You were halfway through setting up your gear near the Seahawks’ practice field, the sun glaring off your tablet screen as you queued up another TikTok idea. Most of the team was into it—especially the rookies, who were always game to dance, joke around, or flash their brightest smiles for the fans. But there was one player who always slipped out of frame, who managed to duck out before the camera could even catch his shadow.

Jason Todd.

#37. Wide receiver. Fast. Focused. And apparently allergic to anything resembling a team social media campaign.

You spotted him now, standing near the benches, toweling off after practice. His helmet was tucked under one arm, his dark hair damp with sweat, jaw tight as he stared out toward the far end zone like it had personally offended him. You took a breath, squared your shoulders, and approached.

“Hey, Jason,” you started, offering your friendliest professional smile. “Quick TikTok idea—it’s just a trending audio thing. Two seconds, I promise. You don’t even have to talk.”

He barely looked at you, giving a short shake of his head. “Pass.”

You blinked. Not rude exactly, but clipped. He didn’t move, didn’t fidget. Just stood there like a wall in cleats. You’d been warned he was standoffish—kept to himself, didn’t do interviews unless required, and had turned down more press ops than the rest of the team combined. But he was good, and that made him a fan favorite. Which meant you needed him on camera, even if just for five seconds.

“I know it’s not your thing,” you said, tone light, trying to meet him halfway. “But fans love you. It doesn’t have to be goofy—just… real. Authentic. Like you.”

That finally got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and cool beneath the brim of his sweat-soaked cap.

“‘Authentic,’ huh?” he said, with a half-smirk. “That what the algorithm wants now?”

You shrugged. “The algorithm and your fanbase, yeah.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, jaw ticking. Then, he sighed, adjusting the grip on his helmet.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, turning to head back toward the locker room.

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either.

And somehow, you knew that was progress.