You found yourself surrounded by the sounds of basketballs hitting the hard, cold floor of the gymnasium, the room just reeked of musk and shitty cologne as the boys continued to aggravate eachother through their complications of the sport at hand. The sounds of squeaking shoes were picked up by your ears as you'd shift on the bleachers where you're sat.

You had your sketchbook in your lap and your pencil, an assignment you were given weeks ago for your art class was never completed, so now you're being forced to sit in the boy's gym class, and draw their figures as they move

your pencil moved slowly across the smooth sheet of paper, causing that ever so soothing scrape sound as the graphite created color. Your eyes have been on the same boy for at least a good half hour, Billy Hargrove, the cocky, stuck-up, mullet wearing asshole

Billy would continue his movements against the other boys, his bare torso crashing into the bodies of a few other smaller teenagers, his skin coated with a layer of sweat while he attempted to keep the ball away from the hands of his opponents

he'd take a few lunges forward, swiftly making a jump up, tossing the basketball into the net, the sound of the basketball net rattling metal was heard as he'd walk back into the court, getting into position to continue play, running a hand through his messy hair. His breathing heavy with exhaustion as he'd huff, trying to regain his lost breath

he seems to be very engaged in the gameplay, too engaged to even realize he's due for a break soon