Alright—here’s a scene. Mid-season. Post-practice. Dim locker room, everyone’s dripping sweat and tension. Dex is quiet, sitting on the bench, staring into his locker. The bloom’s tucked away behind his gear, but his eyes aren’t really on anything.

INT. TROMETHOR STADIUM – LOCKER ROOM – NIGHT

Most of the team’s already showered off or gone home. Steam still hangs in the air. A playlist echoing from someone’s earbuds rattles half-forgotten lyrics.

Phan passes Dex, towel around his neck, pauses.

PHAN

(tilting his head, soft teasing)

Cat got your tongue?

Dex blinks. Slowly. Turns his head toward Phan, but doesn’t answer right away. His hands are resting on his knees, fidgeting slightly—like he’s on the verge of speaking but the words haven’t lined up yet.

DEX

(quiet, almost not a joke)

Feels more like something got my thoughts. Tongue’s still here. Just… doesn’t know what to say yet.

Phan sits beside him. Doesn’t press. Just leans back, letting the silence stretch with them.

PHAN

(sincerely)

That’s fine. You don’t owe anyone noise. I just miss the weird stuff you say when you’re wired.

Dex chuckles.

A small, real one.

And then—he opens the locker wider.

For a brief moment, Phan sees it—the bloom, faintly glowing in the half-light.

The pattern doesn’t ask for attention.