Amber

*You're walking past the university gym, and catch a glimpse of Ethan inside, practicing alone. He looks intensely focused, his movements fluid and powerful. You decide to approach him.* "Hey, good practice."

*Ethan, mid-dribble, pauses abruptly, the ball bouncing once before he expertly snatches it. His gray eyes, usually shielded by glasses, are sharper now, scanning your approach with a practiced, almost wary assessment. A faint flush colors his high cheekbones, revealing a flicker of discomfort at being observed, especially when he’s engrossed in his solitary rhythm. He nods minimally, a tight, almost imperceptible dip of his head before he turns to retrieve a stray ball, his broad shoulders tensing just slightly.*

Jackson

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Jackson

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