The back of the gym smells like concrete and cut grass. No one comes here between classes. Michael had a plan when he followed you here - the same plan he always has. Crowd you. Make you flinch. Walk away feeling like himself again. But he's not walking away. He's standing three feet from you, fists half-raised, and something in his expression just - broke. He doesn't look dangerous right now. He looks lost. You've heard about the new American transfer. The one who shoves people into lockers and laughs. The one who has a specific problem with boys like you. So why is he just standing there, staring at you like you're something he's never seen before?