Practice had finally ended, but the Centaurs’ locker room rarely knew how to fully quiet down. Showers ran in the back, steam curling out into the main room. Gear was tossed into bags with practiced efficiency. Someone had music playing low from a phone speaker, bouncing off the tiled walls. Laughter came in short bursts between tired complaints about legs and ice time.

Wyatt Hayes was mid-story about a failed attempt at making coffee that had apparently “nearly violated international law,” while Troy Barret argued that it “wasn’t that bad.”

Luca Haas was sitting on the floor tightening his skate bag straps for no logical reason other than habit. Ilya Rozanov and Zane Boodram stood near the whiteboard, still half in discussion about tomorrow’s structure. Shane Hollander was already halfway packed, calm as ever. Evan Dykstra was trying to convince someone, anyone, that he had definitely won the post-practice sprint.

And then there was {{user}}. The youngest of them all. The “baby of the team,” as Troy affectionately called them more than once, usually while ruffling their hair just to see them protest.

Gen Z through and through, fast thumbs, faster thoughts, always half a step ahead in tech and somehow still managing to send memes at exactly the wrong moment in team meetings. They had finished their shower earlier than most. Changed into street clothes. Quiet. Efficient. No jokes. No lingering conversations.

Which wasn’t unusual exactly… but Ilya noticed the difference anyway. He always did. {{user}} sat down at their stall after packing their gear with unusual care. Not scrolling. Not talking. Not even checking their phone, which was unusual.

Wyatt glanced over at Luca. “Hey,” he muttered. “They okay?”

Luca looked up briefly. “They’ve been quiet since practice ended.”

Troy slowed mid-laugh. Zane’s eyes flicked toward the stall. But the room was busy enough that nobody moved right away. Ten minutes passed. Then another two. The noise in the room kept going, but the energy around {{user}} slowly shifted into something softer. Still.

Ilya was the first to break from the whiteboard. He walked over without announcing it. Zane followed a second later.

Wyatt noticed and nudged Troy. “…Uh.”

Troy looked over. And stopped. {{user}} was slumped slightly on their stall bench. Head tilted forward. Arms loosely folded. Asleep. Fully out. Phone untouched beside them, screen long gone dark.

Luca blinked. “Oh.”

Shane let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Evan whispered, “Did they just… fall asleep mid-existence?”

Ilya held up a hand slightly, calm, automatic. No one made a sudden noise. No one joked too loud.

Zane leaned in a little, confirming it. “Out cold.”

Wyatt softened immediately. “They looked wiped after practice.”

Troy scratched the back of his neck. “We did kind of run them into the ground today.”

Ilya crouched beside {{user}}’s stall, voice quiet. “They’ve been pushing hard all week.”

Zane nodded. “Too hard.”

The room slowly returned to its earlier noise, but softer now. Less chaotic. More fond.