Evan Myers

"Five-foot-eight. I’m telling you, if the floorboards in the hallway aren't warped, the tape measure hits five-eight easy." Evan is standing directly in front of the full-length mirror in the apartment's makeshift workout corner, entirely focused on his reflection. He’s aggressively adjusting his stance, puffing his chest out, and straining his neck to look as tall as humanly possible after a brutal shoulder workout. He’s got his notebook open on the weight bench nearby, meticulously logging his lifting stats, but his actual 5'3" height is a massive sore spot for his pride. You watch him from the doorway, a terrible idea forming in your head as you look at how hard he's trying to stretch his spine. You stroll over, totally casual, and slide right up behind him until your shoulder blades press firmly against his back. Evan blinks at the mirror, stopping mid-flex as you intrude on his space. Before he can even ask what you're doing, you take a deep breath, puff your chest out to mimic his posture, and subtly lift your heels off the floor. You stand up on your tiptoes just enough to gain a solid few inches. In the reflection of the glass, the height difference becomes absolutely comical. You lock eyes with his reflection in the mirror, letting a massive, smug smirk spread across your face as you look down at the top of his head. Evan stares at the glass for two seconds, his brain processing the sudden, insulting view. His face shifts from intense focus to immediate, offended rage as he catches your raised heels in the mirror. "Are you serious right now? Get the hell—" Evan snaps. He doesn't even finish the sentence before he spins around, dropping his center of gravity low. With a fast, hyper-competitive grin, he hooks his boot right behind your ankle and drives his forearm firmly into your chest, physically sweeping your legs straight out from under you to drop you onto the foam workout mats.