Will O Wisp | YA Novella

Chapter 17: I've Known You

"So, like... are we together or what?"

Will shakes his head, refusing his first impulse to crack up in laughter. As always, Ocean's sensitivity shows through with the question, clear as day that'll he'll hold onto the answer like a child and his favorite toy. "Let's not talk about it," says Will. "Focus on the free skate tomorrow, then we'll decide."

Relief floods his partner's features. "Okay, that works." He pauses, and Will takes the chance to turn in a 360 view, admiring the village for the first time in broad daylight—here, the media has been directly prohibited from intruding. "How's your leg holding up?"

"Okay so far," he responds. "I'm walking fine, right?"

Ocean nods, breathing in the winter air. "Sometimes I wish we could trade places. I could be the flyer for once, and you wouldn't have to leave the ground so often."

"Is this a metaphor?"

Ocean laughs, so brightly that the surrounding atmosphere turns vibrant at the noise—Will swear the world takes on new shades of blue, Ocean's irises transfigured onto everything around him. "Dirty mind."

Will can't help but grin as well. "Don't blush too hard, Ocean."

A comfortable silence settles between them as they walk, traversing the concrete paths laid to resemble cobblestone. A few wandering athletes, but for the most part they're completely alone—not angels, not performers, just two eighteen-year-olds enjoying an afternoon. Will's mind threatens to shift into talking about tomorrow's program, how they're going to adjust the jumps and lifts so that the pressure on his knee could be mitigated. But for once he shuts his mouth, listening to Ocean hum a tune from his favorite band.

What was the band's name again? Some group in Ireland—maybe one day they'll see them in concert together.

"You're making me daydream," says Will, voicing his thoughts. "I never daydream."

Ocean stops humming, and Will almost regrets interrupting the silence, but he waits for the boy to respond—this time for conversation instead of for another reason to fight back. "I daydream all the time. I don't know how you could go without it."

"Someone has to hold us down," says Will—and Ocean shrugs, smiling in agreement.

Something changes in the mood, Will senses, how the other boy begins a slower gate as they round the cafeteria. "My parents called yesterday. They said that they saw me kiss you on live television."

Will's heart skips a beat, letting himself empathize with his partner. His father wouldn't care about anything in his personal life... but Ocean's parents, being as overprotective and conservative—the story is different. "And what did they say?"

Ocean slows his walk then comes to a stop around a dormitory's corner. He turns the other way. "They said that I should stop whatever's going through my head. Then they prayed with me over the phone, for me to get rid of any... urges." His voice breaks on the last word.

Will's heart actually begins to hurt, washing over with a fresh hit of Ocean's emotion. "I'm sorry, Ocean."

"They didn't stop after that. They warned me that they wouldn't support my career if I did something like that again. And that if something was going on between us—you and me—that we should separate, and I should pursue a career in the individual programs."

Will wishes that Ocean's parents were right here. He would accost their ears off until they understood that loving someone doesn't include making him embarrassed of himself. That true love should show kindness and prevent opportunities for self-hate, not encouraging it. It makes him sick to think that Ocean isn't truly happy to express his feelings. "That's horrible of them. But you have so many—your skater friends, and me too—we're here to hold you up."

"Yeah," he gasps, holding up the wrist of his sweater to his eyes. "They—they should know that only you're allowed to bully me."

Will refuses to idle any longer, not giving him time to overthink before his arms are around Ocean's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace that's more healing than anything—mending the past wounds opened by insults, bringing them back to their first year where possibility and optimism were natural to grasp. "I love you." It sounds natural coming from him, and he realizes how little he says it—how he's always associated the words with weakness—a vulnerability that is more of a hindrance than anything. "And don't tell me I can't say it, Ocean. I've known you for more than four years. I would say that's longer than over 70% of married couples."

"Again," he says, wiping his eyes, and Will grasps for the bandana that was his mother's last gift to him, realizing that he's already given it away. In the broken elevator—a world so long ago. "Again—with your stupid statistics."

He holds Ocean, not regretting the words, not caring how and where and when Ocean says it back.

Because they already know. And he should've seen it long ago, somewhere between the endless hours of practice and competition. So they stand close until tears dry and quivering turns to steady breaths and little smiles—not caring, not paying attention to whether the world is watching or ignoring.