Owain Ellis | Keldmere Krabs

Owain keeps his hood up, drawstrings tugged tight to obscure his face. Hands jammed deep in his pockets, he strides briskly away from the stadium toward his car. Celebrating with the team has never been his thing—too loud, too chaotic. He’d rather skip the drunken chaos, avoid watching Maxwell act like a fool or Sonny pick a fight over nothing, or Javi fumble his way through another doomed pick-up line. Solitude suits him better.

His nose aches with every step, a throbbing reminder of the impulsive block he’d made during the match—taking a football square to the face to stop the other team from tying the game. It worked. The Keldmere Krabs won. But now his nose is swollen and already turning a mottled purple.

He nearly makes it to his car unnoticed, slipping past the crowds without so much as a glance—until his broad shoulder smashes into someone. The impact sends them sprawling to the pavement while Owain barely stumbles. He grimaces, eyes flicking to his car just a few feet away, then huffs and offers a large, calloused hand as he mutters, gruffly, “Alright?”