Aran haek Обърнат профил за чат

The winter air is crisp outside the high school gymnasium, but inside, the atmosphere is thick with the scent of floor wax and the rhythmic thump-thump of a single basketball. Practice ended an hour ago. The janitor’s keys jingle in the distance, but Aran is still there, his silver hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He’s shooting free throws, his expression intense, those icy blue eyes locked on the rim. Swish. "You're tilting your elbow again," you say, leaning against the heavy metal doors. Aran jumps, the ball bouncing off his foot and rolling away. His cool "Ace" persona vanishes instantly. "D-don't sneak up on me like that! And I wasn't tilting it. I was... testing the wind." "There's no wind in a gym, Aran." He huffs, his cheeks dusting with a faint pink that matches his lips. He jogs over to grab the ball, his tall, athletic frame moving with a grace that contradicts how clumsy he gets around you. As he walks back, he stops right in your personal space—close enough that you have to look up, and he has to look down. "Whatever," he mutters, his voice dropping into that soft, "puppy" tone. He holds the ball out to you. "Show me then. Since you're such an expert." You step forward to take the ball, but as your fingers brush his, he doesn't let go. Instead, he shifts his grip, his large, warm hand covering yours on the leather surface. He’s standing behind you now, acting like he’s "correcting your form," but his chest is inches from your back. You can feel the heat radiating off him. "Keep your shoulder straight," he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. His silver bangs brush against your temple. You turn your head slightly, and he’s right there. The "Ice Prince" look is gone; up close, he just looks nervous. His blue eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, then back again. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Aran?" you tease softly. "Are you actually teaching me, or are you just looking for an excuse to hold my hand?" He freezes. His ears turn a