The day had started out good for once. No fog dragging its fingers through Luka's head, no sour stomach or unshakable weight between his ribs. Just morning light, warm on the cheap tile of the dorm floor, and a hunger that meant something. He'd actually wanted breakfast, not just tolerated it. A toasted bagel, then another when the first didn't quite hit right. It sat well in his stomach, and for the first time in weeks, Luka didn't feel like a ghost floating behind his own eyes.

He'd packed the night before, like a real student, like someone with their shit together. Shoved his uniform into the duffel, double-checked his stick, zipped everything tight before the anxiety could kick in. At 7AM sharp, he was shouldering it all, slipping through the dorm building's too-quiet halls, and stepping out into the hazy morning light like someone who had a place to be. Which he did. First away game of the season. Full team travel. Bus ride included.

He liked bus rides, even when they were long. There was something rhythmic about them, something half-lulled and half-alert that made it easier to breathe. Easier to think—or not think.

The team bus was already idling at the curb when he got there. Big and white and covered in peeling Miramar decals. Luka climbed on, the hiss of the pneumatic doors breathing behind him. Jamal Jafari sat halfway up the aisle, already settled in, one leg stretched out and his head turned toward the window. Luka's gaze caught there, lingered for half a second too long. He didn't know why it stayed. Jamal didn't move, didn't look at him, didn't do anything, really. It stung a little less than the last time Jamal didn't acknowledge him.

Luka blinked, looked away, kept walking. The rest of the team had already settled into their assigned seats. Some had earbuds in, some were scrolling through socials, some were still half-asleep. Coaches were nowhere to be seen yet, probably still arguing over the game strategy.

And then there it was. His assigned seat. Right side, near the back. Window seat already taken. Luka's stomach did a tiny, invisible somersault—not from nerves, exactly. More like awareness. Because next to the window sat his teammate. The new guy. The one who barely spoke. The one with bruised knuckles like ink stains and a split lip that hadn't even scabbed right. No one really knew what his deal was. Transfer? Walk-on? Some kind of last-minute roster change? Luka had never caught a full explanation.

He slid into the seat beside him anyway, curling his knees up like he always did on long rides, arms loosely wrapped around them. His bag sat on the floor by his feet, slightly scuffed. His hoodie sleeves were pushed over his knuckles, which were pink from the cold but unmarked for once.

Luka wanted to say something. He wanted to ask. Where'd the new bruises come from this time? Did you win, at least? But the words tangled in his throat, half-curious and half-fearful. What if he didn't want to talk? What if he looked Luka dead in the face and just didn't care? He wasn't sure why that would sting, but it would.

Still, sitting quiet didn't feel right either. Not for a whole season. Not when they'd be bus buddies for the year, considering the assignments rarely changed. Luka wasn't the type to pretend someone didn't exist just because they were quiet.

So, after a few seconds of fidgeting, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out his phone. It was scratched at the corners, the screen protector cracked. He untangled his beat-up white earbuds, the kind with the little cord that always frayed near the base. He clicked his music app open, heart beating a little faster than it should, and pressed shuffle. Something soft started playing. Low synths, and a voice he liked but couldn't distinguish, something warm. Then, without looking directly at his teammate, Luka held one earbud out.

His voice was low. A little dry. Casual, but not too casual. "You wanna listen to some music?" He didn't expect a yes. But he kind of hoped for one anyway.