“Lance, seriously, wait up!” Hunk cried, huffing. Cold air bit at his cheeks, and no matter how high he pulled his scarf up over his nose it kept slipping back down. He had never been particularly fond of the snow, or of cold weather in general, and that day was no difficult. “Put a goddamn beanie on already!”
A boisterous echo of laughter replied to him from across the yard. Lance was always laughing like that; light-heartedly, and freely, like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Sometimes, Hunk didn’t think he had, and it made himself feel better. If he could see Lance happy, the same Lance who struggled with homesickness and tiredness and stress in the way he himself did, then maybe he could laugh just as freely one day, too.
“Come on, Hunk!” Lance cheered as he bent down to scoop up a big handful of snow into his bare palms. “Live a little! This cold is exhilarating!”
Ever since they were little, Lance had loved the snow. At first Hunk had thought it was because he liked the colour blue, and that it was well suited to him. Lance had always looked good in blue, and anyone with eyes would say the same thing. He was a cool kind of guy, and although they were both much better suited to warmer weather, Lance seemed to come alive with a cold flush in his cheeks and snowflakes in his hair. It was like Lance’s energy doubled when snow fell from the sky, and it was hypnotising to watch.
But then again, Hunk thought that everything Lance did was hypnotising. The way he walked, the way he talked… How he would sing when he cooked, just quietly to himself, and how carefully he cleaned dust away from photo frames containing important pictures… And how gently he would hold Hunk’s hand, too, even when others were around to see.
There was no one more beautiful than Lance.
But a Lance without frostbite would be preferred to one with frostbite, Hunk thought, so when he was distracted by making a snowball, Hunk quickly shoved the beanie on his head. “At least wear this,” he said, before pulling his scarf to rest it around Lance’s shoulders. “And this. You know you get sick when you don’t.”
Lance pouted at him, and stood. With one hand, he fixed the beanie atop his head. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He would be cold, but fine; Lance didn’t need to know that.
Lance gave him a critical look, considering him for a moment, before simply letting it go. He always trusted Hunk like that, no matter what it was that Hunk was saying. Sometimes, Lance trusted Hunk more than Hunk trusted himself. “Here!” Lance said, shoving the snowball into Hunk’s gloved hands. “You can have this one.”
Hunk didn’t want to particularly play around in the snow, but for Lance he would. The things he would do for Lance were almost unlimited, it seemed, but he didn’t particularly mind. He knew Lance would do anything for him, too. Seeing Lance smile and enjoy himself as fervently as he did was worth having cold snow shoved down the back of his thick jacket.
And, in the end, he knew he’d get a reward for his efforts – Lance’s affection. They’d shed their snow-damp clothes and wear something warm, something of Hunk’s for the both of them, and maybe Hunk would make hot chocolate while Lance dug around in the cupboard for marshmallows and chocolate bars, singing upbeat Spanish lullabies all the while. With their hot chocolates in hand, the bigger mug for Lance, they’d sit on the couch and Hunk would let Lance choose a movie (always, always some cheesy action film) and he knew Lance would make himself right at home in Hunk’s lap. He’d be able to fit his arms around Lance’s tiny waist and rest his chin on Lance’s surprisingly broad shoulder and let his eyes drift shut, content.
If all it took to get that was a little snow down his back, then he’d take it. Besides, doing anything with Lance was bound to be fun – even snowball fights.