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imagining them out with their guys and michael’s getting kinda wasted, letting himself go way further than he does in those shitty sj bars the vets force them into during the season. his eyes are kinda glazed over and he’s smiling a lot more than he usually does and he’s got a hand on sam’s thigh, which is weird cause it moves higher and higher every time he laughs and grips harder and sam’s starting to shift in his seat because of all the misa that he knows how to handle, this isn’t really one.

and then somebody takes out a camera and they’re taking a pic and michael’s trying to look a little more sober than he currently is, slinging an arm over sam’s shoulder and then one of the guys says we can’t really see you, dickie and all of a sudden michael’s pulling him closer by the shoulder and shifting himself until he’s actually in sam’s lap. and maybe he stays there even after the phone’s tucked away, hanging off sam’s body all giggly and carefree even as he’s getting chirped for it, and sam “keep michael misa loose” dickinson has to act like everything’s normal.

so will kind of becomes a mystical beast to them cause all they hear is his praises being sung, over and over, and when he finally gets on that plane to vancouver and shows up and he and mack start giggling with the tips of their skates touching and their jerseys tucked to match and these fond, nostalgic glances they’re sharing like i’m glad that you’re here, i’m glad we’re together, it all makes sense. that will’s a really good fucking player, yes, but he’s also just kind of mack’s guy, the person he looks to at every moment for advice and affirmation and everything between. that it’s really not about the hockey sometimes, not about the way they push each other to move faster, shoot better, but the way they make each other play with joy. the way that they make each other live with joy. the way they make each other better.