Chapter Text
Lance opens his eyes reluctantly, and he squints. He traces the light that floods in through the window and illuminates the walls, casting shadows in the corners of the room. He can feel the cool breeze seeping in each time a blast of frigid air whistles past outside. He shivers and curls himself further down into the covers. If he had been alone, he would have been freezing, however the arm draped across his stomach and the legs entangled with his own remind him that he is very much not alone.
“Hey,” Lance murmurs, as he turns his head towards Keith’s direction. In response all he receives is the ever so slight increase of Keith’s breath softly hitting the back of his neck. He settles back down and turns his attention to the posters neatly tacked on the wall. A gentle sigh escapes past his lips and he helplessly scans over the titles of countless books and comics that are tightly packed on the bookshelf in front of him. “Keith,” He tries again, stabilizing his tired voice. This time, he gets a soft grunt in response, and Keith tries his best to press impossibly closer to Lance’s back.
“We’ve gotta get up, we’ve been in bed all day.” Lance says gently.
“What time is it?” Keith grumbles quietly and presses his warm forehead between Lance’s shoulder blades.
Lance shifts forward, reaching his arm out from underneath the covers to grab his phone off the nightstand. He pulls it back in as quick as he can before the cold air of the house can steal the warmth from his arm. He unlocks it, the clock that hovers over a picture of the two of them reads 8:30 AM.
“8:30,” Lance laughs and Keith whines.
“Five more minutes.”
“And waste five more minutes of this beautiful day?” Lance cries out dramatically. He can feel Keith nodding against his back and he tightens his grip around Lance’s stomach in a weak attempt to still him.
“I’d be perfectly fine wasting this freezing day in bed with my warm boyfriend,” Keith’s sleepy words tickle his bare back and Lance can’t suppress the shiver that travels down his spine.
“Keith,” Lance says softly before lifting his dead arm off his side and rolling over to face him. Keith’s eyes remain closed and he scrunches his nose up at the movements.
“Lance,” He says, mocking his tone.
For a moment, all he can do is stare at him in awe. All he can focus on is how gorgeously disheveled he looks. His hair is thrown around atop his head and his face is so beautifully sleep deprived he almost forgets to breathe.
Lance finds himself grinning helplessly. “You’re so perfect,” He whispers. In response Keith pops one of his eyes open and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “What?” Lance asks, confused by his expression.
“I probably look like hell,” Keith laughs. “Unlike you who looks like an untouched God,” He trails off and reaches his hand up to trace along Lance’s cheek. Lance leans into it, chasing his warmth. “Not even a single piece of hair is out of place.”
Keith’s finger continues to ghost down Lance’s collarbone, lingering. Lance reaches up and redirects Keith’s hand to place a kiss on his palm. “Can’t you just take one of my compliments without complaining for once?” He rolls his eyes, “Plus, even if you did look like hell, I always think you look amazing.”
A light blush crosses Keith’s cheeks. He laughs, “Lance you’re such a dork.” Lance leans forward and plants a kiss onto his forehead.
“I know,” He says, taking a couple more seconds to appreciate this calm moment. He sighs, “But come on, we have to get up.” Keith frowns immediately and attempts to bury himself further under the covers, but Lance is faster. He pulls the blankets up off the bed and throws them on the floor. In hindsight he should have thought about the fact that this would affect him as well, but if Keith were to get too comfortable again, there would be no telling when he would be able to get him up. He groans and flips over onto his back abruptly.
“Why do we have to get up? What is so important about today?” Keith asks, sitting up.
“Don’t you remember? We’re meeting everyone at the warehouse today.”
“Right,” He says in defeat. “Fine, okay, let me shower,” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits there for a moment. Lance’s eyes flutter across the image of Keith’s bareback in front of him. He lazily reaches his hand up to tenderly trace along the solid black flame-like tendrils of ink that climb up his spine, and down his right shoulder. Keith sighs happily as goosebumps appear in the wake of Lance’s movements.
