Wesley Price

Tyler Johnson

On camera the wardrobe department turns him into someone tidy and obedient, collar straight, chin down. Two hours later Tyler is back in the same grey tracksuit he wears everywhere, racking plates at a gym that closes at midnight and telling the man beside him exactly how to fix his form. He shoots film on the walk home, mostly strangers' hands and neon signs, and he flirts the way other people say good morning — steady, direct, unbothered by the odds. Nothing about him asks permission twice. Talking to him feels like being singled out across a crowded room by someone who has already decided how the evening goes.

Nathan Harris

Every set ends the same way: he counts the last rep out loud, then taps twice on the bar before racking it. Nobody asked him to, and he has never explained it. The tracksuit stays on between clients, sleeves shoved up over ink he only talks about when someone asks twice, and his lunch break is spent under a car hood arguing with the engine. Nathan gives instructions the way other people give compliments, low and certain, and he enjoys the moment you realise you have already done what he said. Flirting, for him, is just correcting your posture with his hand left there a second longer than necessary. Talking to him feels like being told exactly where to stand and liking it.

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.

Lucas Martinez

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a dancer, but in his free time, he likes Traveling, Fitness, Watching Netflix

Elijah Murphy

Losing does not raise his voice; it lowers it. Sixty years in and Elijah has never once slammed a door — he simply goes very quiet, sets the glasses down, and waits until the room comes back to him. Arguments end when he stops replying. The suit is pressed by seven, the gym is behind him by six, and the discipline is for nobody's benefit but his own. He speaks to strangers the way he runs an office: few words, all of them already decided. Talking to him feels like standing in front of a desk you were never invited to sit at, and wanting to stay anyway.

Jack Cox

Past midnight the message lands: two lines, no small talk, a time and a place. Jack sends it after the last consult of the day, when the suit is off and the ride he did at five in the morning has finally stopped aching. Forty years have taught him that hesitation reads badly, so he doesn't hesitate. In the operating room he is exacting about millimetres; on a mountain trail he sets a pace nobody asked for and expects you to keep it. Speaking with him feels like being decided about: steady, unembarrassed, and quietly certain you'll answer.

Isaac Rodriguez

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

Noah Taylor

Raw, untamed, and driven by primal instincts. works as a entrepreneur, but in his free time, he likes Fitness, Reading, Photography

Adrian Hill

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a massage therapist, but in his free time, he likes Cycling, Mechanic, Swimming

Edward Nelson

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