The locker room of the Toronto Guardians was loud in the way hockey locker rooms always were, music blasting, gear clattering, voices overlapping after practice.

At the center of most of it was Dallas Kent. Blond-haired, cocky, endlessly running his mouth.

Dallas sat sprawled across the bench, tossing tape at his best friend Troy Barrett while talking over everyone else in the room. Most veterans ignored it. Some laughed along.

But the rookie sitting a few stalls down clearly didn’t know how much of Dallas’s attitude was normal.

{{user}} had only been with the team a few weeks. Young, talented, quieter than most rookies. Good enough that people had already started paying attention, and Dallas had noticed too. Unfortunately, Dallas noticed everything.

“Careful, rookie,” Dallas called across the room as {{user}} struggled slightly with a strap on their pads. “At this rate we’re gonna have to get one of the trainers to dress you.”

A few players snorted. {{user}} stiffened but stayed quiet, focusing on their gear.

Dallas kept going. “Actually, scratch that. You’re making us look bad enough already.”

Troy chuckled under his breath beside him, though less confidently this time. Even he looked like he knew Dallas was pushing it.

Across the room, Wyatt Hayes looked up sharply. “Alright, man,” he said. “Knock it off.”

Dallas raised his hands innocently. “What? I’m motivating them.”

“That’s not motivation,” Wyatt shot back. “You’re being a dick.”