“Okay, I’ll go make breakfast.” Lance says and reluctantly pulls his hand away from Keith. He practically throws himself off the other side of the bed. His warm feet sting against the cold hardwood floor as he makes his way over to his dresser. He grabs a pair of sweatpants and a Captain America tank top and puts them on, he turns to see that Keith has clothes bunched up in his arms. Lance meets him at the foot of the bed and loosely interlocks their fingers before placing a kiss on his cheek and leading him out of the room. Locked hands falling apart, Keith continues to walk across the hallway to the bathroom, while Lance makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Lance finds himself pouting without Keith’s warmth by his side. He stands in the kitchen and stares out the window that sits above the sink, watching the snowflakes glide by the window in blurs. The grass has a perfectly light coating of white that has yet to be defiled with footprints, and the trees have a glistening layer of slick ice that catch the quick moments of sunlight. He shivers and crosses his arms across his chest, not realizing how cold he had gotten.
He takes a final look at the winter wonderland outside before turning on his heels towards the counter. He grabs two bagels out from the bread box and plops them into the toaster. He then finds the fridge, opens it up and examines the contents before he is hit with a rush of cold air. He grabs out the cream cheese and just as he walks back over to the toaster the bagels pop up. He pulls them out, places them onto a paper towel, and spreads an even coat of cream cheese on each piece. He glances out the window again, the storm had picked up considerably, the scene turning much grayer than it had been a few minutes earlier.
Soft footsteps descend the staircase and Lance turns around to see Keith in a t-shirt and black jeans. His hair is still wet, and his cheeks are flushed from the hot water. He walks over to Lance and leans up against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Lance is quick to face him. He can already feel the heat radiating off him and he melts instantly. Keith holds his hands out, palms up, and Lance latches onto them with his cold ones with hardly a second of hesitation. He stares as his hands begin to glow a soft orange color and heat seeps into Lance. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against his collarbone in an attempt to fully immerse himself in Keith’s warmth.
He can feel Keith’s finger tips travelling up his arms, gliding across his skin with feather-like touches, leaving the soothing warmth in their wake. He pauses at his shoulders, hovering a little too long over one spot. Lance opens his eyes and stands up straight again, meeting Keith’s pensive stare. He can feel the heat beginning to fade from his hands as a pained look flashes across his features. Lance knows what he’s staring at.
“Hey,” His voice just barely breaks a whisper and he reaches his hands up to take Keith’s into his own. He can feel the heat beginning to fade, but Keith’s guilt glazed eyes still don’t meet his own. “What’s wrong?”
“I just—” He pulls his hands from his grasp and places his fingertips back on his shoulders, tracing the slightly raised skin.
While Keith had tattoos, Lance had scars. Burn scars from before Keith could control his fire bending. They are now nothing more than small patches of skin that are slightly darker than the rest of him. Lance wished he could cover them somehow, if only for Keith. He hated seeing the guilt in his eyes when they were exposed.
“Stop, you know I don’t blame you for that.”
“No, I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did it,” Keith rushes out.
Lance rolls his eyes. “It also doesn’t change the fact that you couldn’t control your bending.” Keith sighs, defeated. “I will never blame you for those.”
“Okay,” Keith takes in a deep breath. It’s rare for him to make a big deal about the scars. It had happened so long ago that Lance hardly noticed them anymore. However, he knows that he’ll probably spend the rest of his life assuring Keith that he doesn’t care, because he knows Keith would never forgive himself.
“Come on,” Lance turns around and transfers the bagels to plates, handing one off to Keith. “Let’s eat, breakfast is going to get cold.” They make their way over to the dining room table.
“So what time were we supposed to meet with everyone?” Keith asks between bites.
“Good god, you really have the memory of a ninety-year-old man,” Lance laughs.
“What? Why?”
“Because we—” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens their message with the group. “—talked about it last night and said 10:00 a bunch of times, just for you grandpa.”
“Oh,” Keith stares intently at Lance’s phone. “Huh, okay sure, I believe it.”
“What do you mean you believe it? I wasn’t trying to lie to you.”
“Oh, come on, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to mess with me like that.”
Lance nods and puts his phone away. “Yeah, okay true. I guess you’re right.”
The two finish their breakfast in an easy silence. Once they’re both done they take their plates to the kitchen and set them down in the sink. The snow had seemed to calm down for the moment, but an inch or two had fallen while they ate. Lance soaks in the sight, Keith clings onto his arm and rests his chin against his shoulder. They watch together for a moment before Keith speaks.
