Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Pictures of You” by The Cure plays throughout Will's bedroom from his alarm clock. He sits straight up in bed, a slight smile worming its way across his face. Today is Will’s first day of Olympic training. He has been working his whole life for this—training since he was four. His feet meet the cold of his bedroom floor as he stands up. It sends a shiver down his spine—or maybe that’s just the excitement.
He walks to his closet and pulls out a pair of pants and a striped sweater. After he gets dressed, he makes his way to the bathroom. He tries to avoid the floorboards he knows are creaky, but there are some he can’t. His mind wanders while he brushes his teeth, but the thought he keeps coming back to is that he has to get on the ice before the hockey players. They destroy the ice, and he doesn’t need to deal with bad ice on his first day.
Next on his list is to make sure Jane, his twin sister, is awake. Her door is cracked just slightly, so Will peeks in. She’s sliding on a pair of socks, which reminds him to put on his. Will sits down on the edge of his bed and slides on his fluffy socks, then a pair of faded red Converse. He checks his watch—the same one he’s had since he was little. It’s 6:15 a.m. He has time.
He sits down at the kitchen table and double-checks his bag to make sure he doesn’t forget anything. Just as he zips up the final pocket, his dad slides a plate of eggs and avocado toast in front of him. Will looks up, making eye contact.
“C’mon, kid. You need to eat something or you won’t make it an hour on the ice,” his dad scolds. Seeing Will about to protest, he adds, “Ah ah ah, I don’t want to hear it. If you want to go, you have to eat some breakfast.”
Will picks up his fork in defeat and starts to eat the eggs. Jane trudges in, clearly exhausted from not going to sleep early enough. She perks up a little at the sight of breakfast, but not by much.
“I’m proud of you two. You know that, right? It takes a lot of discipline,” their dad says, ruffling Will’s hair and patting Jane on the back.
Will lets out a huff of a laugh. “Thanks, Dad. We know.”
He checks his watch—6:35. Jumping up from the table, Will grabs his bag, almost leaving Jane behind. She barely has a second to grab hers off the floor.
Halfway out the door, their dad yells, “Wait!”
Will and Jane whip their heads around to look at him, asking “What?” almost simultaneously.
“You forgot your waters.”
They walk back, give him a quick hug each, and then bolt out the door.
The damn hockey players are going to beat them there. This is what Will gets for stopping to eat breakfast. He bounces his leg as he drives, the anxiety of getting there first burning a deep pit in his stomach.
Jane puts a hand on his shoulder. “Will, just breathe. No matter what, it’s going to be okay. The hockey players aren’t all bad.”
He shoots her a sideways look.
“Okay, think about… oh! Think about Lucas—he’s super nice!”
Will sighs. She’s right. Will hates being wrong.
“Fine. Lucas is nice. You were right.”
Jane does a little dance in celebration—it’s not often Will admits to being wrong. The small talk calms him down a little, and his leg stops shaking.
He pulls into the parking lot, and the nervous pit in his stomach turns into a ball of excitement in his chest. He throws his bag over his shoulder and starts walking toward the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he goes.
Behind them, a beat-up Bronco pulls into the parking lot. It looks as though it hardly functions. Will’s eyes dart to the backseat—hockey sticks.
“Jane, it’s a hockey player.”
He grabs her hand and starts running to the door. The front door opens, and the warm air hits him like a brick. He walks over to the check-in desk and presses the bell. A kind-looking man, whom Will had met before, rises from under the desk.
“Oh, sorry. Just looking for some paperwork. My partner seems to misplace things quite often. Checking in for…” He types on the computer for a moment and then looks up at the twins.
“Will and Jane Byers-Hopper.” Will watches intently as the man types on his keyboard. He looks up at the two of them, nods to himself, and hands them both ID tags.
“Thank you, Mr… Clarke! Have a lovely day.”
The twins rush their way to the rink. Not a single person is on it. Will lets out a sigh of relief, sets down his bag, and starts to swap his shoes for his skates. Right beside him, Jane puts on her leg warmers and pulls her hair into a low ponytail. After stretching, Will takes a deep breath and gets on the ice. After a minute or two, Jane joins him, and they both start practicing. Will loves the way it feels to skate—it’s the closest he’ll ever be to flying, he thinks. With nobody on the ice, his morning is peaceful.
“FUCK!” some boy screams from across the rink. The remark is enough to make Will’s head turn. As he turns, he loses his balance, falling to the floor. When he pulls himself up, he sees hockey sticks. Of course. Stupid goddamn hockey players. The boy is mumbling something about figure skaters under his breath. How annoying. Will decides he should put it out of his mind.
The boy has black curly hair and chestnut-brown eyes. He’s wearing an America hockey jersey—obviously. There’s a huge number seven on the back. He’s… oddly attractive? Will reminds himself to focus on the ice. He starts practicing his routine, stealing a couple of glances at number seven. Will lands a quad and looks over to him. The boy smiles. It makes Will laugh a little, because number seven is missing a tooth.
Will knows he has to prolong his time on the ice, but god, he’s thirsty. Number seven is still watching him. He doesn’t know if he should be flattered or irritated by the attention. Jane got off the ice a couple of seconds ago, making him long for the bench more than ever. Will decides it’s time to accept fate. He skates over to the wall, puts on his guards, and gets off the ice.
Number seven walks up to Will and says, “Not so bad, spins,” before getting on the ice to warm up. As if on cue, Lucas Sinclair walks in, sees them, and starts toward them.
“Will, Jane, you guys know Wheeler?” he asks, hugging them.
Will shakes his head. “More of an acquaintance, really.”
Lucas nods to himself.
“Well, you caught us on our way out, but we should catch up later!”
Lucas waves goodbye to the twins, and as they head out the door, number seven—or Wheeler—sneaks a little glance at them.