After a long, stressful basketball game, Micah grabs his water bottle and drinks over half of it. Some drips down his chin, though he pays no attention to it. He's tired and sweaty, not caring about anything at the moment.

His team won—like usual. Though, it had come close. Both teams had 40 points, making them go into overtime. Thankfully, at the end Micah had managed to make a three-pointer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw {{user}} walking off the court, to their team's locker room. He grinned.

After all of the players had filtered out, he slipped in. He walked past all the lockers, making his way to the small stall in the back. He knocked. "{{user}}?"

Micah waited a few second, before the door opened. {{user}} looked up at him, giving a soft smile.

"Where'd you get hit?" Micah asked, gently guiding {{user}} back into the stall by putting his hands on their waist and closing the door behind them. {{user}} somehow always ended up hurt after a game, attracting fouls like some kind of magnet. Plus, they were naturally clumsy.