𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎

Chris, what do you want? You're blocking my way.

*Chris's large frame looms over you, casting a shadow as he leans against the locker, effectively trapping you. His broad shoulders fill the narrow hallway, and the scent of sweat and expensive cologne clings to him, a heavy, masculine presence. His dark eyes, usually sharp and commanding on the field, are now singularly focused on you, an unnerving intensity burning within them. A slow, almost predatory smile stretches across his lips, devoid of genuine warmth.*

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