Kaner wakes up soulbonded to Tazer. Then gay shit happens.

A barbeque in Manitoba is one thing. Ending up in some freaky soulbond with Nugent-Hopkins is another.

Sidney groans, because this is ridiculous. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” he says.

Geno can't. Sidney won't.

Patrick Kane has soft hands.

Sidney Crosby isn't the only omega playing in the NHL, but he is the only one suffering from heat-delay.

Patrick knows the Blackhawks have been not-so-subtly shopping around for someone who could bond with number-three-draft-pick Jonathan Toews, but it’s still a little weird for him to be sitting down with a couple of their suits in a conference room he didn’t even know existed.

Conor's not exactly sure what the protocol is when the namemark on your wrist belongs to best player in the world (and your new captain), and you're an undrafted kid out of UMass. Do you wait for him to say something first? Yeah, better wait for him to say something first.

At the 2014 Olympics, Russia injected Zhenya with a bond blocker, same as the last two times he'd been to the games. Only this time, it brought him to his knees and left him gasping, feeling like his soul was ripped from his body. As an unbonded omega, the shot should have no effect. It should have only targeted an active bond. Unbeknownst to Zhenya, Sid collapsed on the ice at the same time.

"I think I have to get bonded," Sid said in a hollow voice, cutting off Geno's building outrage. "Wait, what?" Geno asked, mind jumping like a car on a blown tire. "To who?" "Anybody." Sid's eyes were unfocused, staring through the wall in front of him. "I don't know. I just need to bond." "That's a story," Geno scoffed. He had always thought they had good sex education in Canada, but apparently, the rumors persisted there, too. "You don't stop heat if you bond." "Heat?" Sid asked, eyes squinched up curiously. "G—I'm not. You know I'm an alpha, right?" *** Or five times Sid couldn't bond with an omega and one time he did.

“Sid, I’m so—I’m sorry,” Geno said. “My stupid—I’m ruin everything, I—” “Shut up, Geno,” Sidney said, already intensely weary of listening to Geno’s self-recrimination. “You’ve barely even done anything.” Geno’s voice dropped what sounded like an entire octave. “But I want to.”

The first time Sid meets Geno, he isn’t Geno, he’s Evgeni Malkin, and he’s the enemy. Sid is so pumped up for the game he barely notices him. He doesn’t notice anything except hockey, and Malkin’s good, but that’s all he is. He feels a tinge of sadness when Canada wins, but he guesses he just feels bad. Ovechkin’s not the only one crying, and Sid isn’t so unfeeling he doesn’t have some sympathy for how it must suck to lose. He also gets a headache when he flies back home, but he’s just really overtired is all. He doesn’t think anything of it.

Geno keeps the mental door closed to his teammates in the summer, at least when he can help it; he doesn’t always check in like Sid does. They have other ways of doing that, text and email and social media, and now is the time when they’re supposed to have a break from each other. Geno likes having his head to himself. It’s good for him to get it in order for the next season.

Sidney Crosby comes away from Worlds with a gold medal and a soul bond. He had to fight to win one and he's ready to fight to keep the other.

Connor mutters "I thought you didn't like me," out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't," Jack says. Connor's staring at him. "But you knew," he says. His words might be generic-- gave him a time and place, maybe, but not person. But Jack's weren't. Aren't.