Chapter Text
There's something so peaceful about skating in the dark. When you can hardly see the boards and ice surrounding you, it's hard not to get lost in the feeling.
Will knows his mom’s rink like the back of his hand. Each turn, each dent in the imperfect ice, it all claimed a permanent place in his mind. He didn't need light to know when to turn, know when to move his legs and dodge. It was after six seconds of skating along the right wall that his blade will hitch onto the ice, and no more than five seconds later, if he keeps his speed, he will turn. Eleven seconds, wide turn, eleven seconds, wide turn, repeat, repeat, repeat. It was stable and predictable.
Of course, Will doesn't practice anything in the dark. It's hard to remember your place when you're doing anything but skating in circles. So he isn't shocked in the slightest when the lights turn on as El and Mike step into the rink just in time for their scheduled practice session — the last in their home rink before the Olympics. The Olympics. He still couldn't believe it. After a season-long break from competing, as a result of broken boots with none to spare, ended only by a birthday present, Will got back into it, rejuvenated and practising more than ever over the summer. Then he surprisingly won the Nationals, among other championships, and so did El and Mike, and now they were all going to the Olympics in California as part of team USA, something he dreamed of as a child.
Will slowed down to a halt next to the entrance and watched as the two ice dancers stepped on the ice. El smiled at him, then immediately got to warming up by skating around the rink just as Will did. Mike, however, was a little more stiff and slow at first. Even after skating for most of his life, getting on the ice took getting used to every morning for him.
Will awkwardly waved at Mike when he turned around to skate backwards. It was only for a moment and Will looked away before he could see Mike's reaction.
Things were still weird between them. Will wasn't particularly fond of talking to strangers, and although he's known Mike for years now, he can't really call him his friend. El introduced him after they agreed to be ice dance partners — she'd been looking for one for ages, as she was much more interested in dancing than single skating, but it was hard to find a partner in Hawkins. So Will was happy for her when she found Mike, really, but they just can't seem to get along. Not that either of them tried much, if Mike doesn't then Will won't either.
He's glad Mike and El have to skate as a duo, because having to practice with just Mike, no matter if they speak or not, might as well just drive him crazy. El is their only connection, and when she's on the ice, Will speaks to her, but he couldn't imagine doing the same with Mike. It's just… awkward.
Only Hopper is here to coach Will. He hasn't attempted so much as a waltz in ages, but he still knows all the techniques, and so he's of great help to Will. Their mom is out “running errands", as she'd said, but they both know she's actually getting them everything they could possibly need for the next few weeks.
As it was, El and Mike were simply going to run through their programs. Hopper leaned against the boards, and started when Mike suddenly stopped in front of him, in that aggressive way he always does. Will couldn't hear what they were saying, but a frown fell over Hopper's face, then he walked off and no more than a minute later, a familiar melody played. It was El and Mike's rhythm dance song: a lively thing from the 80s. Will didn't know much about ice dance, but from what El told him last summer, the rhythm dance theme this season is music from that era.
Mike seemed bothered by Hopper starting the music already, and leaned over the board to tell him as much. That was another thing Will couldn't stand: Mike was so disrespectful and unabashed to adults, it made him anxious. The look on Hopper's face never failed to raise dread in Will, who associates that certain expression with hidden bruises and tear-stained cheeks. He knows better, knows that Hopper isn't like that, but for one split second every time, he can't help but think: Is he?
Will had spent most of his life now away from his father, but he still has a choke hold on him. Funny, how things work that way. You can try all you want, drive as far away and be as happy as you want, but those few years when you looked to the world with gullible eyes, when you believed the sun rose just for you, will forever stay. The bruises are gone, but his finger still bends wrong, and his eye still twitches some days.
Sometimes he wakes up in cold sweat, and his instinct, however related the nightmare was, is to cower under the bed and pray his father doesn't check this time. Will stopped believing in God.
He almost lost his balance when El tapped him on the shoulder. She glanced back towards Mike, then back at Will with a worried slant in her eyebrows. “Are you okay?" Will nodded, but her eyebrows remained unmoved. "Why don't you sit down? Me and Mike need the rink to practice, anyway. You can help Dad if you want, you know how he is with that speaker,” she said, her gaze moving from eye to eye.
Will knows they don't need the entire rink to themselves, and El knows he won't give himself a break, so he nods again and moves to the gate. He ignores how he feels both too heavy and too light on normal ground, and instead sits behind Hopper, who's grumbling to himself as he waits for the ice dancers to get into position. Will would've found it funny how much Hopper and Mike despise each other if the mere thought of Hopper furious didn't make his knees buckle.
