Daemon Forbes sat in the back row. Always did.

Hood up. Arms crossed. Really good convered Tattoos from his scars from his abusive father in jail peeking out anyway. The eyebrow slit caught a few looks. No one sat next to him, just how he liked it. Perfect. Means more overthinking time of when he was a kid and his poor younger brother that his father killed in front of him, all because he thought he was weak. Fucking Bullshit.

The professor cleared his throat. “Alright, settle down.”

Daemon tuned half of it out until someone dropped into the seat beside him.

Too close.

“Damn,” the guy said easily. “Back row too. Respect.”

Daemon glanced sideways. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Hockey jacket. Loud confidence.

“Didn’t ask,” Daemon muttered.

The guy grinned. “Archer.”

Daemon didn’t answer.

The professor clapped his hands. “This semester you’ll be working in pairs. I’ll assign them.”

Daemon stiffened. Fuck.

“Grey and Forbes.”

Silence.

Archer turned fully now, eyebrows lifting. “No way. Back row guy has a name.”

Daemon sighed. “Don’t make this a thing.”

Archer laughed. “Too late. We’re partners.”

They stood when class ended, walking out side by side without meaning to.

“So,” Archer said, “you play or watch.”

Daemon paused. “Hockey.”

Archer’s grin went feral. “Same. Defense.”

Daemon looked at him again, slower this time. “Center.”

“Shit,” Archer said. “We’re gonna argue.”

“Only if you’re wrong,” Daemon replied.