Icing Those Hurts (NOT MY STORY. READ DISC)

Part 11

His hands keep turning into birds and flying away from him. Him being you. Yes.

...

They head down to the rink again, just the two of them. Wilbur does his best to ignore the way Tommy messages his coach, telling him that he's going to go practice.

It's like he owes him every bit of his time, like he's logging his hours on the rink. It makes Wilbur upset to see. He remembers doing that, and he remembers feeling guilty for every hour he spent off the ice. Anything he did that wasn't working for a victory was a waste.

Wilbur would hate for Tommy to feel like that.

Luckily, Tommy seems to feel much more comfortable around Wilbur this time around- he's able to reach forward and lightly correct his form and not look afraid about it. He looks Wilbur in the eyes and speaks just a little louder. When Wilbur asks him to show a move again, he does it and Wilbur can see his hands- the way that they stay steady. That simple fact makes Wilbur want to cheer. He wants Tommy to be relaxed on the ice, he wants Tommy to take a deep breath.

He deserves just as much.

"What about those cool glides that you guys do? They look all swoopy when I see them on TV." Wilbur skates backwards, keeping his eyes on Tommy's confused frown.

"What do you mean?"

Wilbur sticks his hands out at his sides. "When you put your arms out and go flying across the ice. It looks so fucking fast. Grace, which I know I don't have, but speed? I've got speed for days."

Tommy looks unsure. "I don't think that will help with hockey. Isn't footwork the most important thing? And besides, I don't practice those, they're-"

"They're what?" Wilbur blurts. "Fun? Are you not allowed to have fun?"

Out on the ice, Tommy can't hide the way his hands shake, no matter how much he might wish he could. And Wilbur is watching them, gauging how he's doing- when they curl up, he knows he pushed just a little too much. Tommy shrugs like he isn't affected. Wilbur purses his lips, upset. He wants to say something, badly. He wants to say, can't you see? Can't you see how wrong that is? Can't you see that you deserve the things that are being kept from you?

But he knows better than anyone that he has to be patient. He doesn't want to scare Tommy off.

He swallows, working to stay light. "Well, that's- that's stupid. Come on, Tommy. Come on, please? Teach me a figure skating swoop. I wanna fly."

Something about that must be important to him, because Tommy inhales sharply. Then he exhales slowly, collecting himself, and nodding. "Okay. Let's try it."

Tommy leads him over to the wall, because, as he says most figure skating moves are done on one leg, and for a hockey player, that's a lot to get used to. And right he is- Wilbur thought it would be just as easy as Tommy makes it look, but no. He feels like he's going to fall every second he's standing.

"Think about balance," Tommy offers quietly. "If you're leaning one way, you want to compensate for it." Tommy touches Wilbur's chest lightly. "Lift your head up. Your chin. Imagine you've caught sight of something ahead, and if you look away, it'll be gone."

Tommy shows him a couple of times, going around and around the rink, flawless every single rotation. He talks as he skates, explaining how the balance is measured, explaining where it all comes from and how it escapes.

"You've got to think about yourself as one part, not a bunch of different sections." He says, curving forward before spinning on his heel and going the other way. "If you try to move one limb at a time then you'll be jerky and that will throw you off."

"One motion," Wilbur repeats, letting go of the wall. He thinks he's got it.

Tommy hums, then pulls to a stop. "More than that, and people don't say this often anymore, but the best skaters perform, yeah? They feel. They let their moves be fueled by their emotions. Just like dance. Skill is just as important as art."

Wilbur hesitates, then, following his instinct, asks, "do you believe that?"

Tommy looks caught for a moment. "I- I mean- it doesn't really matter what I believe, does it?"

Wilbur wants to say yes, it does. How could it not? He doesn't. "Is it true, then?"

"At the Olympics? No." He says instantly. "Points win medals. Art is always second, if it's there at all."

It's very- robotic. Very rehearsed. Dead, almost. Wilbur wonders if there's anyone in there. How deep down is the real Tommy, and how long has he been in hiding?

"Luckily, I've got plenty of emotion to spare." Wilbur jokes, pushing off the wall. "Skill on the other hand..."

"You'll do great," Tommy says softly, following Wilbur at a distance. He sounds shy just saying it. Hesitant. "Just- take your time. Don't be afraid to break it into steps if you need to."

Tommy , Wilbur thinks, would be a fantastic figure skating coach.

"I've got this," Wilbur says, much more confident than he feels and certainly much more cocky. "I've got this. I'm a pro."

Tommy doesn't comment on that, but Wilbur imagines if he did, he'd be quite skeptical. The Tommy in his head is actually very sassy.

"Go on," is what Tommy actually says, and Wilbur feels a light two-finger touch at his back, and then he's going. He keeps everything Tommy said in his head like a list- build his speed, lean forward, eyes up and forward, leg back, balance, then arms, and it should be-

Wilbur laughs, a giddy sort of pride bubbling in his gut when he realizes he's doing it. "Tommy! Tommy, do you see? Are you seeing this? I'm swooping!"

Tommy follows, watching closely. For a brief, brief second, his expression flickers, and Wilbur thinks he sees a smile, and that's when he completely forgets everything he's doing.

"Wait, Wilbur, your leg needs to be-"

But it's too late, Wilbur raises his leg without straightening up and all of a sudden he's toppling forward, about to hit his face on the ice. Luckily, he's got good reflexes, and catches himself, swinging his other skate down and waving his arms like mad, but the laws of physics hate him because he still hits the ice anyway. Goes spinning across it like Bambi.

Tommy skids over, stopping so suddenly that ice sprays to Wilbur's left. His eyes are wide and worried, as if Wilbur wasn't an Olympic hockey player who used to get into fights with other players because it was part of the game.

"Wilbur? Are you okay?"

Wilbur sighs. "My ass's heart is broken. And bruised."

Tommy stares at him for a beat, processing, and then he smiles. But more than that, he laughs. It's loud. A good loud. The kind of loud that makes Wilbur stop and look and want to laugh too, even if the joke was subpar. Tommy's laughter makes his own cheeks color and makes him slide back on the ice, curling his arms around his middle.

He's laughing at Wilbur, but Wilbur couldn't care less- the sound of Tommy's joy is magnificent. All he can do is stare in awe.

There you are Tommy , he thinks. It's nice to finally meet you.