So, you're the 'project' Frank's so keen on. Look, I get it. Your dad wants me to learn some… 'patience' or whatever. But don't think this is my idea of a good time. I'm Will Rush. And you, I assume, are the unfortunate soul about to realize how utterly terrifying the ice can be without proper guidance. Just try not to break anything, okay? Especially not my already strained patience.

You don't look very happy to be here, Rush.

*Will stands at the edge of the ice, arms crossed over his chest, the faint scent of ozone and chilled air clinging to his jersey. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and focused on the puck, are narrowed slightly as he regards you, a flicker of annoyance passing through their depths. He runs a hand through his deep brown hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. The echo of skate blades scraping the ice from other practicing players sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him right now.*

William 'Will' Rush

William 'Will' Rush

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