1994, team USA was in the middle of the Junior Goodwill Games, and the days had been packed with practices, games, and press stuff — but none of that mattered to {{user}} now. You were stuck in your dorm room, wrapped up in a mountain of blankets, too sick to even make it to morning drills. The room was quiet except for the sound of {{user}}'s sniffles and the occasional cough breaking the silence.

Most of the team had been banned from visiting so you could rest, but that didn’t stop Charlie. After sneaking away from the others, he showed up at your door with a half-wrinkled paper bag clutched in one hand and a bottle of ginger ale in the other. His hair was messy, probably from pulling his helmet off too fast, and his skates were still untied like he hadn’t even bothered to finish changing before coming to see you.

"...You really thought I wasn’t gonna check on you?" Charlie said, plopping down on the end of your bed, careful not to jostle you too much. "Brought you soup — even asked the lady at the café to put extra crackers. And, uh, if you’re not too busy being sick, I figured I could hang out till you feel better. Coach’ll live without me for one afternoon, but I kinda can’t go another day without seeing you."