The thing is, Okezie doesn’t mean for it to happen.

And even once it does happen he isn’t sure how it happened because the two of them make absolutely no sense.

Because Okezie is a serious athlete. He’s excelled at sports since he was a little kid and he’s been the golden child of every hockey team he’s ever played for. He lives and breathes hockey. He does the workouts his trainers make for him and eats the food his nutritionists tell him to and he stays late at practice and he watches game tape on his laptop before he falls asleep. He doesn’t have friends, he has teammates. And his parents sacrificed so much to get him to juniors, he’s not about to let them down. He knows that the life he’s chosen requires hard work, focus, commitment, and sacrifice. He’s a serious athlete.

Liam Martel is not a serious athlete.

Liam Martel is 160 lbs of skinny, hyperactive teenager. He treats workouts like social hour, eats a nauseating amount of sweets which is definitely not nutritionist-approved, giggles with the other rookies through skills practice and fidgets through game tape review.

And besides his complete and total lack of professionalism, he’s just plain annoying.

His face is annoying.

His mouth is too big for his head, which wouldn’t be so noticeable except for the fact that he’s always talking. Or laughing. Or singing.

And the singing is a thing. Because he’s terrible. And it’s not like he has some sort of misapprehension that he’s a good singer, either. The kid knows he’s terrible but he still sings along to every song that plays on the radio or in the locker room or even on the bench.

And he touches people all the time. He’s constantly got a hand on someone’s arm or his arm around someone’s neck, or he’s asking for piggyback rides or draping himself over someone’s lap or absently tapping his fingers on someone’s—well, whatever is available. Elbow. Calf. Foot.

He never runs out of energy until suddenly he’s sleeping.

So he’s basically a golden retriever puppy.

And Okezie would love to hate him except he’s also the most kind-hearted, genuine, person Okezie has ever met. He calls people out when they’re being racist or homophobic or just generally mean. He loves animals and babies and talks about all the charities he’d like to donate to one day if he gets an NHL contract. And besides that, he’s a really damn good hockey player.

Or he will be one day once he finishes growing into his limbs.

Coach assigns Martel as Okezie’s road roommate after Martel’s original roommate, Johnson, threatens to kill Martel in his sleep.

The first few nights are definitely a study in restraint, because Martel is surprisingly clean and tidy and courteous about shower usage, but he also paces the room talking all night like a toddler on a sugar high. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except after a game that went into overtime Okezie would really just like to get some damn rest.

Okezie figures out sort of by accident that the way to get Martel to sleep is to make him hold still long enough to realize that he’s tired.

Which means most nights on the road he invites Martel to sit on his bed with him and watch TV, and then he throws an arm around his shoulders and physically restrains him from getting up to pace until the kid conks right out.

The first few times, Okezie waits until he’s sure Martel is asleep and then he moves to the other bed. But then one night he falls asleep about the same time that Martel does and they wake up in the morning sort of. Cuddling. Maybe. And it doesn’t feel nearly as weird as it should. And maybe it happens again the next night. He can’t help it if he’s tired. He’s the star player. He’s on the ice for like. A significant amount of time most games.

And then the Océanic go on a winning streak.

The first rule of hockey is that if you notice a pattern that’s contributing to wins, you keep up the pattern. It’s only crazy if it doesn’t work, right? So. He stops moving to the other bed. For hockey.

It’s not a thing.

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