The forty-eight hours after a series clinch existed in a strange pocket of time that felt neither fully real nor fully allowed.
Campus treated the win like a holiday that had been declared without proper legislative process. Strangers in team colors nodded at anyone carrying a hockey bag as if membership in the general vicinity of the rink conferred honorary status. The dining hall served the same food as always but with the energy of a place that believed carbohydrates could be patriotic. Miller walked through the student union like a man running for office on a platform of storage-unit justice and unresolved emotional narrative arcs. He had printed unofficial “First Round: Survived” stickers and was distributing them with the solemnity of someone handing out medals. Damian confiscated t