After one last worried glance from El, her and Mike move close. She stretches her leg out while she's holding onto Mike, head facing away from him. He's holding her waist and leaning into her, as if he's an unlucky lover doomed to rejection, though unwilling to accept it all the same. Will had to admit the two were great storytellers; just from the starting pose, you could form a strong idea as to what the program will express.
Then, the melancholic notes slowly sounded all throughout the rink — Mike must've told Hopper to switch to the free dance melody — and the two began moving perfectly in sync, as they have for as long as they've known each other. Even through the mistakes, when either lose their balance or fall out of time, they move around each other perfectly, like they're silently communicating through their mind and know just what to do.
Will didn't know if it was the morose waltz or the ice dancers’ connection that brought a terrible ache in his throat as he prayed, through no real words, that his eyes don't grow red-rimmed.
He, naturally, has known El for most of his life. They're familiar with each other's reactions and mind, how they really feel below it all, because neither wear their heart anywhere above skin and bones. They know how to steer around their respective auto-set limitations, and still easing them through it — Will would never ask for help, while El wouldn't admit anything's wrong in the first place. He knows the signs: when she stares far too long at someone's face, studying their reaction, when she dodges eye contact despite that, when she talks more than usual, fills the silence.
But he doesn't know what to do when she messes up the step sequence and barrels into him, when she slows down in a spin, when she loses her footing as she comes down from a lift, when she does anything on the ice. And Mike knows. He always knows.
Hopper's joked about the two siblings being telepathic before. Will thinks he's saying it about the wrong pair.
He thought he and El were the two people closest to the other, as if they truly share the same blood. They've seen each other grow up, they know each other's secrets, their worst, their best. Then a few years ago, Mike showed up, and he immediately formed a connection to her.
Will doesn't want to change from single skating, but in times like these, he feels like the one left out in an odd class split in pairs.
Tearing his eyes away from the ice, he looked to Hopper, who sported a small smile. Will's stomach dropped. Even Hopper, probably Mike's least favourite person — and vice versa — was affected positively, albeit little, by the dancers. And Will, who's supposed to be the most supportive of his sister, looks on at her with nothing but selfish envy.
The two were spinning now, and Will took that as his cue to sneak out. He needed fresh air.
Without bothering to take his coat, Will stepped out of the building. The cold would sober him up anyway. He sat down on the curb, facing the small parking lot. Hopper's truck was parked in front of him, the light still turned on. Will must've forgotten to turn it off after he showed El his sketch. She couldn't see it from the front, the sun already having set. The lights around the rink were much too faint to illuminate the inside of the car, even less so the backseat. Will contemplated walking over to turn it off, but decided not to. It gave him something to focus on apart from the sombre, dark atmosphere, and also provided more light to the parking lot than the flickering lamppost behind Will.
He brought his knees up and leaned his elbows on them, fending off cold the best he can. After a few moments of watching his breath come out in white clogs of mist, Will heard the shuffle of a coat as someone sat next to him. He paid them no mind, it probably was El, after all, so he didn't bother lifting his face to look.
“Hey,” he heard Mike say, instead.
Startled, Will sat straight and looked at Mike with wide eyes. Why did he come out here? He had his coat on and was holding something in his lap, faring much better against the cold than Will, and looked back at him as if it was simply a casual thing to go out in the cold after your partner’s brother. It wasn't an unusual expression to see on Mike's face, far from it even. Probably everything was casual to him, he had a calm attitude about most things — Hopper being one of the few exceptions. “Hey,” he replied, after the silence got too awkward.
“Are you all right?” Mike asked, before handing him something. “You left your coat.”
“Yeah,” Will breathed out, offering Mike a small smile as he took it. “Yeah. Are you- Did you and El finish?” He's horrible at small talk, but the awkward silence was too much to bear even for him.
“Yeah,” Mike replied, an awkward smile on his lips,
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
Will huffed out a laugh. He hadn't expected Mike to check on him, but at least their stiffness was something he predicted. Despite that, he feels a little better. Not happy, not quite calm either, but still, maybe even pleasantly so.
Mike looked at him, amused. Did he do something? Did he say something stupid? He felt his cheeks flush from embarrassment and, just as he opened his mouth to ask what's so funny, a full-body shiver stirred him — he still had his coat in his hand. Will's face grew all the more hot as he scrambled to put it on. The sigh of relief he let out should've been humiliating, but he didn't think his face could get any redder.
