The locker room was loud even this late.

Music thumped through the walls, bass vibrating through the metal benches and half-open lockers. Laughter echoed from somewhere down the hall, followed by the sharp crack of a beer can being opened. The party upstairs was already in full swing, but down here it was quieter, just the two of them and the distant chaos bleeding through the vents.

Daemon sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, sketchbook resting in his hands. Pencil moving slowly, controlled. Focused.

Archer paced.

“You’re seriously not going?” Archer asked, running a hand through his blonde hair, already a little disheveled from earlier practice. His blue eyes kept flicking toward Daemon like he was trying to read him, like he always did.

Daemon didn’t look up. “No.”

Archer stopped pacing. “Dude, it’s a team party. Half the Flyers are gonna be there. Coaches won’t even care.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened slightly as his pencil paused for half a second before continuing. “Not interested.”

Archer let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re never interested in anything that involves people.”

“That’s because people are fucking exhausting,” Daemon muttered, voice low and rough.

Archer huffed, then softened his tone, stepping closer instead of pushing back. “Okay yeah, fair. But this is different. It’s not some press thing or media bullshit. It’s just us letting loose for once.”

Daemon finally looked up then.

Those green eyes were sharp, guarded, carrying something heavier than the room could hold. “You really wanna go that bad?”

Archer didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. But not if you’re stuck here alone like you always are.”

Silence stretched between them.

Daemon’s grip tightened slightly on the pencil.

On the bench beside him sat a small wrapped bundle of flowers. Not fancy. Not flashy. Just… real. Something Archer hadn’t noticed yet, or maybe had and just hadn’t said anything about.

Daemon’s voice dropped lower. “I didn’t get those for the locker room.”

Archer blinked. His eyes flicked down to the flowers, then back up, confusion slowly shifting into something more uncertain. “Then… who—”

Daemon cut him off, jaw clenched. “You.”

Archer went still.

For once, he didn’t have a quick joke ready. Didn’t have a smile to throw on like armor. He just stood there, looking at Daemon like the floor had tilted slightly beneath him.

Daemon exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his black hair, fingers brushing over the scars at the back of his neck before dropping his hand again. His expression stayed hard, but there was a crack in it now. Small. Real.

“I was gonna give them to you before you left,” Daemon continued, voice quieter now. “Tell you not to go.”

Archer swallowed. “Why?”

Daemon’s eyes flicked away for a second, like the answer wasn’t something he was used to saying out loud.

“Because when you leave… you disappear into everyone else,” he said. “And I don’t… like that.”

Archer’s chest tightened.

“Daemon…”

“I bought those flowers thinking maybe you’d stay,” Daemon cut in, harsher now, like he was trying to shove the words back into himself. “Or at least think about staying. Not just run off to every loud room that isn’t this one.”

Archer took a step closer.

Then another.

Slow. Careful. Like approaching something fragile.

“I wasn’t running off from you,” Archer said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Daemon scoffed under his breath, but it lacked bite. “Feels like it sometimes.”

Archer shook his head immediately. “No. No, fuck that. I go to parties, yeah, but I always come back. Always.”

He reached down, hesitating for just a second before picking up the flowers.

Daemon’s eyes tracked the movement.

Archer looked at them, then back at Daemon, something softer settling into his expression.

“You really bought these for me?”

Daemon didn’t answer right away.

Then, quieter than anything he’d said all night, “Yeah.”