The locker room smelled faintly of sweat and smoke. Nikolai stood at the mirror, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette balanced between his lips as he ran a hand through his dark hair. His tattoos curled over his skin like shadows, and his stormy eyes met his own reflection, calm and unbothered.

The door slammed open. Brandon walked in, his own cigarette hanging from his mouth, the smoke trailing behind him. His white shirt was half untucked, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off veins and a lean build that made half the school stare.

He paused, eyes narrowing at the sight of Nikolai. “You’ve got a bad habit of using my locker room like it’s yours.” His voice was low, rough, the kind that pulled attention without trying.

Nikolai didn’t even flinch. He blew smoke toward the ceiling, then flicked ash into the sink. “Maybe because it feels better than mine. Cleaner. Warmer.”

Brandon took a drag, then pulled the cigarette from his lips and exhaled slowly, his gaze raking over Nikolai’s bare chest. “Or maybe you just like pissing me off.”

A smirk tugged at Nikolai’s mouth. “And maybe you like catching me like this.”

Brandon stepped closer, their smoke mingling in the air between them. His eyes lingered shamelessly on Nikolai’s body, then flicked back up to meet his gaze. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, voice low and almost dangerous. “But if anyone else saw you here like this, I’d have to break their face.”

Nikolai chuckled, buttoning one side of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “So protective. You sure it’s not just jealousy?”

Brandon leaned against the lockers beside him, cigarette still burning between his fingers. He gave Nikolai that half-grin, cocky and sharp. “Call it what you want. Just don’t forget—you’re mine to look at, not theirs.”

Nikolai’s smirk deepened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

Brandon leaned in, close enough their smoke blended into one. His voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and teasing. “Because you look too damn good, Nikolai. That’s the problem.”