He leaned on his knees again and hid his face, silence stretching over the two. But it wasn't awkward, as it had always been between them until now. He heard Mike shuffle next to him, but paid it no mind, until the sound of fabric rubbing against itself turned into paper being folded.
Will peeked at him, but Mike saw him immediately and covered his hand. “What are you doing?” Will frowned.
“Close your eyes,” Mike replied instead, deliberately not answering his question. “And hold out your hands.”
Will frowned deeper, but did as he was told. Mike placed something light in his palms. He took the shuffling noise of Mike standing up as a cue to open his eyes, only to find a blue paper crane looking back up at him.
“Wha—”
“Goodnight,” Mike cut him off and gave him one last smile before walking inside.
Will was left dumbfounded, with the arguably most perfect paper crane in his hands. He cupped his hands when the wind picked up. This bird's not made to fly.
He sat looking at the door long after Mike closed it, suddenly every thought was replaced with him. Will would give anything to see how Mike's mind works, because he just couldn't fathom why he would do anything he just did. Maybe he felt pity, maybe El sent him, but the crane? Will looked down at it, at the perfect folds and symmetrical form. He huffed and buried it in his pocket. Mike probably just got bored and didn't know what to do with it.
Later that night, Will would place the crane on the windowsill next to his bed, where the many origami flowers from El stood proudly. He found it fit in perfectly.
Will woke up to rushed unicorn yells and a flowery, giddy earthquake. It shook him violently and then, suddenly, arctic cold washed over him, engulfing him in shivers and chattering teeth.
Then he heard El call out his name exasperated, mentioning something about the Olympics, and all drowsiness evaporated. Will sat up suddenly, almost ramming his head into El.
“Finally, you're awake!” she whined, though amusement lied beneath.
Will rubbed his blurry eyes and got out of bed. His foot, however, collided not with the carpet, but with the suitcase he left under his bed last night. He didn't expect his foot to stop so abruptly, so it slipped and he toppled to the floor.
Will groaned and covered his eyes, because the ceiling light just so happened to be right above him — who put it there, anyway? He could already tell this day was going to be terrible, thought only solidified by El snickering above him. Will swatted blindly at her, but either he aimed wrong or El dodged each and every one of his attacks. He knows which one he wants to believe.
“Get out!” he whined, stretching out the words, “Let me suffer on my lonesome! I'm but a poor maggot squirming on thine floor!” He flailed his arms back and forth dramatically.
El giggled along with him and started walking backwards, away from his wriggling form. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Shakespeare,” she said through a wide grin. “Mom made toast. Stop squirming-” she grimaced “-and get dressed."
“You shall find me a grave man!” he called out, reaching out for El as she turned the corner. Her laugh was audible all the same. Will remained smiling on the floor, surrounded by the hellish mess that was his room, interrupted only by his stomach loudly rumbling. Toast never sounded better.
He stood up and rummaged through his suitcases for a pair of sweatpants, then he didn't bother changing out of his pyjama shirt. They'd be on the plane for hours anyway.
As soon as Will stepped out the door, he was rushed to the dining table by his mother, whose eyes were so wide from stress that Will was scared they'd pop right out like a pug’s would. He mumbled a ‘good morning', but she left just as fast as she appeared. She always gets like this before trips, especially important ones: triple checking everything — that, Will thinks, he can relate to at least —, packing a little too much — read: a comically exaggerated amount — and cleaning the house one last time, among other things.
At the moment, she seems to be doing all three at the same time. Will watches her come out of El's room, broom in one hand, suitcase in the other. He and El make eye contact as she peeks from the doorway, and the two share a thin smile before she returns to their mother's escapades. She always tries to alleviate Mom's multitasking. If you ask why, she'll say it's because she enjoys cleaning — Will knows that's not true, however, but he doesn't say anything.
He makes his way to the table, dodging the piles of whatever on the floor. Hopper was sat at the far end, a plate of toast before him. He was unusually calm, almost unnervingly so, while the entire house was in disarray. Will mumbled ‘good morning’ to him, too. He gruffed and nodded sharply, then he turned back to his toast.
Is anybody normal today? Undoubtedly, nerves were creeping through everyone, piling up on Mom's stress, Hopper's standoffishness, El's… Well, El was fine, she thrived under nerves, after all. Though she was more involved in helping Mom, terribly affected as she was.
