The week of the pajama game arrived like a slow-moving natural disaster the entire roster had voted for and immediately regretted.
By Tuesday the group chat had fractured into three hostile factions: the people who had already ordered matching onesies and wanted coordination, the people who believed individuality was sacred even in humiliation, and Miller, who had somehow acquired a full adult-sized dinosaur costume with a working tail and was refusing to elaborate on the cost. Damian muted the chat after the forty-seventh message about whether the dinosaur counted as “regrettable childhood” or “active cry for help.” I know this because he showed me the screenshot that night at his apartment, jaw tight, eyes flat with the particular exhaustion of a captain who had survived road trips and
