The bus smelled like wet gear and stale air, rain streaking the windows in messy lines.

Daemon sat pressed against the window, hood up, headphones in, pretending like the rest of the team didn’t exist. His reflection stared back at him faintly. Dark eyes. Tired. A face that always looked like it was one second away from snapping.

He preferred it that way.

“Move.”

Daemon didn’t budge. “No.”

A second passed.

Then his bag got shoved off the seat anyway.

“Too late,” Archer said, dropping down beside him like he owned the damn place.

Daemon ripped one earbud out, glaring. “You ever heard of asking?”

“Yeah,” Archer said. “You ever heard of not being a dick?”

Daemon let out a dry laugh. “Then go sit somewhere else.”

“Can’t. Full bus. You’re my lucky winner.”

“Fuck off.”

“Make me.”

Daemon turned toward him slowly, something sharp flashing in his eyes. “You really want to test that?”

Archer didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned in a little, grin lazy but eyes way too focused. “You’ve been trying to test me for weeks.”

“I don’t try,” Daemon said. “I just do.”

“Yeah,” Archer said quietly, like he actually meant it. “I’ve noticed.”

That threw Daemon off for half a second.

Just enough to piss him off more.

“Then maybe you should learn when to back the hell off.”

“Or,” Archer countered, “maybe you should stop acting like everything’s a fight.”

“It usually is.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

Archer huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it.”

“Yeah?” Archer tilted his head, eyes flicking over him in a way that was way too deliberate. “Then why do you always look like you want to fight me or fuck me?”

The words landed heavy.

Daemon went completely still, then turned his head slowly, staring at him like he was deciding whether to swing.

“…Say that again,” he said, low.

Archer didn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”

“You’ve got a real fucking problem,” Daemon snapped.

“Maybe,” Archer said. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Daemon laughed, harsh and sharp. “You think I want anything to do with you?”

“I think,” Archer said, leaning closer, voice dropping, “you don’t know what you want, so you just default to being pissed.”

Daemon’s hand shot out, grabbing Archer’s hoodie and yanking him forward just enough to make a point. “Careful.”

Archer’s breath hitched for half a second.

But he didn’t pull away.

“Or what,” Archer said, quieter now. “You’ll prove me right?”

Daemon’s grip tightened. His chest felt too tight, pulse loud in his ears.

“Keep talking,” he muttered, “and I might.”

Archer’s gaze flicked down to his mouth for a split second, then back up. “Yeah. That’s kinda what I’m counting on.”

Daemon shoved him back hard, releasing his grip like he’d touched something he shouldn’t have. “You’re fucked in the head.”