Will, however, was more jittery than usual. He picked at his skin between bites, he wanted to move, to talk, dance, sing, draw, anything. Will could do a quadruple Lutz right this very moment if he had the space to. His bones were wriggling inside him, muscles sorely spasming from pseudo-neglect. His eye was twitching, too — and that was the worst of it. He could easily chalk it up to drowsiness or nerves, but he knew just as well the real cause. Purposely avoiding Hopper's eyes, Will stares down at his second slice of toast. Just the sight of it made him queasy all of a sudden. He picks and prods at it, but can't bring his stomach not to churn in disapproval. Maybe it's already rejecting the other slice, and he'd better hurry to the bathroom before he speaks in gurgles. He wills himself not to think about it, because if it wasn't true yet, it was sure to be eventually.
Will stood up and ignored the questioning look from Hopper, marching back to his room under the guise of last minute packing. He shut the door and lowered to the floor, leaning on it. With his knees raised, Will found himself in the same position as last night: running away from his problems, through distance or through unseeing eyes. He wished he could float closer around Hopper without the doubt at the back of his head seeping through to the front. Or the fear settled deep in his throat that comes out only through salty, salty tears. Or the small, slightest bit of hope that makes his heart beat backwards. The hope that maybe his father did love him, that maybe Hopper does too. The hope that hurts to indulge in, because it got smashed to smithereens once already, and who's to say it won't again?
Will leaned his head back, groaning out in frustration. It's settled deep in his bones that this day was going to be terrible. He's always been one for dramatics, he jumps to the extremes and flails about exaggeratedly— which proves useful for figure skating — thus however the mornings go decides the whole day. And Will has already been on the floor twice, so he can't possibly imagine anything good happening today, apart from maybe getting a few more hours of sleep on the plane. He'll wake up in California, he, El and Mike will go to the Olympic Village, and then all's fair. There'll most likely be a whole sea of people, he might even have to share a room with strangers or, worse, eat with them. Then he'll practice and train each day and, for a couple of weeks, figure skating will be his entire life.
It's a worrying thought, much more than any other championship, to be in solitude with only your art for so long. From the back of his mind, an image floats beside him: something akin to Van Gogh, dying at his own hands, gone mad from loneliness and the need to perform, perform, perform.
Pushing that thought away as best as he can,— although he feels it lingering on his nape, where goosebumps rise against the invisible itch — Will stands to check his suitcase in case he forgot to pack something, before he zips them up and places them somewhere easy to spot, maybe even in the centre of the floor. He knows his Mom will barge in and rush him to take everything to the car. They had to leave for the airport soon, and his Mom wanted to get there early. But until then, he sits on his bed and, without so much as a thought, turns to the window, where the small blue paper crane sits. So perfectly… perfect among the, undeniably less so, paper flowers gifted by his sister. Will is a person who appreciates imperfections, there's so much character in the simple asymmetry of the petals he knows El tried to make as perfect as she could. And maybe it was that which made it perfect, in truth.
The crane fit in, but stood out just as much. It was perfect and lifeless, but something about it was just so captivating, it grasped for Will's unadulterated attention and, by God, did it aim true with a strength so, so strong. And he just couldn't wrap his head around it. Will would pick El's flowers over Mike's crane in a heartbeat, but it kept his attention all the same. Maybe it was the confusion after he was handed it—
Will was interrupted in his thoughts by his mother opening the door so fast, it hit the perpendicular wall. He watched with a wince as the handle created a noticeable dent.
“Are you ready?” she asked, seemingly not having noticed what she just did the wall. Will nodded. “Let's go, then.” She hurried out the door without another word. Will followed in her footsteps, leaning to the side as he carried his suitcase with him, his yellow bag on his shoulders. He struggled for a minute or two fitting his suitcase in the already overflowing trunk, and then he was in the backseat of the car, sparing one last look at the house he wouldn't see for weeks. Is it weird to say he doesn't think he'll miss it? He doesn't feel much of anything, actually. Will simply watches their house shrink in size as the distance between grows larger and larger.
He takes out his worn sketchbook and draws a house on a hill.
Turns out being early to the airport is nowhere near as eventful as Will imagined. He's spread out, legs halfway on El's chair as she talks to Mike. Will looks at them through blurry eyes, coming out of a yawn, and he thinks they look much too lively when they've been here for an hour and the sun hasn't risen yet. He's one pillow away from falling asleep on seats more uncomfortable than the ones he spent four years sitting on in school, and he's never been able to fall asleep on those.
Will definitely isn't a morning person — or a night person, in this case? — while El and Mike clearly are. How they can chatter gleefully is beyond him. Normally, he'd blame it all on nerves, he was far too jittery before his eyelids gained a couple pounds, but he's pretty sure that's just how they are. He can't be sure, however, because he always falls into the arms of Morpheus before El so much as yawns.