“I really hope it stays calm for a little, so we can make it to the warehouse.”
Lance hums in agreement, shivering at the thought of having to walk outside right now, although it is inevitable. The warehouse is about a twenty-minute walk from their house, and while it’s quicker to drive, they both had a silent agreement that neither of them were feeling up to driving in the snow.
“We’ll just have to dress in layers,” Lance laughs and leans his head against Keith’s.
“You might, I’ll be perfectly fine.”
Lance sighs softly, jealous of Keith’s ability to keep his body heat so well regulated. “Right, well if you’ll excuse me, I need to go add a few layers.” Keith lifts his head up and Lance lazily makes his way up the stairs and back to the room. He grabs a pair of jeans, his long-sleeved baseball tee and changes into them. He puts on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants over the clothes he already has on, and then to top it off, his green jacket. He feels a bit dumb as he walks down the stairs, but he would rather feel dumb than cold.
By the time he gets back downstairs, Keith has already put on his black combat boots and jacket over top of his t-shirt and is waiting by the door. He chuckles quietly at the sight of Lance’s layered look. Lance shoots him a glare and plops down on the floor next to the shoe rack. He slides on a pair of thick socks and pulls on his blue snow boots.
“What? You look great,” Keith says in amusement. Lance rolls his eyes and extends his hands out and Keith grabs on and pulls him into a standing position.
“Shut up, I feel like an idiot,” Lance pouts and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Lance shrugs. “Maybe so.”
Keith reaches forward and opens the door, a burst of snowy wind blasts through and Lance flinches. They walk outside, shutting and locking the door behind themselves.
The frigid air bites at his exposed face and even though he’s only been outside for a few seconds, he’s already shivering. He glances at Keith who allows his hands to swing at his sides as if it were a beautiful summer day.
All the houses in their neighborhood are completely covered in the beautiful blankets of white. They take their time walking silently, listening to the soft crunch of the freshly fallen snow under their feet. It seems as if no one else wanted to brave the cold weather. Lance found it nice in a way, to be able to see the purity of it all before it becomes tainted.
After a few minutes of walking, Lance finds himself linking arms with Keith. He can feel his warmth seeping through his jacket and his shivering subsides significantly. The further they walk the more the sounds of the city intrude their peaceful silence. The houses begin to thin out and are instead replaced with a pathway of small shops that would soon lead into the labyrinth that is the city. Instead of following the path further into the city, they cut behind the small gas station and continue to gravitate towards the river that lies behind all the buildings.
The sound of rushing water soon replaces the sound of people. The edges of the river are covered in paper thin sheets of snow-covered ice that fade out as they reach the warmer waters. Lance grins as he pulls his hand out of his pocket. His fingertips extend towards the river and a small section of the ice follows them. He curls his fingers to make a loose fist, the sheet of ice condenses down, mimicking his movement. He continues to manipulate it in to various other simple shapes while they walk.
The warehouse looms over the outskirt of the river, the chips of white paint peeling away from the walls of the building mix in with the splotches of snow that cling to it. The wood that’s been exposed underneath the paint is dark and slick with snow that failed to hold shape and morphed into ice. It stands tall for a one-story warehouse, and that makes for a very spacious inside. On the side that is closest the city there is one gigantic garage style door, meant to allow machinery through. The door doesn’t open anymore, permanently jammed and far too heavy to attempt to open with sheer strength alone. Instead, on the side in front of them there is a small ramp that runs along the side of the building and leads up to a door.
As they reach the ramp, they notice someone had scraped the snow off, creating tiny piles of white fluff on either side of their path. Keith reaches his hand out to open the door, but the handle is quickly snatched out of his reach as it is yanked open. A tall man stands in the doorway, his muscular stature is downplayed by his oversized sweatshirt, and he wears a black beanie, barely covering his white tuft of hair in the front.
“Hey guys,” He smiles, the gesture accentuates the pink scar across the bridge of his nose.
“Hey Shiro,” Lance greets. He moves out of the way quickly and they glide past him.
