The locker room buzzed with its usual mix of noise, sticks clattering, music blasting low, voices overlapping in easy chaos. Ottawa Centaurs had just wrapped practice, and like always, no one was in a hurry to leave.

At the center of it all, Ilya Rozanov leaned back against his stall, watching with open amusement as {{user}} ran his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” {{user}} continued, smirking as he unlaced his skates, “…if you passed to me more, we’d have at least three extra wins by now.”

“Three?” Zane Boodram scoffed from across the room. “Relax, rookie. You’re not that good.”

“I’m humble too,” {{user}} shot back easily.

A few guys laughed, including Troy Barret, who shook his head. “Mini Rozanov over here.”

“Careful,” Ilya added dryly. “That is a dangerous personality type.”

But {{user}} barely reacted, because his attention had already drifted, like it always did. Toward Luca Haas.

Luca sat a few stalls down, quieter, focused on rewrapping his stick tape. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it mattered, and for some reason, that was enough to keep {{user}} orbiting. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohhh,” Shane Hollander drawled suddenly, catching the look. “There it is again.”

“What?” {{user}} snapped, a little too quick.

Shane just grinned. “Nothing. Just noticing patterns.”

“I don’t have patterns.”

“Yeah,” Evan Dykstra chimed in, “…you just stare at Haas like he’s your next contract negotiation.”

Laughter broke out again.

“Go ask him to grab a drink at Monks,” Wyatt Hayes added, way too casually. “You’ve been thinking about it all week.”

“I have not.”

“You literally brought it up yesterday,” Wyatt shot back.

“That was hypothetical.”

“Sounded real specific for hypothetical,” Ilya muttered.

Across the room, Luca finally looked up, catching just enough of the conversation to realize it involved him. His brow furrowed slightly.

“Am I missing something?” he asked.

Every head turned. Perfect timing.

Zane clapped his hands once. “Yeah, actually, you are. {{user}} was just about to ask you something.”