He bleakly averts his gaze down the wide hall, searching for two blobs resembling Mom and Hopper, who left in search of food, because, if Will wasn't going to get any sleep, he would get food. But it's been more than twenty minutes and Will's stomach was growling incessantly.
“I'll starve and die of exhaustion!” he resorted to whining and stretched out his limbs, feet shoving at El's waist.
“Oh, come on, you crybaby.” El shoved him back in the ribs, and he let out a squeak of a laugh. “Can't even handle a few hours without food, can you?” she playfully scolded.
Just as Will was about to talk back and so eloquently deliver his comeback that was something along the lines of calling her mean and feigning a cry, El's stomach growled louder than even Will's has the entire night (morning?). They looked at each other with wide eyes, before they burst into laughter, Will's yawning tears coming out tenfold. Everything is so much more amusing when running on a couple hours of sleep at most.
El leaned toward him, scrambling for purchase on Will's knees, while he drew them upwards to clutch at his stomach, because who knew laughing on an empty stomach would hurt so much? In doing so, he accidentally rammed his right knee into her jaw. El made a noise somewhere between a car honk and a goat yell, and the laughter started all over again.
They only settled about five minutes later, when both their heads were hurting and Mike reached out to El.
“Hey,” he said, pulling something out of his bag. “I brought cereal bars.” He handed one to El, who smiled thankfully.
“You're a lifesaver,” she said, leaning back in her seat and tearing off the packaging.
Will huffed, pretending he didn't notice their exchange and was simply recovering from laughing. He didn't know what to expect, but Mike giving El a cereal bar after he'd been the one whining for ages about food certainly wasn't predictable. Will rubbed at his eyes again, glad he can't look any worse than he already does, trying to think about anything but Mike and El.
That was probably why he didn't hear Mike's “Catch!”
All of a sudden, something hard hit his temple, then fell to the floor. Leaning over, he saw another cereal bar, now split in two.
“Shit- Sorry!” Mike hissed, though Will heard him stifle a laugh as he coughed into his elbow. “Here, you can have another one.” He leaned over El, cereal bar in hand. Will took it, a little embarrassed now. Of course Mike wasn't that rude, what was he thinking?
“Thanks,” he croaked out, and leaned back in his seat just as El did. Mike pulled out his own cereal bar, apparently choosing to leave the broken one on the floor. Will couldn't blame him: it just wasn't good anymore when not whole.
Mom and Hopper finally returned a few minutes after Will finished the cereal bar with small burgers for everyone. He could practically feel his mouth salivating upon seeing the golden hue of the bun and the crispy crust of the chicken.
His mother handed him his burger first, and he bit into it immediately, stomach churning as he opened his mouth.
No cereal bar could compare to the sweet savoury taste blessing his mouth. Will ate the burger in slow, small bites. It was going to be savoured like it deserves to be. By the time everyone else was done, Will was barely halfway through. It means he had something to do, at least, as they wait for boarding.
He took the last bite moments before getting on the plane, the day suddenly looking more hopeful — it's funny what a burger can do. Mom and Hopper had seats somewhere in the back, while the three skaters occupied a row. El, as usual, took the window seat. She always loved looking out the window on road trips, even neglecting her phone for the view. That left Will sandwiched between her and Mike, trying his hardest not to touch either legs.
After debating whether he should or not, Will took out his worn sketchbook and started doodling. His hands itched to move, and he grew bored anyway. At first he sketched the bee plush sitting on his bed back home. He'd gotten it after his first competition this season, one he'd won. Then the sketching dissolved into other objects in his room he hadn't thought about in ages: the folded blanket in the corner of his bed, the pair of house shoes long devoured by whatever lives under the closet, the first pair of figure skates he'd worn as a senior, horribly torn, but too much of a sentiment to throw out, and, finally, the paper crane. Will tried to ignore Mike's gaze as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. If he ignores it, it'll go away, right?
Will woke up four hours later in California to El shaking him like a doll. They got off the plane, with Will feeling the tiniest bit more alive. He could walk in a straight line, at the very least.
They had a cab drop them off at the Olympic Village, which was much bigger than it looked in the photos. El and Will were sharing goodbyes to Mom and Hopper, who would stay at a hotel, while Mike walked ahead.
“Be careful,” Mom cooed, as if they wouldn't see each other tomorrow.
Will nodded and hugged her, turning his head with a smile to see El doing the same to Hopper.
Once their parents left and Will turned around to face the overwhelming mess of the Village, Mike had sauntered over to him, a smile on his face that Will knew meant nothing good.
“We're roommates, Will,” he said. “What are the chances?”
Fucking hell.