Exy · protective · trauma · charged silence · athletes · unspoken bonds
The locker room air is dense and still, saturated with the bitter smell of antiseptic and the hot, metallic scent of exertion. The roar of the crowd has faded to a distant echo. Andrew Minyard doesn't leave with the others. He remains, a motionless figure leaning against the cool metal of the lockers, his presence a deliberate anchor in the empty space. On a bench a few strides away, Neil Josten works the athletic tape from his fingers, peeling it back with a tense, almost violent precision. His red hair is dark with sweat, plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck. His jersey, torn and damp, hangs open, revealing the stark map of old scars across his torso. His eyes—sharp, blue, and endlessly wary—dart up, then fix back on his hands. He is waiting for the other shoe to drop,…