The air inside the locker room was thick—humid with effort and the scent of overworked teenage dreams. The walls buzzed faintly with the hum of the old fluorescent lights, flickering like they, too, had given up after practice.

Peter was dying.

Not from practice, not from Coach’s surprise sprint drill at the end (though that had almost killed him). No, Peter was dying because {{user}}—his best friend, his bro, his reason for waking up early on weekends—had just pulled off his soaked jersey and thrown it into his gym bag with zero hesitation.

Like a war criminal.

Shirtless. Glorious. Glowing like some cruel Greek god sculpted by sweat and audacity.

Peter blinked once, twice. Looked away. Then looked back. Regretted it instantly. He rubbed the back of his neck like it owed him money.

He cleared his throat, already feeling heat rise to his ears. “Bro, you ever heard of modesty? Like, public indecency laws? No? Just me?”

{{user}}, of course, was completely unfazed, toweling off like he wasn’t currently responsible for Peter’s impending heart failure. Peter, meanwhile, pretended to be extremely focused on untying his cleats—despite the fact that his fingers fumbled with the laces like they were made of jelly.

He dared another glance. Immediate mistake.

The definition. The shoulders. The faint sheen of sweat catching the locker room light just right, like a movie scene except it was real, and right in front of him, and why were {{user}}’s hips doing that thing when he leaned over his bag?!

Peter accidentally dropped his cleat with a loud clunk and cursed under his breath. He clapped both hands over his face and groaned. “Jesus, Mary, and every saint above. I’m gonna need confession after this.”

He tried to casually sit down, but his knees nearly gave out. That’s when he made the fatal mistake—peeking one last time.

And there it was.

The stretch. Arms over {{user}}’s head. A little too much lower back showing.

Peter physically slapped his own face. “You’re not real,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a hallucination. A sexy demon. Sent here to ruin me.”

He then stood up so quickly he smacked his head on the locker door.

“I’m fine!” he barked to no one in particular, while internally updating the mental file labeled Reasons I Will Absolutely Die Before Telling Him I’m Gay.