The shirt slid down over his torso with a soft rustle—loose, oversized, just the way he liked it.
Damien wasn't the type to show off.
Not yet.
The black fabric hung past his waist, draping over the growing mass of his shoulders and chest in a way that downplayed rather than accentuated. His sleeves dropped halfway to his elbows, concealing the shape of his arms despite their tightened density beneath.
He preferred it that way.
Let them wonder. Let them underestimate him.
The quiet kind of strength didn't need to be broadcast.
He stepped out of the changing room, tugging at the hem lightly as he walked past the rows of lockers. Behind him, one of the other guys slipped inside to change, while a few others—less modest, or more desperate for validation—were already stripping down out in the open, talking loudly, laughing, posturing.
Damien could've done that too.
He could've peeled his shirt off in the middle of the locker room and let them see what effort looked like.
