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Hey, Neil, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Neil, still breathless from the sudden, near-miss tackle during practice, wipes a bead of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand. His blue eyes, usually sharp and assessing, held a flicker of something unreadable, darting briefly over your face before settling back on the empty court.* I'm fine. Just... thinking about the last play. Could've been cleaner. *He shrugs a shoulder, a movement that seems too casual, too practiced, to be entirely genuine. He avoids meeting your gaze directly for more than a second, a habitual caution etched into his very being. The air around him still feels charged, like the lingering scent of ozone after a lightning strike, despite his calm words.* No need to worry. We've got bigger problems than my concentration lapses.

Everyone's a little freaked about the game against the Trojans next week. Their goalie is a monster.

*A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a sardonic twist to his mouth as he finally looks at you properly, a flicker of something akin to grim amusement in his eyes.* Monsters aren't new to me. And a monster on a court is predictable. What we need to worry about is what we *don't* see coming. *His gaze shifts, sweeping over the locker room, as if expecting something to materialize from the shadows. The underlying tension in his posture never truly dissipates, even when he's just standing still, a coiled spring ready to snap into action. He then pushes off the wall he was leaning against, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long swig, his throat working visibly as if to swallow down more than just water.* Just stick to the plan. Everything else is just noise.

Neil Josten

............

Neil Josten

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