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“Ches, where’s your Gretzky? Zamboni’s almost done flooding.”
Ches scrambled around his team lined up at the door and paced to the locker room, where his new teammate should be finished getting dressed. After two months of putting on hockey gear, Ches thought he’d be faster at it by now. He swung the door open, almost dropping his stick in the process.
“Glam! Hurry up, man, they’re almost-” he stopped himself when he saw Glam passed out on the bench. Well, at least his gear was on. Ches sighed and trotted over. “Buddy, it’s your first game day. Get pumped!”
Ches kneeled down in front of Glam’s face and pulled his head up with his gloved hands, avoiding the eye black on his cheeks. Glam’s eyes opened slightly and he mumbled something Ches couldn’t make out.
“Yeesh, you look like shit. Ballet lessons gettin’ to ya?” He rose to his feet and watched his friend struggle to stay upright. “Hold on. I got something that’ll wake you up…” said Ches. There was something he had deep in his hockey bag that he never thought he’d actually use. First time for everything, he supposed.
Glam’s chin hit his chest, making his head jolt up again in another attempt to stay awake, when Ches was suddenly in front of him again with a devious smirk.
“Sorry in advance.”
A sudden sharp pain was sent shooting through his nostrils and up to his head. His eyes flew open and he gasped, taking in another deep whiff of whatever the hell was being shoved in his face.
“AH!” he yelped. “Hey! What the fuck was that?!”
His hand flew to his nose and he rubbed it frantically, trying to rid it of the burning sensation. Ches burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the trash can in the middle of the room. He slapped his stick on the ground, simulating clapping.
“That, my dear Glam, was smelling salts. Old-school adrenaline kick. Works every time.”
“You could've just poured water on me, or I don't know, said my name a few more times before you try to kill me!”
Ches shrugged. “Water’s boring, and we don't have time for gentle persuasion. Game’s about to start, Gretsky. Your only thoughts now are kill or be killed.”
Glam glared at him and popped his helmet over his wild hair. “I'll kill you if you try that again. I swear to God, if I ever fall asleep again, just leave me. No more of that,” he said, gesturing at the small packet in Ches’s hand with one hand while the other grabbed for his stick.
“Can’t make me promise that when you're the one sleeping on the job,” Ches replied with a wink. He turned to look over his shoulder as he made for the door. “Now, come on, superstar. Your adoring fans are waiting.”
Glam grumbled a few choice words but followed, staring down the back of his friend’s head. By the time they hit the ice, the remnants of the smelling salts had him fully alert, though he was still cursing Ches and his “hockey barbarism.”
With the warmups finished and the teams huddled together to figure out lines, Ches gave a lopsided grin from the bench. “Feeling alive now, zombie?”
Glam narrowed his eyes. “You better hope I don't get the chance to return to favor.”
Ches laughed. “Save it for the game.” He leaned closer to whisper in Glam’s ear. “Besides, I made sure they'd play Twisted Sister if you scored.”
Glam’s eyes widened and a smile crept up his face. Game on.