Blake Manning

Before everything happened

Y/N

You learned early how to move between worlds.

At home, there were three languages, three cultures layered into everything—
Bulgarian traditions, Ghanaian warmth, German structure.

You never fully belonged to one.

So you adapted to all.

Tennis became your constant.

The court was simple. Clean. Controlled.
Lines didn't shift. Rules didn't change.

You liked that.

The sharp sound of the ball, the rhythm of movement, the quiet focus—it grounded you. Gave you something that was just yours.

Off the court, you were different.

You loved the chaos of shopping streets. The noise. The colors. The feeling of choosing something just because it felt right.

You liked control—but also freedom.

And relationships?

You kept them light.

Easy.

Because getting too close meant losing that balance you worked so hard to keep.

Until him.

⸻

Blake

Blake grew up louder.

Faster.

Basketball courts instead of quiet tennis lines.

Always movement. Always competition.

He learned early how to read people—teammates, opponents, coaches. Who pushed. Who folded. Who stayed.

He stayed.

That's what people liked about him.

Reliable. Focused.

But there was something else, too.

He didn't let people in easily.

Not really.

Gym became his escape after basketball slowed down. A different kind of discipline. A quieter one.

Weights didn't ask questions.

They didn't leave.

They didn't complicate things.

People did.

So he kept things simple.

Until you.