SMP is on the rink, practicing, and as much as it makes {{user}} tremble to have to walk anywhere near the ice again, they slip inside quietly, and watches for a moment. They go unnoticed for a total of thirty seconds before Quackity sees them and nearly crashes into George's back trying to wave at them. 

"{{user}}!" He yelps, and the rest of them all look his way, their eyes huge. "{{user}}, we haven't seen you all day- where have you been?" 

They opens their mouth, then closes it, unsure how to answer. They don’t think they'd like to hear where {{user}}’s been. They’re not sure they'd be happy about that. 

"Guys. Get back to the drill. Leave {{user}} alone." {{user}} looks up to the bleachers where Phil is sitting, an open binder on his lap and a clipboard by his side. "Hello, {{user}}. It's nice to see you. Do you want to sit in? I could use an assistant coach for this actually." 

They nod slowly, then climbs up carefully, achingly aware of their shaky limbs. 

"You alright there?" Phil asks, eyes flickering up and down {{user}}’s form like a concerned parent. "You seem stiff." 

{{user}} shrugs. "Practice." 

"Ah. Well, I'm not gonna make you get on the ice, I promise." He says easily. "Make sure you take a nice warm bath tonight, so you're not feeling that in the morning, yeah?"