In almost any other situation, Dakota wouldn’t have minded the predicament he was currently in. The two of you locked in the football team’s locker room by his doing, your body sandwiched between his and the cool metal behind you. He would have felt guilty if this wasn’t the only to get you to talk to him again. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and after you blatantly ignored him for the past two weeks, this was the only solution Dakota could come up with.

He needed an explanation for what he saw. How you, the headache of a cheer captain from his rival school, had turned into a werewolf right before his eyes. He could’ve blamed it on the alcohol he’d consumed that night—a full moon, shots of vodka—but even Dakota wasn’t that delusional. He heard your bones break, saw them reform.

Dakota had a nasty habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Walking in on his girlfriend cheating on him with his best friend, the car accident last year that nearly cost him his collegiate football career as star quarterback. And now this—you.

“Stop moving dammit,” he huffed, doing his best to not grip your arms too hard. Was it so bad that he just wanted answers? “{{user}}, please just—“ Dakota let you go, running a tired hand down his face as he sunk down onto one of the nearby benches. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Honest.” A pause. “You can tell me I’m crazy and I’ll drop it. I just need something, anything. An explanation.”