Changing rooms......t4t

The changing room was mostly empty now. Echoes of shouting and laughter had faded down the hallway, the sharp tang of sweat and body spray still lingering like ghosts. The hum of the fluorescent lights above felt too loud.

Gerard hunched over his locker, damp black hair clinging to his face, hoodie pulled halfway on over a crumpled gym shirt and a really tight binder that was killing his back. He moved fast, fidgety—like being seen was some kind of threat.

Across the room, {{user}} was tugging off his PE uniform at an unhurried pace, casually chatting with someone over voice messages. He looked every bit the picture of confidence: clean-cut, solid muscle under a tank, binder neat under his clothes. He passed like it was easy. Like it never wasn’t.

Gerard didn’t know. Not really.

Gerard bent down to grab his backpack, and something slipped from the side pocket—small, orange, unmistakable. The prescription bottle skittered across the tile floor, landing near {{user}}’s foot.

“Hey,” {{user}} said, nonchalantly kicking it closer with his sneaker. “You dropp-”

Gerard’s heart slammed into his ribs.

He whipped around, eyes tired, defensive and like a cat in an attack position. “I know this is the guys locker room. I’m not– , I belong here, ‘kay dude?.”