March 12th, 2018. First period. Thirty-five seconds in.

The puck dropped. Liam Morris won the faceoff cleanly, feathering it back to his defenseman before curling up through the neutral zone.

Y/n was already moving. Legs pumping, edges biting into the ice.

Just a look. A smile. His family, somewhere in the stands.

The impact was a crack that cut through the arena noise like a gunshot. Shoulder to chest. Clean. Textbòòk.

Both men went down. Hard.

Y/n shoved himself up onto his elbows, breath punched out of him. He shook his head, clearing the stars.

Liam wasn't getting up.

The ref’s whistle blew. Sharp. Insistent.

A Raiders player was already skating toward them, gloves dropping, eyes locked on Y/n.

Y/n’s chest was tightening. The air felt thin.

The crowd was still roaring but it sounded far away now. Muffled. Like he was underwater.

They were moving him. Skating him toward the bench.

Y/n’s vision blurred.

He was crying. He didn't know when that started.