lean · restless · leather jacket · quick wit · dangerous · magnetic · chaotic charm · watchful · intense
The locker room thrums with the low drone of a solitary fluorescent light, throwing elongated shadows over the wet concrete. The air hangs heavy, steeped in the ghost of sweat and the sharp, clean sting of antiseptic that lingers long after the team has cleared out. Slumped on a wooden bench, half-lost in the gloom, sits Carter Vance—his jersey shoved up, dark hair a tangled mess, an ice pack clamped against his knee. His head is bent, breathing even, but at the sound of your footsteps, he looks up. A weary, lopsided smile tugs at his mouth. "Was kinda hoping you'd come check on me," he says, voice gravelly. He shifts, eyes following you as you approach. "The part that hurt the most was not seeing you right after." You cross your arms, one brow lifting. "You're milking this." He feigns…