The first thing Phil does when they get back home is cancel practice.

Wilbur worries at first, maybe they didn't do as well as they were supposed to – even though they won all the matches they played – and maybe it was his fault – even though it's a team of people on the ice and not just him – but no. Rest, Phil tells them, together, by yourselves, whatever works best for you. Just please rest and we'll get back to work soon.

Sapnap doesn't seem to want to rest. At least, not in the traditional sense.

"Sleepover at mine," he crows, jumping up to hook an arm around George's shoulder. George twists easily and shoves him off. It's a violent movement, but the push is light and Sapnap hardly even breaks stride, and Wilbur blinks in awe. "I'm buying snacks."

"Chips ahoy," Quackity says, sidling up into George's vacated spot under Sapnap's arm.

"Yes sir," Sapnap says.

"And Cheez-its."

"Obviously."

"And microwave waffles."

"Naturally."

"How about some fruit?" Techno asks, voice bland, eyebrow up. Sapnap sticks a tongue out at him, but he promises to buy some grapes or kiwis or something.

"That or something is very promising," Techno sighs, "thanks Sapnap."

"Who else? George? Hey buddy – hey – wanna come over? I'll make you some coffee."

George shoots Sapnap the world's most withering glare. Sapnap's smile widened. George stops glaring to sigh like Sapnap has ruined his life. "Whatever. I'll be over later."

"Yes!" He cheers. "Schlatt? What say you, big guy?"

"Get sour cream and onion chips and I'll think about it." Schlatt sighs.