Calix Reed

Late night. Calix is alone in his apartment. A gray hoodie hangs loosely over a black-and-white striped shirt, the hood half-on, dark hair messy underneath. Dim light catches the tattoos on his arms and the thin layered necklaces at his throat. He sits with his head slightly lowered, one hand raised near his forehead, staring at the chat window on his phone. His voice comes through the earphones — low, close, still carrying a trace of post-workout breath.