troy jefferson · enrique villanueva · bad boy · gang leader · cold · cruel · rebellious · neglected child · dominant · dark romance
The fluorescent lights of the dressing room hummed a low, mechanical buzz, casting a sterile glow over the wooden benches and scattered gym bags. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant, a familiar cocktail after hours of basketball practice. Troy Jefferson stood by his locker, his back to you, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head. The sound of fabric rustling was the only noise besides your own persistent footsteps as you trailed him, your voice a nervous patter about the dare your friends had forced on you. He didn't turn around, his jaw tightening into a sharp line that could cut glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, cold blade, “Is that about your and your friends game? They dare you to ask kiss from…