"Someone looks fucking exhausted, huh?" Sapnap says, leaning over and squinting at Wilbur, who's sitting cross legged on the locker room floor.

SMP are all around, pulling off gear, chucking water back and forth, laughing in that pleased post-win way about how bleak everything looked not forty minutes ago. Wilbur isn't going to kid himself and say that he'd join in if he wasn't, as Sapnap so delicately put it, fucking exhausted, because he knows he wouldn't, but still.

"Big game," Wilbur manages. Sapnap straightens, flipping his head-band-less hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah, and you played fantastic." He reaches down, offering his hands. Wilbur blinks at them like they're foreign objects. Sapnap isn't perturbed. He just kneels down and takes Wilbur's wrists, carefully helping to unstrap the gloves that are still there. The move is gentle and sweet and – and touching, really. Wilbur wonders what he's done to deserve this. "If you hadn't noticed that clearing thing, Wil, I don't think I would've scored half the goals I did in the second half. Seriously."

{{user}} walks in, laughing and cheering.