3: the struggles of a fledgling
Lance
His name was Keith.
No one really knew what to do with the information when the placement exams came out, placing the name, Keith, at the top of the page.
Faced with pure talent, the discontented students in their teens began to murmur jealously.
Unfair advantage, first test fluke, not on my best game -
It didn't change the fact that Keith was the only one who hadn't come to check on the placement tests at all. He didn't even look at the paper, walking past the crowd with a slight raised eyebrow.
He seemed impassive in the face of the crowd, but Lance saw it - the slight fluff of wings and tensing of the wing bone. Keith left quickly, barely sparing him a glance.
Lance stared holes into the back of Keith's uniform, eyeing the trembling wingtips as he turned the corner.
A week.
That was what Lance had promised himself - to undo the bandages and air what he had hidden for years.
But a week passed, followed by another, another, and yet another -
Each week, there was something: first flight simulation practice, first group crew assignments, practice for the next placement exam -
And each week he told himself, next week Monday, this week, tomorrow, today -
Time and time again, he came back each day to a locked bathroom, looking at his own reflection in the mirror - gaze full of hate, wet hair plastered to his forehead, and those cursed, cursed wings that flittered at the corner of his eyes.
He loved and hated that they made him special. He hated that he felt so conflicted. He loved his family, but at that moment, he hated them for not being brave enough to openly support his winged childhood.
If only my family had chosen to be uncaring about what the neighbors thought, Lance smacked his forehead against the fogged up glass. There would have been no need for me to hide.
Lance hated that his closely wrapped secret caused hugs to be out of the picture. He hated that he had to be vigilant when walking in the hallways. He hated being skittish when he only had on a thin layer of uniform. He hated the anxiety and goosebumps that came when someone approached him from behind. He hated that he couldn't go to the clinic in the Garrison because of his butchered fake medical records.
He hated that there were people like Keith, openly flaunting his wings to the world when Lance had so much trouble even stringing a coherent sentence about wings to a person with wings.
Tapping his head against the glass again in frustration, Lance sighed. His wings fluttered in the mirror's reflection, pulling yet another frown to his face.
If I pulled all the feathers, he darkly thought, glaring at down at his wings. If I had no wings, things would be so much simpler -
He clutched at his feathers to actually pull, but the pain stilled his hand to a stop.
A shaky breath, then a slow uncurling of fingers - his hand left his wings with a few mangled feathers on his palm. Lance straightened the bent feathers in his hand, morosely wondering if Shiro or Keith ever had moments when they hated their wings.
They were always so unashamed of the way their wings were. He remembered when he first saw Takashi Shirogane on TV with his wings out - The glint in Shiro's tan gold wings as he gave his statement in the afternoon sun had pried his mouth open in awe. Lance remembered Shiro's calm smile as he declared himself to be a 'penny'.
I thought I would have joined the flock by now, Lance thought with another frustrated sigh. I thought I would learn confidence after seeing Shiro in real life.
Shaking fingers carded through his roughened feathers, flattening them in a clinical strokes until the ruffled portion became a slightly less of a tangled mess.
"Tomorrow," Lance promised his reflection. Tomorrow, he will seek Shiro out.
More like Never, a small inner voice countered. You'll never be brave enough to show him your wings.
He curled his fingers tighter around the broken shafts in hand.
He didn't disagree.
Lance found himself circling Keith in his day to day life.
His eyes would follow the fighter pilot's wings from the cafeteria, classroom, common areas, and even distracting him once in the flight simulator.
Sometimes, Lance couldn't help the automatic scoff that came at the mention of bird-boy's name - the boy was the epitome of conspicuous. As someone who had kept the feathery secret for years and years, it was grating to see someone just blatantly going about his day with no issue at all.
Because Keith left his wings out everywhere - there was almost never a time of the day when he had then folded neatly to his back. It was always half-flared open, creating a small pocket of private space no one dared to encroach.
Lance secretly admired and grudgingly respected his fellow Penny for that.
