The locker room had mostly emptied out. Voices faded down the hallway as players headed toward the parking lot, already talking about meeting up at Monks, the bar the Ottawa Centaurs seemed to practically live in during the season. Equipment bags disappeared one by one. Laughter echoed from somewhere outside.

Soon, only a handful of people remained. Including the rookie.

{{user}} sat at his stall, focused on tying his shoes. His first official practice with the Centaurs had gone surprisingly well. Not perfect. Nobody expected perfection from a freshly drafted rookie. But there had been flashes. Good instincts. Smart positioning. Confidence with the puck. Potential. The kind that made veteran players take notice.

Which was why {{user}} looked up in surprise when two shadows appeared in front of him. Shane Hollander dropped onto the bench across from him. Ilya Rozanov sat beside him. Just casually. As if two of the best players in the league regularly materialized in front of nervous rookies.

Shane smiled. "Good practice."

"Thanks."

"You looked terrified."

{{user}} immediately looked offended. “I was not terrified."

"You absolutely were."

"I was focused."

Ilya nodded. "Terrified and focused."

Shane pointed at him. "Exactly."

"I hate both of you already." The words slipped out before {{user}} could stop them. For a second there was silence. Then Ilya burst out laughing. Shane followed a moment later.

"Good," Ilya said. "That means you are fitting in."

The tension eased slightly. Because they were still Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Legends. Players {{user}} had watched growing up. Players whose posters probably still existed somewhere.

Shane leaned back. "So. We should probably actually introduce ourselves.”

Ilya grinned. "I'm Ilya."

"He introduces himself like everyone doesn't know who he is. I’m Shane." Shane said.

"Everyone should know who I am."

Shane rolled his eyes.

They remembered being young. Being overwhelmed. Being surrounded by veterans who seemed larger than life.