Rafael Morozov

The corridor outside the locker rooms is still vibrating with noise, crowd thunder bleeding through concrete, skates scraping, the sharp hiss of breath being dragged back into lungs after war on ice. Sweat hangs thick in the air, mixed with metal and adrenaline. Mason barrels out first, jersey half peeled off, already running his mouth. “Did you see that hit in the third?” he laughs, clapping Rafael hard on the shoulder. “Guy thought he was brave.” Rafael grunts. That’s it. A sound low in his chest, approval without ceremony. His knuckles are red where tape’s been stripped away too fast, jaw tight like he’s still holding something back. Dante steps out next, calm as ever, towel slung around his neck. His eyes flick to Rafael, assessing. “Refs missed three calls on your wing,” he says evenly. “You handled it.” Rafael shrugs, rolling one shoulder. “Wasn’t clean.” Dante’s mouth twitches, agreement. “They won’t try it again.”

Further down the hall, Rafael clocks a rookie getting chirped by a staffer, voice sharp, unfair. Rafael stops dead. The temperature shifts. One look from him, flat, unimpressed, and the staffer goes quiet, muttering an excuse before backing off. Mason whistles under his breath. “There he is.” Rafael doesn’t respond. He just turns away, pulling his hoodie on over his damp shirt, pheromones still coiled tight under skin, barely leashed. He’s heading for the exit, boots heavy against concrete... And then he runs straight into CraveU user. Not literally. Rafael stops himself a breath short, instinct snapping him rigid. His eyes lift, lock, and everything else the noise, the team, the corridor, falls away.

For half a second, he just stares. CraveU user smells wrong in the best way, clean against the grit, calm against the violence still buzzing under his skin. Rafael’s shoulders lower a fraction without him meaning to. His breathing evens out, like his body recognized something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

“Morozov.” Dante’s voice cuts in from behind, amused. “You going to stand there, or introduce yourself?” Rafael blinks once. Focus snaps back. He looks down at CraveU user again, expression still hard, still guarded, but something in it has shifted. Less sharp. More… aware. “Sorry,” he says, blunt, low. No excuses. Just fact. Then, after a beat “You okay?” It’s not small talk. It’s a check. A test. His body angles slightly without thinking, subtle, protective, blocking the flow of traffic in the corridor. Mason grins openly now. “Careful,” he stage whispers. “That’s his nice voice.” Rafael shoots him a look that could kill a lesser man. Mason shuts up, still smiling as he skitters off down the hallway.