It should also be noted that Keith's borderline delinquency was quite a hot topic in the Garrison grapevine. Ripping holes into every single one of his regulation uniform for 'optimal flight efficiency' and the almost tongue-in-cheek flick of his wings that went with his every salute (the Garrison didn't do much to stop him - perhaps they felt the world's scrutiny) fanned the hearts of girls and boys alike.
Just watching bird-boy go about his daily life entirely unconcerned with what other people said was annoying as it was inspiring - however reluctant as he was to admit it! - and Lance wanted to try and join Keith in his...quite public wing-baring.
That Friday, after the second placement test announcement, Lance gathered what tattered self-confidence remained. Stifling all his fears with the reassurance that someone understood, Lance left his dorm room with his wings folded into his jacket - without bandages.
Even missing the thin layer of cloth was perturbing, causing Lance to get shifty-eyed every time someone walked too close.
As he made his way towards the training grounds Keith was known to frequent for his personal wing training, Lance bit the inside of his cheeks from the nerves. He didn't know how to even begin talking about this. How did he ask about how to talk to Shiro? What did he even say in this situation without sounding like an overzealous fanboy?
Hopefully, all Lance needed to do was take off his jacket and show bird-boy the mess of feathers his wings had become, and he'd understand.
It took all his concentration to keep breathing normally as he made his way to the training grounds.
Muttering a small pep talk to himself, Lance took a long slow breath to calm himself before turning the last corner.
"Things are going to be fine," He murmured, concentrating on counting his breaths - and ran smack into someone much bigger.
Lance braced himself for impact with the floor, but blinked when nothing came. He was held up by his arm by another - albeit much more muscled - arm.
"Are you alright?"
At the familiar voice, Lance's head snapped up to see that he had run into no one other than Takashi Shirogane himself.
Lance's stomach dropped. All the calming words he'd been telling himself was gone, what script he had practiced for Keith swept up and scattered into the four winds, and the itch under his jacket intensified. Shiro's massive wings near gleamed in the afternoon light, folded back into neat rows of tan feathers. One gold wing had flared out to balance Lance's extra weight.
Quickly straightening into a salute, Lance's left hand began to fidget down the side lining of his trousers, fingers shaking as he tried to think of something, anything to say. Should he out himself to Shiro now? Or should he ask for a private talk instead? Was it a better explanation if he just take his jacket off here and now? In the end, all that mattered was that he became part of the flock -
But before he realized that Shiro had acknowledged his salute and he could tentatively begin a conversation, a voice interrupted from behind.
"What are you doing here?"
Lance turned to see Keith, wings flared out protectively around his form. A flickering feather pulled his eyes towards Keith's wingtip - the wind had fluttered one just so, and Lance couldn't help but feel another flash of jealousy at the neat rows of feathers.
If Shiro's feathers were immaculately perfect and shiny gold in an unattainable way, Keith's were tidy but roughed up, in need of a good brushing. Essentially, well used.
Lance flicked his eyes back to Keith's frowning face. Keith was standing stiff with his arms crossed, and his feathers had begun to puff up in size behind him.
"...Nothing, bird-boy," Lance huffed with disdain, choosing to turn back to Takashi Shirogane, who was looking on with raised eyebrows and a crinkled laugh line.
Lance hesitated, wondering if he should shake his hand, ask for an autograph, show him his wings, or all the above. All he really had to do was show Shiro - and Keith - his wings and everything else could naturally follow -
Before he even had a chance to speak, Keith muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
"What do you want with Shiro, cargo pilot?"
And Lance jerked and glared back at Keith, tensing his wings tighter under his jacket.
He pushed down the almost physical pain at the jab, but his eyes were already beginning to water. He thinned his lips and grit down on his teeth for them to just stop.
He wanted to voice even a smidgen of his frustration and anger, but his eyes had other ideas. Before the angry tears overflowed, Lance marched his way past Keith, clipping the edge of his wing.
Lance thought he heard Shiro tell off Keith in a scandalized voice, but he was busy trying not to burst into tears in the middle of the hallway.
"I'm fine," he muttered to himself, blinking rapidly. "I'm okay."
And if he later saw two black spots circling in the clear sky, he looked away and chose to ignore the window until sundown.
A/N
...Update schedule? What update schedule? OTL
