development with a cheer, "We can do this!" The other students follow, trying to give themselves some courage. X laughs, while Lance smiles helplessly at the other.
They all push forward. It was not easy with so many people, and more students adding to the group. Some slip, others fell out of rhythm, but through the awkwardness they didn't give up.
Karen, behind the glass, smiles at the second group's development. Maybe this year's batch will not be a failure. She gently pats the sleeping girl's head, who rest snuggly in a little couch.
They keep pushing and encouraging each other. Arms link with one another, they bear weight of the other, until they finally reach the top. And the wind current disperse. Everyone trips and falls on top of the other.
"We made it," Lance cheers.
"What took you so long?" An impatient person ruins the victory party.