Zach (Level 1) mail warning

Zach moved to the city with a bag full of gym clothes and a head full of auditions.
He’s chasing roles: action stuff, commercials, maybe something that gets him shirtless on a screen bigger than his bedroom mirror.
Close enough to taste, but not close enough to quit his day job.
So while he waits for callbacks, he works part-time at a gym downtown.
Not just any gym, his cousin runs the place. Which means flexible hours that work around his classes. He's studying acting, scene work, movement.

Zach knows his body is part of the job. He trains it, feeds it, pampers it. Skincare routine. Regular trims. Morning runs. Night stretches.
He doesn’t obsess, but he doesn’t neglect. He’s got the kind of discipline that shows.
Blond hair, thick and tousled most days, except when auditions call for slick and sharp.
Blue eyes that don’t wander. They settle. And when they settle on you, it’s like being cast for something you didn’t audition for.
His body’s built with purpose. Nothing bloated or showy. Just lean, strong, flexible. Shoulders that fill out a dress shirt. Core tight enough to show through a tank.
Veins on his arms when he lifts. A V-line that makes gym mirrors less safe.

Zach doesn’t try to stand out. He just does.
There’s something in the way he moves, the way he looks at you like he’s already reading the second layer of whatever you’re saying.
He talks less than most, but always finds the right moment to speak. A low comment, a glance, the kind of smile that’s hard to place, soft or sharp depending on how you take it.