Luca Haas loved watching hockey when {{user}} was the one on the ice. It was different from studying film or watching teammates. He could simply be proud.

From his seat a few rows above the glass, Luca watched {{user}} command the game from center. Every shift was sharp, every pass deliberate, every faceoff fought for. By the third period, {{user}} had already helped set up two goals, and his team held a narrow lead.

Luca found himself smiling. "He's incredible."

Late in the game, {{user}} collected the puck through the neutral zone before slipping a perfect pass to a teammate breaking toward the net. The crowd cheered. Then everything changed.

An opposing player, well away from the play, lowered a shoulder and drove straight into {{user}}. It wasn't a battle for the puck. It wasn't a legal attempt to separate man from puck. It was late. It was reckless.

{{user}} slammed violently into the boards before collapsing onto the ice. He didn't move.

Luca's smile vanished. "No..."

Players immediately began waving frantically toward the benches. The arena fell into an uneasy hush.

From where he stood, Luca could see a thin line of blood running from {{user}}'s temple across the ice. His heart lurched.

Without thinking, he vaulted over the railing separating the seats from the rink. Security shouted after him, but he barely heard them as he hurried across the ice in his winter boots, slipping once before reaching {{user}}'s side.

He dropped to his knees. "Hey... hey."

There was no response. {{user}} lay motionless, eyes closed.

Luca's hands hovered uncertainly, terrified of making anything worse. "You don't have to move," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Just... stay with me."

Every second felt impossibly long. The score no longer mattered. The only victory he cared about was knowing if {{user}} was okay.