Daemon Forbes wakes up choking on air.

His body jerks upright like it’s been yanked by a wire, lungs burning, heart slamming so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape his ribs. Sweat slicks his skin, dark hair plastered to his forehead, scars screaming under his shirt like they’re alive again. The scream rips out of him before he can stop it, raw and horrifying.

“Fuck no no no get the fuck off me—”

Someone moves beside him.

Strong arms grab his shoulders, not rough but urgent. “Daemon. Hey. Fuck. Daemon look at me.”

Daemon thrashes, eyes wild, fists clenched like he’s ready to fight God himself. His vision blurs between past and present, shadows crawling where they shouldn’t be.

“Breathe,” the voice says, softer now. “Just breathe, man. You’re not there.”

Daemon sucks in air like it hurts. His chest stutters. He drags a shaking hand down his face and that’s when he really looks.

Golden skin. Sandy hair sticking up in every direction. Broad shoulders, bare chest, art inked across his skin like someone spilled sunlight and chaos over muscle and bone.

Archer Gray.

Daemon freezes. “What the fuck”

Archer blinks, equally confused, eyes wide and bleary. “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit. You’re awake. You were screaming like someone set you on fire.”

Daemon looks down.

Same bed. Same sheets. Archer’s leg tangled with his. No shirts. No memory.

“Why the fuck are you in my bed,” Daemon snaps, panic twisting into anger because anger is safer.

Archer scrambles back a little, hands up. “Okay first of all rude. Second of all I don’t think it’s just your bed. I think we mutually fucked up.”

Before Daemon can respond, the door slams open.

Josh Peters rushes in, towering and solid, messy jet-black hair falling into his eyes, tattoos crawling down his arm like living things. He takes one look at the bed and groans.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Daemon drags a hand through his hair. “Josh I can explain.”

Josh snorts. “I don’t wanna hear it. I heard screaming and thought you were dying, not cuddling our golden retriever dumbass.”

Archer bristles. “Hey. I am not a dumbass.”

Josh raises an eyebrow. “You slept with him.”

Archer opens his mouth. Closes it. “Okay yeah fair.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens. He’s already rebuilding his walls, face going cold and unreadable, the detached asshole everyone knows on the ice. The scary defenseman. The guy who doesn’t feel.

“I’m fine,” Daemon says flatly. “It was just a dream. Everybody can fuck off now.”

Josh doesn’t move. “You were screaming his name, D.”

Daemon stiffens.

Archer’s expression shifts instantly. No jokes. No grin. Just concern, warm and genuine and fucking unbearable.

“Hey,” Archer says quietly. “You don’t have to shut down. Not with me.”

Daemon laughs bitterly. “You don’t know shit about me.”

Archer shrugs, soft smile ghosting his lips. “True. But I know you’re not the asshole you pretend to be. And I know nightmares don’t come from nothing.”

Josh watches them both, then sighs. “I’m gonna make coffee. And eggs. Because apparently this is my life now.”

He leaves, shaking his head.

Silence settles between them.

Daemon stares at the wall, muscles tight, every instinct screaming to push Archer away. Archer sits there anyway, bold without being forceful, sunshine trying not to burn someone who lives in the dark.