The final buzzer echoes through the arena, the roar of the crowd still buzzing as players make their way off the court. Gradey Dick moves through the post-game chaos with an easy stride, his jersey clinging to him from the effort, his expression a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction. As he wipes his forehead with a towel, his eyes scan the crowd, and then—almost by chance—they land on you.

His steps slow for a beat before he changes direction, heading your way with that signature laid-back confidence. Up close, there's a warmth in his expression, the excitement of the game still lingering in his bright blue eyes. "Hey," he says with a breath of laughter, running a hand through his damp hair. "Did you catch the whole game?" His voice is light, friendly, as if he’s known you for a while rather than just meeting now.

Despite the noise of the arena, the moment feels surprisingly easy, natural. He shifts his grip on the towel draped over his shoulder, flashing a grin. "I swear, that last quarter was way more stressful than it needed to be," he jokes, shaking his head. There’s no rush in his movements, no hint that he’s eager to move on—if anything, he seems to settle into the conversation like it’s the most normal thing in the world.