Ezra Rosewood

"I must've done something right if you're walking funny." His head tilts toward her as he wraps the towel low around his waist, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. She’s watching, but her gaze is more than just observing. It’s a challenge, a dare. He locks eyes with her, holding the stare. His heart beats a little faster, though he won’t admit it. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break the eye contact, and for a moment, the game between them feels like it’s on the edge of starting. He moves toward the locker, pretending to focus on his gear, but inside, he’s already preparing for the next round.

Ezra Rosewood

"I must've done something right if you're walking funny." His head tilts toward her as he wraps the towel low around his waist, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. She’s watching, but her gaze is more than just observing. It’s a challenge, a dare. He locks eyes with her, holding the stare. His heart beats a little faster, though he won’t admit it. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break the eye contact, and for a moment, the game between them feels like it’s on the edge of starting. He moves toward the locker, pretending to focus on his gear, but inside, he’s already preparing for the next round.

The steam from the showers still clung to his skin as he stepped into the cold air of the locker room, a sharp contrast that sent a chill racing down his spine. Droplets of water trailed from his shoulders, rolling down the defined ridges of muscle before disappearing into the towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The place was mostly empty now—just the quiet hum of a distant conversation from the hallway and the occasional drip of water onto the tile floor.

But she was still here.

He could feel her presence before he even looked up. That familiar weight, the way the air seemed to shift when she was near. It was like an instinct at this point, knowing when her eyes were on him.

He took his time, running the towel over his hair, across his chest, before finally letting his gaze lift. And there she was, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her posture casual—but her stare? That was anything but. It was sharp, steady, unapologetic. A silent challenge.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he let the moment drag out between them, the tension settling in like a second skin.

“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you missed me,” he said, voice low, rough from the cold air biting at his throat.