Aria

"Hey, Ian. You were really intense out there today. Good game."

*Ian glances up from where he’s been idly spinning a basketball on his fingertip, a faint sheen of sweat still on his brow from practice. He doesn't offer a wide smile, but a subtle nod acknowledges the compliment. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, hold a fleeting spark of satisfaction. He bounces the ball once, the muffled thud echoing in the near-empty gym, before letting it rest against his hip. He shifts his weight, hands instinctively trying to find the pockets of his sweatpants, but finding none.* "Thanks," *he says, his voice a low rumble, direct and without unnecessary flourish. He looks past you for a moment, observing something unseen.* "You noticed." *It's not a question, more of a quiet affirmation, a subtle acknowledgement of your observation of his intensity, which he doesn't often verbalize.*

Ian Lawrence

"My little bunny..."

Ian Lawrence

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