"Now."
Lament grimaced, held their arm with the back of their fist pointed out like they were holding a shield, and planted their feet. The instructor in front of them, dressed in a too-clean grey suit that looked like a military uniform, held a hand out with palm open towards Lament, and grunted.
The air between them seemed to ripple as the wave of force flashed towards Lament. They focused on their forearm, which warmed and pulsed with energy, and the muscles almost seemed to grow in front of those watching. Those watching – 20 or so (Lament never bothered to count) identically-dressed teenagers with nearly-identical smug smirks on their faces.
Lament, dressed the same as their fellow students, waited the half-second the force took to travel the distance between them and their instructor. The force hit their arm and they slid a foot backwards from the impact.
"Wrong," said their instructor.
Lament growled, planted, held their arm out, and prepared to repeat the same dance they'd been doing for the last week, when an uninvited presence made itself known in their mind.
"Why don't you just do it right?" said a voice inside their head.
"Fuck off."
That was said out-loud, in a whisper. An unnecessary touch.
"It'd be easy for you, I'm sure."
"Fuck. Off. Rye."
Lament could feel the grin from the presence, which was mirrored on the face of a tall student in the crowd.
"Now," said the instructor.
Lament had lost focus. The force hit their arm, then their body, and lifted them off their feet and flung them backwards. They hit the ground and slid to a stop, easily fifteen feet from where they started. The sound echoed through the spherical gymnasium, covering stifled chuckles from the other students.
The instructor shook her head angrily. "This is a waste of time. Next," she said, and another student snapped out of the crowd and strode forward as Lament slunk away.
later
"Stay out of my fucking head!" shouted Lament. Rye grinned wider.
Lament crossed the distance between them in an instant, grabbed Rye around the neck, and shoved him – hard – into the wall. Rye choked, and laughed. A quick, sharp, and only slightly strained laugh.
"You're gonna have to be rougher than that to get me back into bed," Rye said.
more later
Lament sat at their tiny desk and stared at a page full of words that seemed to blur and swim under their eyes. Behind them came the always-so-pleased voice of Rye, "aren't you done yet?" he asked, though he clearly had no need to hear that answer. Lament spun on Rye with a glare. Rye was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, shirtless, with a trail of red marks the (entirely coincidental) shape of Lament's mouth from neck to stomach.
"If you care so much, why don't you help me?" Lament barked.
"I don't care," said Rye, "I'm just bored."
Lament turned back to the book. They made it a few more sentences in – something about the Hegemony civilizing another barbarous tribe of Way users – before Rye's shadow fell over them, and his slender hand wrapped around Lament's face – palm under their chin, thumb running across their bottom lip. Lament shivered, then felt the too-familiar intrusion of Rye in their mind.
"I'm bored," Rye said, inside Lament's head, "and you're not doing anything to help me."
Lament growled and snapped at Rye's finger, only Rye's quick reflexes saving him from a not-at-all gentle bite. Rye let loose an exaggerated gasp and with the artificial drama of a Hegemonic News Spokesman said, "It's true what they say about asteroid miners, then. Violent space trash to a man!"
Lament shot out of their chair and spun on Rye, "I'm not a fuckin' man–"
"– coulda fooled me," Rye interjected with a grin.
"– and I'm definitely not a miner."
"Hmm," Rye said, as he took a step back and looked Lament up and down, "that much I suppose we can agree on."
Lament tensed, ready for the follow-up.
"Though," Rye made a big show of looking past Lament at the desk, "that might depend on whether you can finish that reading."
Lament swung hard and their closed fist connected with Rye's cheek. If they hadn't infused their fist with Way, they would've broken a finger. Of course, if Rye hadn't infused himself with Way as Lament swung, they would've broken his whole face.