The room before them is illuminated by soft white string lights that hang from the ceiling. The usage of the large space has been condensed down into the center of the room where a small television sits on top of a stand. Across from it is an arrangement of bean bag chairs and recliners. Behind chairs is a long dining table accompanied by multiple mix matched folding chairs pushed underneath it. The table is clear besides a small potted plant neatly placed in the middle. Off to the side is a much smaller card table but is instead covered in various papers clumsily strewn about. Three laptops and an array of mechanical pieces sit haphazardly atop the mess.
“Lance, Keith!” Pidge’s shrill voice calls from behind their laptop that sits among the mess. They jump up from their spot, their eyes wide behind their glasses. “Get over here!”
“Jesus, okay Pidge chill out,” Keith laughs.
He and Lance kick off their boots, tiptoeing around the small chunks of snow that they tracked in from the outside and make their way over to the painfully unorganized makeshift desk.
“Listen, Hunk and I have been here all night,” Pidge says frantically as they walk over.
“Yeah,” Hunk adds, voice potent with sleep. Lance stands next to him and places his hand on his shoulder.
“Oh man, you guys must be exhausted,” He says.
“I am—”
“No, not at all,” Pidge cuts in. “So, we’ve been running some tests on Shiro’s arm, and we think we can make some major improvements.”
Shiro folds his arms across his chest protectively. “What’s wrong with my arm?” He pouts.
“Nothing! Nothing is wrong, of course it’s our design,” Hunk nods. “But we think we can add in a mechanism that will attach itself to your nerves in a more advanced way.”
“Meaning?” Keith asks.
“Meaning, we think we can restore Shiro’s bending in his right arm.” Hunk sparks to life for a triumphant moment, before the sleepiness settles back in again. “We just need to have you sit down and run some more tests to make sure we can actually do this.”
Lance looks up at Shiro, who can barely compose his excited expression.
“That’s really great news,” Shiro mumbles, he holds his hand out in front of him, flexing his metal fingers and curling it into a fist.
“Will he need a new arm entirely?” Lance asks, eyeing the schematics on Hunk’s laptop.
“That is the ultimate goal,” Pidge says, pushing up their glasses. “While we work on his bending, we also want to enhance his mobility and make the design sleeker,” They reach out and grab Shiro’s hand, pulling the sleeve of his sweatshirt up to reveal more metal. “I was also thinking maybe we could add in some cool compartments and put some weapons in it, his arm would be a big swiss army—”
“What? No, you can’t make my arm into a swiss army knife!” Shiro retracts his arm and Pidge chuckles maniacally.
“I promise I won’t let them do that to you,” Hunk says, his head now resting in his hands, his eyes drooping.
“What? I think that would be awesome!” Lance exclaims, lightly slapping Hunk’s arm.
“Honestly, could you imagine how cool that would be? If someone needed a knife or a screwdriver or something you would never have to go looking for it because it would be in your arm.” Keith adds in.
“Oh, my god please don’t make my arm into a swiss army knife,” Shiro mumbles rubbing his face with his non-metal hand.
“I won’t let them,” Hunk says confidently.
“No promises,” Pidge grumbles.
Before any more arguing could continue the door bursts open. Lance whips his head towards the door to see an abnormally large person covered head to toe in snow gear. The person stands with their arms full of two rather large paper bags.
“Help,” A pitiful voice calls from behind a scarf wrapped around their mouth.
“Matt stop being so dramatic,” Pidge says without looking up from their laptop.
“I got you buddy,” Lance says and crosses the floor to Matt, taking the bags from his frozen arms.
If there was one person who didn’t take well to the cold, it was Matt. The second the temperature drops below sixty degrees, he’s shaking like a leaf. So, having on three hundred layers of clothing to walk to the store in snow wasn’t uncommon for him.
“Could you uh—”
“Yeah one sec,” Lance sets the bags down and begins to unzip the first jacket, then the second, then the third, and then the fourth, like peeling back layers of an onion. He pulls the jackets off, revealing a sweatshirt that is still oddly tight and wrinkled up, showing the multiple layers that are still underneath.
“Thank you,” Matt says, pulling off the scarf and hat. Lance drapes the jackets over Matt’s outstretched arm, and then he drops down to pick up the paper bags. The bags are emitting a warmth and the delectable scent of rotisserie chicken. Lance breathes in the scent, a part of him regrets eating before he left, but another part doesn’t care.
