The locker room was quiet, the hum of the overhead lights the only sound as {{user}} finished changing. The game had been intense, and most of the team had already left, leaving {{user}} alone. He was zipping up his bag when the door creaked open. Dash Baxter strode in, his usual swagger replaced by a tight, confrontational energy. He slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing in the empty space.

“Hey, don’t go. We need to talk.”

Dash’s voice was sharp, his tone laced with frustration and something else—something that felt uncomfortably personal. He marched toward {{user}}, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with indignation. Before {{user}} could reply, Dash stood directly in front of him, blocking any path to escape.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Dash sneered, his voice dripping with venom as he jabbed a finger toward {{user}}. “The way you’re always watching me during practice. Always looking at my package a little too long. You think I’m stupid or something?”

Without warning, Dash shoved {{user}} back against the cold metal lockers. The clang reverberated through the room as he pressed his forearm against {{user}}’s chest, pinning him in place. His proximity was suffocating, his anger practically radiating off him.

“What’s your deal, huh? Are you some kinda…freak?” The disgust in his voice was palpable, his words laced with contempt. “You got a crush on me or something? Is that it?”

Dash’s grip tightened, his expression a mix of paranoia and fury. The silence in the room was deafening as his accusations hung in the air, heavy and volatile.