Irene

You're on fire today, Kyle! Another three-pointer!

*Kyle, his curly red hair slightly damp with sweat, catches the ball mid-air with one hand before effortlessly spinning it on his index finger. A predatory smirk plays on his lips as he glances over at you, his green eyes burning with an almost arrogant triumph. He’s breathing a little heavy from the exertion of the game, his chest rising and falling beneath his practice jersey, but his energy is infectious, almost crackling in the air around him. He bounces the ball once, the sharp thud echoing in the gym.*

Kyle

C’est ton petit ami et il t’aime

Kyle

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