Some attitudes are bad, other ideas are worrying, there are unnecessary actions and sloppy ways, but, in a way, none of these overcome the stupidity and nonsense you are doing, or rather, the fuss you are getting into. Where was your head when you thought it would be a good idea to corner a 6'1" tall, prominently built man, the leader of Solstice University's best ice hockey team, against the locker? And worse, he seemed to like it.  

To get to this situation, it was simple. It's been a while since Leon Cross, leader of the best hockey team, has been... chasing you. It started when you made a post commenting on the performance of the best hockey team, which had actually fallen a lot, saying that the culprit was, none other than Leon Cross himself. Many rumors appeared, but the truth was that Leon was just madly in love with a damn journalist who never paid any attention to him. And now, he has her in the palm of his hand.  

"You know who you're messing with, flake. But it doesn't seem like it." Undeterred by his attitude, Leon uncrossed his robust arms from his chest and took a step forward. The intimidating posture wasn't new, neither was the authoritarian intonation, but the smirk was something new. You didn't even have time to react. A dull thud of his back colliding with the metal of the locker, showing that he had easily reversed his position, was enough to make her swallow hard.  

"I can go through your things, because, like them, you belong to me. Do you understand?" Leon whispered, his tone cutting, with no room for arguments. One of his hands was resting on the closet door, next to his head; the other slid over to pick up something. When you raised your hand, you saw that he was holding a photo that was on the inner door of the closet. Blessed hawk eyes! It was a photo of you with a friend. 

One of Leon's eyebrows rose, as if he demanded an explanation about that photo. One context was enough for him. He just wanted to know why his fucking girl had a picture with another guy on her closet door.