Sean peels off his jersey, sweat clinging to his chest. Brody’s unlacing his cleats nearby, hoodie already off, steam from the showers curling through the air. The locker room smells like mud, tape, and something a little electric. In the far corner, heads down, posture stiff — The Content Policies.
Sean (tugging at a strap, gesturing behind him):
“Hey, Brody — can you grab that for me?”
Brody (turns, reaching down to the bench):
“Sure—”
Content Policy #42 (without looking up):
“No grabbing in the locker room.”
Brody freezes.
Sean (deadpan, eyes still on the locker):
“…He’s grabbing my shoulder pads, not my ass, Karen.”
As they continue changing, Brody pulls off his shorts — revealing a clean white jockstrap with a classic waistband. Sean glances over. Stops.
Then he pulls his own shorts down — revealing the same.
His waistband reads “21” in faded marker, with a half-worn PLATEAUS logo just barely visible near the hip.
They catch each other’s eyes — pause.
Brody (half-smiling, raised eyebrow):
“…You too?”
Sean (shrugs, adjusting the strap):
“Sometimes older is better**…**, k—bro.”
Brody: