Archer had been pacing the tiny dorm kitchen for so long that the oven timer beeped like it was done with his shit. He practically dove for the cake, pulling it out even though the frosting was already sliding like it was trying to escape.

“Okay,” Archer whispered. “Please don’t fall apart. I’m begging.”

The front door opened.

Oh fuck.

Daemon walked in with his hoodie up, hair still damp, shoulders tight like he was bracing for impact. His eyes flicked to Archer, then the cake, then back to Archer like, what the hell am I looking at.

“…What are you doing?” Daemon asked.

“I am,” Archer said, throwing his hands toward the disaster-cake, “absolutely not surprising you.”

Daemon raised a brow. “Archer.”

“Wait, listen,” Archer rushed. “It’s just us. No party. No screaming people. No fifty hockey dudes yelling your name. You don’t even have to pretend to enjoy this. You can scowl at me the whole fucking time. It’s hot.”

Daemon’s lips twitched. A reluctant almost-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Archer lit the single candle. Just one. A quiet little glow that couldn’t hurt anyone.

Daemon stayed by the doorway like he was deciding whether to stay or run back out into the cold. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw locked tight.

“You don’t have to like today,” Archer said softly. “I just want you to know you’re loved. Even if it’s your birthday. Even if it sucks.”

Daemon exhaled, eyes flicking away. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Archer said. “You deserve someone who gives a shit.”

“I’m not good at birthdays,” Daemon muttered. “Or being… celebrated. Or whatever the fuck this is.”

“That’s fine,” Archer said, stepping closer. “I’m good at this. So let me handle it.”

A beat passed. Then Daemon leaned forward and blew out the candle.

Archer kissed him, warm and careful, hands cupping his jaw like something fragile and precious.

Daemon kissed back for a moment, then broke away, eyes lowering again.

“I have practice,” he said. “Coach fucked up the schedule again. It’s in an hour. I need to change.”

Archer blinked. “Right now? Seriously?”

Daemon grabbed his duffel bag without answering.

Then his phone buzzed.

He looked down.

Everything in him went still.

His jaw clenched, his shoulders locked, and the softness Archer had managed to coax out just… vanished.

“Daemon?” Archer asked. “What is it?”

Daemon stared at the screen another second, then locked it with a sharp click. “Nothing.”