The rink always smelled like cold air, sweat, and sharpened steel.

Daemon Forbes liked it that way. Clean.

Predictable. Quiet in the way nothing else in his life ever was.

Except today was not quiet.

Today was loud as hell.

“FORBES, MOVE YOUR ASS.”

Archer Gray’s voice cut across the ice like a siren with way too much personality behind it.

Daemon didn’t look at him. Just kept skating drills, movements precise, controlled, mechanical.

“You ignoring me again?” Archer chirped. “Rude. Deeply offensive. I’m wounded.” No response.

Practice whistle blew. Players slowed. Sticks tapped ice. Noise rose everywhere.

Daemon stepped off the rink and headed straight for the bench, grabbing his phone from his bag.

The screen lit up.

Unknown number.

His stomach dropped instantly.

Not unknown.

Blocked.

His chest went tight. Too tight.

He stared at the screen as it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His hands felt numb when he answered. “…What.”

The voice on the other end was slurred. Thick. Familiar in the worst possible way. “Daemon.”

Daemon froze.

He walked over immediately.

“Hey,” Archer said lightly, nudging his shoulder.

“You look like someone stole your soul again.

Everything okay?”

Daemon turned slightly away, voice low into the phone. “Don’t call me.”

“Daemon,” Archer whispered, “who is that?”

Daemon held up a hand sharply. Stop.

Archer did not stop.

“Is it your dad again? Because if it is I swear I will personally—”

Daemon hung up.

His hand was shaking so badly the phone nearly slipped.

Archer leaned closer, voice softer but persistent.

“Hey. Talk to me. What did he say? Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Daemon didn’t answer.

Archer touched his arm.

That was the mistake.

Daemon snapped.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

The entire locker room went silent.

“I said stop,” he snarled. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Stop fucking hovering like I’m some broken thing you need to fix.”

“I was just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your help,” Daemon shot back. “I don’t need your sunshine bullshit. I don’t need you in my space every five goddamn seconds asking if I’m okay.”

“I care about you,” Archer said quietly.

Daemon laughed harshly.

“Yeah? Congratulations. That sounds like a you problem.”

Silence crushed the room.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snapped

“You think because you smile a lot and act like a golden retriever on caffeine that you can just barge into my life and fix shit? You can’t. You don’t understand a fucking thing.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I don’t owe you that.”

“Maybe not,” Archer said, “but pushing everyone away every time something hurts isn’t exactly working for you either.”

That hit.

Hard.

“I said leave me alone,” he whispered.

Archer didn’t move.

“JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE!” The shout echoed off metal lockers.

Then silence.