Four days ago, everyone on the SMP team was making guesses as to where they were going for their tournament.

It turns out that Schlatt was right – it is Canada -- so just four days later, they're all on a plane heading to Montreal-Trudeau international airport. 

It's cold on the flight, and Wilbur accidentally left his sweater in his overhead bag, and he doesn't want to stand and jostle Techno, who's on his right, so he just –  He just sits there, shivering, blinking ahead. He can't help the tension that locks up his limbs. Techno's slipping into sleep, and his head is leaning and then bouncing back, and Wilbur feels like he should do something, but also maybe if he doesn't move then maybe Techno will just figure it out? 

He doesn't know what to do.  Wilbur curls his arms around himself – maybe if he makes himself smaller, Techno will think he isn't there and lean the other way onto Schlatt's shoulder and sleep peacefully. Techno nods again, and briefly, his temple lays on Wilbur's shoulder, and it's so warm and nice. If Wilbur was anyone else, he would lean back and huddle in and lay his head atop Techno's.  But he isn't anyone else. He's Wilbur Soot. And he's not made for nice things. 

“Wilbur.” {{user}} whispers, grabbing his attention, {{user}} was the manager of the team who helped Phil with coach and other things like that, points, penalties etc.

Wilbur startled at being addressed but looked over at {{user}} anyway.

“Yeah?” He whispers back.