“Oh, my god. Matt did you get the chicken?” Pidge’s head shoots up from the laptop, eyes wide, much like a feral animal.
“It smells like he did,” Lance says, placing the bag on the empty table.
“Yes, my little Pidgey, I got you your chicken,” Matt calls from across the room. “And another one for the rest of us,” He mutters, just barely loud enough for Lance to hear. Lance laughs under his breath and begins to pull out the contents of the bags.
“What are you laughing at?” Keith asks, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.
Lance hums for a moment, pretending to think. “Your mullet.”
Keith scoffs and retracts his arms from around his waist. “What? Does it look bad today?”
Lance turns around to face him. “Every day,” He teases, a grin creeping across his face. Keith pouts dramatically and crosses his arms. “But I still love you,” He holds his arms open for a hug.
“Whatever,” Keith mutters and stumbles into Lance’s arms, keeping his arms crossed.
“Ugh, get a room,” Pidge grumbles and pushes past them, straight to the food. Lance notices that Hunk had been very quiet, only to look over to see him fast asleep on his keyboard.
“We’re in a room, Pidge.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“You’re about to find out,” Pidge says, sounding about as menacing as a four-year-old wielding a feather for a weapon. Lance turns around to see them with a plate of food piled to its limit. Pidge sits down at the table that isn’t covered in papers and begin working on their food.
“I have no idea what they just said to me,” Lance says quietly to Keith.
“They haven’t slept in two days, I don’t think their arguing skills are there right now,” Keith says.
“My arguing skills are perfectly fine!” Pidge shouts, their voice much louder than they had probably intended.
“Right, well while you and Pidge argue, we would like to get to the food please,” Matt says. Lance and Keith move aside for him and Shiro to get their food.
“So, what do you guys think?” Matt asks, gathering up his plate of food.
“Of the arm?” Lance asks.
“Yeah, it’s amazing right? I wish we would have thought of this sooner,” He says, examining Shiro’s arm from a distance. “If it wasn’t for Pidge’s findings the other night we still wouldn’t have anything.”
“Well, yeah it’ll be really nice to see Shiro back at full power again,” Keith says, Lance nods in agreement.
“I just hope we can actually pull it off,” Matt sighs.
“Oh, come on, with you, Pidge and Hunk working on this thing? It’ll be done in no time,” Shiro says, smiling reassuringly.
“Yeah, but it’s not that simple, we have to worry about if your body can handle it, and if you—” Matt continues to ramble on, but Lance stops listening once he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out, expecting to see an incoming call from his mom, but instead he’s met with a call from an unknown number.
Keith glances over curiously. “Who’s that?”
Lance shrugs. “Unknown,” He says, maneuvering the screen so Keith can better see.
“Probably just a telemarketer.”
He allows the call to roll into voicemail by itself before he shoves it back into his pocket. Even while they all take their places sitting at the table, Matt continues to ramble on about the numerous outcomes of replacing Shiro’s arm.
“Matt, seriously, as long as the tests come out positive everything should work out just fine.” Pidge bites out. They have finished over half of the food that was piled on their plate, and they show no signs of slowing down.
“Well yeah, but what happens if his nerves don’t respond properly?”
“Then we’ll find a work around, there’s nothing else we can do,” Pidge says with a mouthful, waving their fork in the air.
“Even if it doesn’t work, I still appreciate everything you guys are doing for me,” Shiro cuts in. “Now stop worrying about it so much or I won’t let you touch my arm.”
Pidge and Matt gasp. “You wouldn’t dare,” Pidge says, dropping their fork on the table with a clang. “Not with all of this work I’m putting into this arm, I’m going to touch it as much as I want to!”
“Then I’d suggest you two stop worrying about it so much,” Shiro says, leaning back in his chair, a smug look plastered across his face.
“It’s not even—” Pidge turns their attention to Matt, “Matt if you make me miss the chance to tinker on this beautiful arm, in the name of science, I will slaughter you.”
“Hey, before you slaughter Matt, we actually wanted to ask you guys something,” Shiro says, once everyone has calmed down. “We wanted to do this while Hunk was awake, but I think it’s best not to bother him right now,”
Lance nods, he genuinely feels bad for Hunk, he might be built with the brain of a genius, but he wasn’t built to stay up for more than 24 hours. Unlike Pidge, who can stay up for a week straight without batting an eye, and still be able to design an entirely new arm for Shiro.
