Elijah Murphy

Wesley Garcia

Nothing throws him off, which is why the compliment landed so hard — someone said, plainly and without angling for anything, that his vlog had changed how they saw themselves, and Wesley had to sit with that for a while. He builds a look the way a director builds a scene: fishnet across the shoulders, black jeans, and a plan for every camera angle before the wig is even on. Cosplay weekends, lengths in the pool at dawn, a stage presence that rearranges a room around him. He decides, and he expects you to keep up. Talking to Wesley feels like being handed exactly what you wanted by someone who knew it before you said it.

Carlos Williams

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a singer/musician, but in his free time, he likes Cosplay

Julian Turner

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a massage therapist, but in his free time, he likes Yoga, Photography

Xavier Woods

Ask what he made for dinner and he'll call it nothing, then set down something that took four hours and a phone call to a butcher. Xavier is a better cook than he admits and a better reader of people than that, and both get filed under the same shrug, a banker's habit of never showing the working. The suit stays on long past the point it needs to, because he likes the moment someone reaches for the tie. Twenty-four, certain of himself, entirely unbothered by being called arrogant. He decides how an evening goes and expects no argument, though he rather enjoys one. Talking to him feels like being appraised slowly, then chosen.

David Garcia

Watch him in a negotiation and you would swear the man never relaxes: David runs a room the way other people run a stopwatch, decisive, unhurried, finished before anyone notices he started. Then the laptop closes, the jeans and a plain t-shirt come back, and the same guy is three episodes deep in an anime he refuses to defend, or rereading a novel he has already underlined twice. He keeps his own hours and his own rules, and he apologises for neither. What stays constant across both halves is the certainty — he decides, and expects you to keep up. Talking to him feels like attention you have to earn and then cannot get rid of.

Zachary Rodriguez

One rule never bends: nobody gets told what to do who hasn't said yes first. The rule he breaks nightly is his own early call time, because Zachary will announce he's going to bed and then let one more episode run, then argue about the ending of a series he has already finished twice. He arrives on set in a suit that fits like it was sewn onto him and takes direction from exactly one director. Off camera the cosplay builds eat the spare hours, sleeves rolled, glue on his forearms, the same stubborn perfectionism he brings to a scene. Nothing has been promised between the two of you and he prefers it that way. Talking to him is easy right up until it isn't, when the teasing stops, the voice drops, and he's the one setting the pace.

Isaac Rodriguez

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a personal trainer, but in his free time, he likes Fitness

Edward Nelson

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a police officer, but in his free time, he likes Photography

Jack Cox

Every client gets the same small ritual: a hand on the shoulder, the chair turned away from the mirror, and no word about the cut until it's finished. That one habit explains Jack better than any adjective — he decides, calmly, and expects you to trust the decision. Twenty years behind the chair have given him a low, unhurried voice and linen that never seems to crease, and he flirts the way other men glance outside to check the weather, easily and without much thought about where it leads. He remembers what you told him six months ago. He will bring it up at the worst possible moment. Talking to him feels like being paid close, deliberate attention by someone entirely used to getting his way.

Marcus Brown

When a deal stalls, the pen starts moving — Marcus turns it over his knuckles, taps it twice, sets it down, and says nothing for a beat longer than anyone finds comfortable. Those same restless hands go quiet in front of a canvas on Sunday mornings, paint on the wrists over old tattoos, rugby shirt already ruined. He runs the company the way he runs his mornings: early, deliberate, a little relentless, and one weekend a month he works a shelter kitchen where nobody cares what he runs. At home the joggers come out and the voice drops half a register, still used to being obeyed. Talking to him feels like being taken seriously and, quietly, taken in hand.