Will O Wisp | YA Novella

Chapter 19: Anything You Want

"I can't believe we lost, O."

Ocean shakes his head, still smiling lopsidedly like he's been since the day they stood on the podium with the best in their sport. "Will, we got silver. If that's not winning I don't know what is."

They continue their walk in the Olympic Village, so warmed by the adrenaline of the past few weeks that the cold is surprisingly bearable. Still, they wear the matching Olympic jackets, holding onto the fleeting moments of this topsy turvy season. In a few hours, they'll leave this place in an airplane provided by their sponsors—all of which flooded their shared email with congratulations-e-postcards. The Closing Ceremony ended just three hours before—so that means a red-eye flight and and either Ocean or Will complaining about the bumpy ride and lack of sleep.

"The rest of our teammates hate us, you know." Will reaches out to grab Ocean's hand, not caring about the wandering athletes who haven't yet left the Village for their home countries. "I think Terra spread the rumor that we purposely flubbed our team skate?"

Ocean nods. "To create more drama—more attention toward us. Some of them think that we even faked your injury." He pauses before filling the winter air with his bright laughter. "I don't blame them because you just had to go for, fully rotate, and land your quad lutz like it was nothing."

"Don't remind me of the injury," says Will. "Every time you talk about it I swear my knee cap buzzes with pain."

Ocean tugs on Will's hand, leading them into a darkened corridor that's sandwiched between the canteen and a souvenir store flooded with maple syrup and other trinkets from the country. "Come," he says. "I found this secret place while I was wandering. On one of those evenings where you stayed indoors and were groaning about your buzzing knee."

Will laughs. "I hope this isn't one of your attempts at a joke." He remembers the time the boy tried to prank call him on Will's fifteen birthday—he called him on his cell and sounded all panicked. Coach Burnaby wants you at the ice rink right now! We have to go over some things we got wrong last practice. If he recalls correctly, Will was in a bad mood and told his partner to screw himself.

He regrets a lot of those words. So he makes a move to apologize, opening his mouth in an intake of freezing breath.

"We've never had a private kiss," says Ocean, suddenly, stopping at a midsection in the darkened alley. Now he knows what his partner meant by a secret place. Here, in this time of night, the moonlight shines directly above and into the midsection, illuminating the circular space and giving silver detail to each cobblestone underneath their feet. Here, no camera will capture a private moment. They are alone as they'll ever be, squinting into the night to find each other's familiar features. Will captures the softness of Ocean's nose and lips, the blue eyes that still manage to pierce through shadows.

"Okay," says Will, aware that his voice always somehow borders on sarcasm with this boy. "What's your point."

But the Irish boy laughs, using his free hand to join with Will's left, so that they're connected all the more. Will allows himself to move close as the other boy pulls him, so that Ocean's chin rests against the side of his head. Ocean's humming the song of their exhibition program—Tattooed Heart by Ariane Grande. If Will's knee wasn't still tender and healing, they would've performed it at the Olympic Exhibition Gala, treating the crowd to a triple overhead twist and a synchronized quad toe performed at the climax of the song.

When their lips meet, both boys pushing against each other so neither's back is pressed against the side of the damp walls, Will feels as if he's being lifted once more. His heart palpitates in the same way it does whenever he's lifted into a quad lutz, wholly focused, time slowing into a crawl just barely above a standstill, vision blurring into the same color.

Instead of gray, it's red.

"I love you so much," says Ocean, eyes a bit glazed over while he presses a hand against the small of his partner's back. He gasps when the smaller boy runs a hand through his blonde hair, stealing a kiss on the ticklish part of his nose. A pause hangs in the air, where the images of their Olympic journey flash before them—their fight in the Richmond Ice Arena, getting stuck in the elevator to the Opening Ceremony, the team skate and all of the fights in between, the procedure and their successful short and free skates. Will thinks that he can still hear the screams of the crowd, echoing like a parade of bumble bees in his skull.

A pause, then Ocean grins, his eyes downcast. "Are you going to say it back?" 

"I love you too," says Will. "But I'm only saying it because you asked nicely." He looks away before he becomes too enchanted, wanting to grasp back at least some semblance of logic—before they miss their flight and end up lost in passion until the night turns to day, sun spilling over the horizon while drunk on each other's words and kisses.

Their phones buzz simultaneously—a message from Coach Burnaby saying that their taxi is ten minutes away.

"Ocean," says Will, tugging his partner back into place when he heads to leave from the way they came. "I'm sorry. For all the harsh words I've said, making you cry."

As if on cue, a tear spills out from the corner of Ocean's left eye, trailblazing down his cheek—silver rivulets in the moonlight. "You know I liked it. I said a lot of things for your attention."

"You're acting like it ends here," says Will. He reaches out to rest a palm against the Olympic rings of his partner's jacket. "In a couple months we'll be in the rink again and you'll be hating my guts."

They walk toward the light, knowing that the most dramatic part of their career will end after a taxi ride to the airport and a few hours above the clouds. Twin silver medals will be packed in their handcarries.

"My knee hurts," says Will, turning and jumping onto his partner's back, straddling his leg's around Ocean's torso. He rests his head against Ocean's neck and closes his eyes, letting the supercut of the past weeks flash through his imagination.

"Liar," says Ocean, stifling a laugh. "But I'll carry you anyway. That's my job isn't it?"

"We should switch next season." Will is mumbling, the slow pace of Ocean drifting him off to sleep like a metronome.

Ocean's voice comes from far away, but as steady as always—constant as a promise.

"Anything you want." 

A/N: I'm super sad to say this but Will-O' Wisp On Ice ends here. It was so fun writing this story and getting back into what I love doing. If you got this far thank you so much for reading! Who knows whether Will and Ocean will be back in a separate tale? <3 

PS Will secretly loves all of his readers :D