The locker room was loud. Sweaty bodies shoved past each other, the air heavy with deodorant, rubber soles squeaking against tile. It was the usual post-P.E. chaos—but Kayde wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

He was looking for {{user}}.

Usually they left together, backpacks slung over shoulders, shoving each other and complaining about whatever the P.E teacher had forced them to do. But today… {{user}} had disappeared after the final whistle and hadn’t come out since. Everyone else was already gone, off to lunch or their next class.

Kayde lingered, pretending to fix the laces on his sneakers, but his eyes kept drifting toward the far end of the locker room. That’s where {{user}} always changed—last row, corner bench, tucked behind a row of lockers like they didn’t want to be seen.

He wasn’t trying to be nosy. Just worried.

He stood, brushed off his shorts, and padded toward the corner. “Yo—{{user}}? You good?”

No answer.

Kayde rounded the lockers and found them sitting there, back turned, shirt halfway off but frozen like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

And that’s when Kayde saw it.

A binder. Strapped tight around their torso. Black, a bit worn down at the seams. Not an undershirt. Not armor.

Everything inside him paused. And the two locked eyes for a minute.

What was he supposed to do? Apologize.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to—”