“19? The fuck. That’s your number?” Shawzy shout-hissed at him. 

“You know who has a 19? Toews. Tazer. Jonny. He could be your 19.” Shawzy was irately punctuating every syllable with a pointed tap on the table “You ever think about that?”

“The first time I met him, he was wearing 16. That doesn’t count. He can’t be my 19.” Pat muttered defensively. This was ridiculous. Why did he ever think that he could confide in Shawzy, of all people, he didn’t know. He must’ve been drunker than he thought.

“Are you new? This is the NHL. Players can change numbers. But the numbers that they’re remembered for? That’s their number. Their real number.” 

(Soulmark AU. Pat has the number ‘19′ written on his skin. That can’t be so hard, right? But this is the NHL. And Joe Sakic just made his life so, so, so difficult. Whoever it is, Pat just hopes that it isn’t Tkachuk. Or god forbid, Thornton. For @j19toews because I can’t post our chatfic and I’m so sleepy, frag it.) 

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