Icing Those Hurts (NOT MY STORY. READ DISC)

Part 6

Wilbur looks everywhere he can think off- outside, the rinks, the common rooms, the medical center. There's no sign of him.

The longer that he has to look the more he feels as if he's been sent on a wild goose chase for no good reason. Like, what? He's gonna go and find this kid and their lives will change all of a sudden? Wilbur doesn't think so.

This guy is probably just a guy, and Wilbur coming to talk to him about nothing will probably just freak him out. But whatever, anything to prove Schlatt and Sapnap wrong.

(And to get rid of the nagging gut feeling that he has, and has had about the figure skater from the first time Wilbur saw him. He just- he needs to be proven wrong. He doesn't want to be right about this.)

On a whim, he decides to check the studios, where they've got recreational things like gyms and pools and game rooms. He's not in the pool and not in the weight room. Wilbur's about to just give up when he realizes there's a studio at the very end of the hall.

Just as Wilbur is walking up, a man, the coach from the first day, is coming out. He's on the phone, talking gruffly, sounding annoyed, in a tone that makes Wilbur slip by him- move out of his way so he isn't faced with any of that anger.

"-no," he's saying. "No, the kid needs to learn. Yeah, that's what I'm trying to fucking tell him. This isn't his small iced over pond anymore. If he falls the fuck in, he's drowning. No one is coming to save his ass-"

Wilbur pauses when the man is past him. He stops and turns and watches him go. Already, without any words spoken to the man, Wilbur knows how he is. Wilbur knows his type. Coaches that curl a fist around their player and squeeze.

Wilbur doesn't want to be anywhere near him.

He shakes himself and turns around to head inside the studio, but he has to stop. It's a normal dance studio, with a bar and a neat wooden floor and a wall made of mirrors. Everything is clean and precise and new in there, and in the middle of it, on the floor with his knees up to his chest, and his hands pressed to his face is the kid.

He's quiet, but Wilbur can tell he's crying. His shoulders are trembling.

That's enough for Wilbur to know that he's more than just a stuck up piece of work. He should silently sink back and head back down the hall, leave him here to whatever is making him ache, but Wilbur can't. He can't .

(That nagging gut feeling is more than just that now- it's a reality. He can't just let this be. Not him. How could he?)

"Hey," Wilbur says softly.

Tommy startles. Looks up. His cheeks are tear stained roses and his eyes are the brightest blue Wilbur's ever seen. "...hi." He wipes his cheeks quickly, fumbling to look presentable. "Sorry, I'm just-"

His voice dies. There's nothing to say.

Wilbur gets it.

"What's this room?" Wilbur asks, stepping in a bit, looking around. He pretends he doesn't see Tommy collecting himself as he walks around. "I'm trying to get myself situated in here, but it's like a maze. Everything leads to somewhere else."

"Um, yeah." Tommy says quietly. He rises to his feet gracefully. Wilbur's got to give him credit, when he looks over, he can't even tell that the boy had just been crying.

That is, if Wilbur hadn't walked in on it happening right in front of his eyes.

"It's a dance studio," he finishes. He avoids looking in the mirror. Wilbur frowns.

"Oh, so you're a figure skater then." He says. Tommy nods minutely. "I don't think any snowboarders would dance as practice."

Tommy winces slightly at the mention of snowboarders and Wilbur can see him tensing up, he can practically sense the shut down coming, so he just blurts the first thing he can think of.

"How is it?" Tommy blinks, confused. "Being a figure skater?" Wilbur clarifies. "I mean, I play ice hockey, so I know all about skating and playing a sport, but figure skating is a mystery to me. I mean, all the jumps look the same, so I have no idea how the judges can even score them."

"Well," Tommy starts, pulling his hands up into his sleeves like a turtle. "It's a little difficult to explain, but the best way that I can put it is that figure skating is like knitting. Every stitch is different and when you perform a routine, you're showing off your scarf. You want to make it seem as flawless as possible. Not like you're doing a bunch of different movements, but that it's all one motion. From the flourish of your fingers to the point of your toe. Everything matters."

It's the most Wilbur's heard him speak at once and it's the most relaxed and open he's been. But still Wilbur notices how he doesn't seem happy when he explains it. He talks about it in a technical way, like there's no emotion involved. Like he's heard someone else say this and is just reciting what he's heard time and time before. It's beautiful, but the blankness in his expression is almost horrifying. Wilbur finds himself unnerved yet again. No one this young should talk about the sport they play with such a distance.

"I've been trying to get this one part- this one stitch," he continues, a bit frustrated now, "but I can't. It's not good enough."

Not good enough, Wilbur thinks, or not perfect?

"Show me," he says instead and Tommy frowns.

"Show you? What do you mean?"

"Show me. Show me the move you're trying to do."

"But I'm a-" Tommy stops himself, disregarding whatever he was going to say with a frustrated purse of the lips. "Why?"

"I'm curious." Wilbur shrugs. About you. About this sadness you've got pulling on you. About how it seems to wrap around you like a fog. "And I like skating too. Not figure, obviously, but- you know. I'm always looking for more training."

"You want me to ...teach you?" He asks hesitantly.

"Why not? Isn't that the mark of a master? A person who can teach knows the material front and back. It'll help you learn it too, yeah?"

Tommy looks off to the side, considering. He looks troubled, trying to justify it in his head. Trying to justify having a bit of fun. The cost opportunity of not practicing. "It...would. Yes."

"Cool!" Wilbur exclaims, quick to speak up before Tommy manages to change his own mind. "Meet me on the rink tonight after dinner. We might have to sneak in, but you know, that's easy."

"What if we get in trouble?" Tommy asks, and it's adorable how his voice hushes and his eyes widen like he's never broken the rules ever in his life.

"We won't get in trouble if we don't get caught." Wilbur smirks. Tommy looks absolutely horrified.