Damian doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t soften. Just keeps wrapping tape around his hand, smirk sharp enough to cut, voice calm as death.
“Don’t tempt me.”
And the room howls louder.
Because nobody chirps me harder than my own Captain.
The taunts don’t stop. Not when I pull my pads off, not when I slam my helmet into the stall, not when I try to bury myself under a towel like a corpse at my own funeral.
Cole’s still screeching about it, Mats is smirking like the devil, Tyler keeps making faces like he just walked in on his parents, and Damian—Damian’s sitting there calm as a grave, smirk carved across his mouth like he just handed me my obituary and signed it with blood.
I should shut up. IknowI should shut up.
But I don’t.
I snap my towel at him, reckless, grinning even though my ears are still burning scarlet. “Three days? Please, Cap. You wouldn’t last three hours without me.”
The room goes dead silent.
Like,dead.Helmets freeze halfway to hooks. Cole’s mouth drops open. Mats actually blinks. Tyler looks like he’s about to faint again.
Damian’s eyes lift, slow. Steady. Pinning me to the bench where I sit like I just signed my own death warrant.
The smirk he gives me is lethal.
From two stalls down, Cole slaps a hand over his face and groans loud enough to echo. “Oh, curls,” he says, shaking his head with the biggest grin. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
I groan, dragging the towel over my head, muffling my voice into the fabric. “Shut up. I know.”
The vets crack up. Tyler shrieks like he can’t believe I’m still alive. Mats mutters “rip” under his breath. Even Viktor smirks, and that’s when I know I’m doomed.
Because Damian hasn’t said a word yet.
He doesn’t have to.
He’ll collect later.
And I’ll pay every second of it.
The locker room is still vibrating with laughter when it happens.
Damian stands. Slowly. Heavy. Deliberate. The kind of movement that makes every helmet in the room tilt up, every stick tap die out. My stomach drops through the floor before he even takes a step.
He doesn’t look at the others. Doesn’t need to. His eyes are steady on me the whole way across the room.
And then he bends, plucks my jacket off the hook.
Not just any jacket—his.One of his old Reapers jackets he tossed me weeks ago, too broad in the shoulders for him now, still too big for me but I wear it anyway because it smells like him.
He shakes it out once, then settles it over my shoulders like it belongs there. His hands smooth it down my arms, heavy, slow.
“Captain—”
His hand pats my back, firm and soft at the same time. And then his fingers slide up, pushing a strand of curls out of my face, tucking it behind my ear like he’s fixing me for a photo.
I swallow hard. My chest hammers. My lips part uselessly.
“My sweet little pup,” Damian says, soft in a way that guts me worse than when he growls.