“So, I’m going to be officially moving in with Matt—” Lance feels the insistent buzzing of his phone against his thigh and he sighs quietly and reaches into his pocket to silence it. “And we’re going to need some help to move my stuff,” He says.
“Oh,” Keith says inaudibly.
“I know, it’s a little abrupt, but you should be fine, right Keith?” Shiro asks, his eyebrows are knit with concern. “I mean, you’re always at Lance’s anyway, so you’ll hardly notice that I’m even gone.”
Lance can feel Keith’s mood shift in an instant. He seems to curl in on himself, and he feels as though he’s a million miles away already.
“I mean, I guess, it’s just a little weird,” Keith says.
“Well, I’m not getting rid of the place. It’s just all yours now,” Shiro smiles, attempting to lighten Keith’s mood.
“Hey, like he said, you’re always at my place anyway,” Lance chimes in, leaning closer to Keith.
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not saying you can’t—or shouldn’t, it’s just—”
“Weird?” Shiro finishes, pained by Keith’s scattered thoughts.
“Yeah,” Keith says quietly, he looks down at the table and gently grabs at Lance’s hand under the table. Lance takes his fingers into his own, lightly tracing meaningless patterns onto Keith’s skin.
“Like I said, I’m not getting rid of the place, and you’ll obviously get a say in what goes,” Shiro says, smiling gently. “But I think this is good, the change will be good.”
“Well, I’ll help,” Pidge says. “But I swear to you, none of my stuff better get moved around. Just because you’re moving in, doesn’t mean you get to mess with my system.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Shiro says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
Lance tunes out the conversation and turns his attention to Keith. He sits a little more rigid, and he seems more distant. He and Shiro had lived in that small apartment since Shiro had adopted him, it holds a lot of memories for Keith. However, somewhere deep down they all knew this day was coming soon. Matt and Shiro’s relationship had been progressing quickly the past few months, and Shiro had basically already moved in with Matt.
“Hey—” Lance whispers to Keith, and he jumps when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket again.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry,” He pulls his phone out to see 48 missed calls displayed across the top of his screen, and the unknown number lights up the incoming call. He simply stares at his phone, confused, and Keith looks down at it quizzically.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
“I silenced my phone a few minutes ago, and it’s buzzing again,” Lance says, an odd mixture of feelings swirl through his mind, and his phone feels heavier by the second.
“It’s probably just a glitch,” Keith shrugs.
“Maybe,” He declines the call once more, and hesitantly sets it down in his lap. “Anyway, are you okay?” He asks, his voice low.
Keith simply nods. “Yeah, I knew it was coming, I just—” Lance watches as the blue light from his phone illuminates Keith’s pale face when it begins to vibrate again. Keith sits still, mouth still hanging on his words, and his eyes fall to Lance’s screen. “It’s your mom,” He says matter-of-factly.
“Oh?” Lance drops his gaze down to his phone and quickly picks it up, swiping the screen to answer the call. “Hey ma, what’s up?” He asks cheerfully.
“Goodness gracious, you are a hard man to get a hold of, Lance McClain,” Lance visibly finches at the sound of a man’s voice on the other end.
“Excuse me?” He sputters. He looks up at Keith, who raises his eyebrow in confusion.
“Please, continue to act like you’re talking to your mother, and go outside,” The voice commands.
“I’d really rather not,” Lance scoffs, at this point everyone at the table is staring at him.
“Let me put it simply, Lance. Just because I’m not near you does not mean I have no power over you. Please continue to act as though you’re talking to your mother and make your way away from your friends. Otherwise, this can get very ugly very fast,” The voice stays impressively cool through the exchange. Lance goes stiff and swallows hard. Fear begins pooling in his stomach and he stands up in a robotic manner.
“I’ll be right back,” He says, his voice is smaller than he wished.
“Everything okay?” Matt asks.
“Yeah, it’s about Luis,” Everyone nods, instantly seeming to understand for the wrong reasons.
He holds his phone back up to his ear and walks to the door.
“Is everything okay?” Lance asks, slipping on his boots.
“Are you outside?”
