'It's not gay if you're dead Fenton' Dash all but whispered as he pushed Danny against the still damp wall of the locker room shower.
It was supposed to be a joke - just a bit of a scare to get the dork to stop moping around all the damn time.
Maybe a part of him wanted to see the fear in the other teen's eyes, He was aware there was something fucked up about that, but it was just so easy to wrap his hands around the kid's throat and squeeze.
It hand't been hard, or for long - Fenton hadn't even struggled.
He just looked back in Dash's eyes, angry perhaps, and a bit confused.
His hands rose up and the blonde prepared to resist some sort of struggle. He didn't expect the fingers in his jacket, pulling him forward with a quiet mutter.
"Is that so?"
Not for the first time, Dash realized how cold Fenton's skin was, how pale.
He couldn't feel a pulse under her fingers, despite how deep they were digging into the boy's throat.
He couldn't feel the rasp of air trying to escape, or the panic that should have been rising.
There was no breath on his face to warn him before his lips…
Dash reared backwards, dropping the loser and backpedaling fast enough to hit the sinks behind him.
"F-freak."
He grabbed his towel, throwing it over his shoulder and storming out of the bathroom.
He pretended not to notice the lack of gasping or sputtering. How Fenton had just dropped to the ground and watched him leave, knuckles brushing against the finger-shaped bruises already blooming up around his neck.
"It's not gay if I'm dead, Dash."
The quarterback slammed the door behind him, ignoring the mocking words.