You have had tickets for Red Wings' game against their number one rivals, Toronto Maple Leafs and needless to say, you were excited to finally see the game live. You haven't missed a game on TV in years, but you know seeing the game in person will be such a different experience. You have always imagined the atmosphere in the arena would be something unimaginable and unforgettable. But things don't always go as planned when you look forward to something... on the day of the game, you find yourself with a bad cold and stuffy nose.
"I can't go looking like this! Look at me, I look like shit," you whine pathetically to your friend, who offered to accompany you, even though she is not really a hockey fan. More like a soccer fan.
"Is that supposed to be something new?" she chuckles, earning a sock to a head and a silent threat that she will wake up with her hair cut.
"Oh, really how? I am going home after getting rid of your germs. I mean of you and your germs. I am not a doctor."
"You would kill more people than heal."
"Like you will keep more criminals on the loose than in jail," she fires back, referring to your dream of becoming a policewoman. Your throw a pillow to her head: "You suck. And you are not helping me one bit."
"I told you, no miracle could help your sick ass."
"Okay, it was fun, but I am serious now. Please, Y/F/N, I need your help."
"Don't worry, we will figure something out. No one will notice you are sick, trust me."
~~
Her help didn't really bring miraculous transformation. The skin around your nose is still red and raspy and the sneezing didn't go away. But she took another approach, emphasizing your attributes – big E/C eyes, long and healthy hair, your smile and a tiny dimple in your cheek.
"That should do it. Just try not to sneeze at other people, okay? And have fun."
"Too bad you don't wanna go with me."
"Eh, that's not for me. Too violent and I never see the puck," she explains. When you sigh, she continues: "Beside, you don't see their faces under those helmets. While you can see soccer players' faces. Which is a plus, because some of them are damn cute."
"Sport is not just about cute faces, Y/N, come on!"
"I know, just an observation. Okay, weirdo, have fun at the game. Call me afterwards if you need a lift."
She is the one with a license and tonight she offered to take you to Joe Louis arena. Not wishing to spend hours on the bus, you accepted her offer and called her over to use her make over skills on you.
"I will, thank you so much. Enjoy watching your soccer game."
She only waves and drives away, joining the endless traffic on the highway, leaving you alone in the crowd of hockey fans. The wave of people carries you to the inside of the arena, where you freeze on spot in awe. This is your first time seeing the inside of the building, seeing the hanging jerseys of retired numbers, seeing hundreds of supportive fans dressed in Wings' jerseys. American and Canadian flag proudly hanging from the ceiling and a magnificent jumbotron above the ice. Your tickets are a few rows above the home team's bench, giving you the perfect close view of the action.
Even though you may look and sound silly, but you can't help yourself and start cheering when the team takes the ice for the warm ups. Some of the players turn to you and grin at your enthusiasm, some of them even wave at you. Number 71, wonder child Dylan Larkin, actually waves at you with a wide grin and nearly has a close encounter with the boards. His red cheeks turn even redder as he sees you chuckle.