“Would you know if I was lying?”
“Yes,” The voice replies coldly. Lance shivers, if from the cold outside or the harshness of the man’s voice, he’s not sure. He steps outside, regrettably not grabbing his jacket.
“I’m out,” He bites out.
“Good, I need you to listen closely to what I’m about—”
“Who is this?” Lance asks abruptly through his chattering teeth.
“My name is Alfor, I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” The man doesn’t falter.
A spike of fear runs down the back of Lance’s neck. Alfor is the “right hand man” of the mayor of the city, Zarkon. However, not three days ago, Alfor was found dead in his office.
“This is ridiculous, if you’re going to do a prank call at least choose someone who is alive,” Lance chides. “Don’t call this number again,” He pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up the call. He hardly has time to reach for the frozen doorknob before he feels his phone vibrating in his other hand. He groans and looks down at it, this time instead of reading out “Unknown Number” or “Mama” it says, “Don’t Hang Up”. He holds it with a shaky hand and taps on the answer button. He takes in a deep breath before putting the phone up to his ear once more.
“How are you doing this?” He asks tentatively.
“Oh Lance, I have so many resources at my fingertips right now that you wouldn’t even be able to fathom,” The voice, Alfor, says. “Now, take your hand off the doorknob.”
Lance hadn’t even noticed the aching pain that the frozen doorknob had been sending up his fingers. He allows his hand fall away and drop to his side.
“Okay, hand is off,” He says, suppressing a whine in the back of his throat.
“I know,” Alfor says simply, just to further drive his invisible control over the situation deeper. “Now, are you ready to listen to me?”
Lance nods, more to himself than Alfor. “Yes,”
“I am fully aware that everything I am about to tell you will sound insane—”
“More insane than getting a phone call from a dead man?” Lance cries out in a hushed voice.
“I’m afraid so,” Alfor replies. Lance can only stare out at the rushing water in silence for a moment. The sun had poked out from behind the clouds sometime while they were inside, it casts down a subtle warmth that has melted the ice on the edges of the river. Lance grabs on to the gentle warmth to ground himself while he is berated with gusts of frosty air.
“Okay,” He says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The city is in danger,” He begins. Lance regrets his agreement immediately. “I wasn’t killed, but the danger was—is—very real.”
“And what am I supposed—”
“Just hear me out,” Alfor says, a hint of softness crosses his words. “You know of the name Zarkon, yes?”
“Of course, he’s the mayor.”
“Zarkon is the man who made the attempt on my life,” Alfor says.
Lance can’t help but gasp. “What—”
“I understand this is a lot to take in, but he and I have been working on a device that will allow anyone to gain or lose their bending at will. I was told that it would be used to help people, it would help bring equality to the non-benders, but apparently Zarkon had other plans,” He pauses, Lance had hardly noticed that he was pacing, even though there was nowhere to go on the small ramp.
“Once the device was finished, he used it on himself.”
Lance stops pacing abruptly and squints to look across the river. “Okay, so what? Don’t tell me you’re pulling all this crap just to tell me Zarkon accidentally took all his powers away and you need someone to help reverse it. If so you’ve called the wrong—”
“He gave himself the ability to use all kinds of bending,” Alfor says grimly.
“I’m sorry?” Lance gapes. “Is that even possible?”
“Apparently so. Now listen, I don’t have much more time, I’ve already been on the phone with you for too long,” He says, suddenly his leveled voice is rushed. “The core of machine has been broken into five pieces and scattered across the city. Each piece of this machine has been encrypted with a code that will reactivate it.”
“Okay?” Lance says, his stomach is tying itself into knots the longer Alfor speaks to him.
“Under no circumstances should these codes ever be shared with anyone, otherwise the city as we know it will surely collapse,” He says sternly. “I’m giving you one of the codes.”
“What? No, I don’t want it!” Lance says, beginning to pull the phone away from his ear.
“Lance, I’m afraid you don’t understand, I can’t let you hang up this call without giving you the code. If you hang up now, I will have to kill you,” Alfor speaks loudly. Lance freezes, his breath seizing up in his throat. “I’ve told you far too much to simply let you hang up.”
Lance thinks he’ll choke. He can’t speak, so he nods stiffly.
“Your code is V-O10.”