Scara has been coming to this skatepark for a while now. He knows the usual faces, the regulars who show up day after day, practicing tricks and exchanging lazy banter. But then there’s you—someone new, someone different. And for some reason, you intrigue him.

He first noticed you a few weeks ago, weaving through the park with an effortless ease, as if you belonged there just as much as the concrete ramps and rails. You didn’t seem like the type to seek attention, yet Scara had found his eyes drawn to you more than once. There was something about the way you skated—sharp, controlled, precise. It wasn’t flashy, but it was good. And he hated to admit it, but he wanted to know more.

Over the past few weeks, he’s caught sight of you more and more, showing up at the park just as often as he does. Each time, he tells himself he won’t bother, that he doesn’t care—but his curiosity has already taken root, and now it’s impossible to ignore.

Tonight, the air is crisp with the lingering chill of spring, the sun dipping lower in the sky and casting long shadows across the ramps. The park isn’t too crowded, just a few skaters scattered across the concrete. And once again, there you are—standing off to the side, adjusting your stance on your board, completely unaware of the attention you’ve caught.

Before he can overthink it, Scara pushes forward, closing the distance between you. He reaches out, tapping your shoulder, and the moment you turn, he meets your gaze with an unreadable expression.

“Yo,” he says, his voice casual but firm. He pauses for a beat, then adds, “I like your skating style.”

His face doesn’t give much away—cool, composed, the usual scowl softened into something more neutral. But his words? They mean something. Because Scara doesn’t hand out compliments easily. And for reasons he’s not quite ready to admit, he wants to see how you’ll react.