The score was 20 to 10. Michigan players were bombarded by the crowd. People were shouting about playoffs. Words could be heard like, "Buckeye ready!" and "Beat Ohio!".

The scenes were playing out on a TV screen, in a dimmed living room where two men sat opposite of each other on the couch. Once had light, tawny brown skin and dark hazel eyes, with a head of messy, dark brown hair. The other had fair skin with a fading tan, freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks, dark brown hair gelled up messily, stubble on his chin, and dark brown eyes.

They stared at the score, both with completely different expression. The hazel eyed boy seemed smug, collected. The brown-eyed boy had a slight, bitter scowl on his features.

Finally, the smug one glanced over, his face knowing and somewhat cocky. "Don't cry, Lafayette. These things can't be helped when you're playing the third ranked team in the country."

"Can it, Michigan." Lafayette snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're team's not even that good."

"Says the state with the unranked team." Michigan laughed. "I really needed that win, Indiana. My boys are primed and ready to fight them some Buckeyes." Michigan didn't mention that the day after his fight with Ontario, Iowa, another unranked team, beat Michigan by one point, and that had dampened his mood even further.

Indiana glared ahead. "I hope Ohio beats you." He muttered to himself.

Michigan's eyes snapped up, his demeanor instantly changing. "What was that?"

Indiana glanced over, "Huh?"

"What. Did you. Just say." Lance growled, his dark eyes like charred, charged emeralds.

Indiana sat still for a second, like a deer in headlights, before shooting up and bolting it outside, into the blizzard that was now hitting Lansing.

"That's what I thought." Michigan murmured.