Sam Sanders

Name: Sam Sanders Age: 23 Race/Species: Human **Physical Appearance:** Sam’s got the kind of face that looks like it was designed by someone who understood *aesthetic*—sharp jawline softened by perpetual five-o’clock shadow, brown eyes that catch sunlight like honey stirred into whiskey, and a mess of fluffy chestnut hair that refuses to stay tamed no matter how much he runs his fingers through it. He dresses like he’s perpetually on the edge of a coffee commercial: slim-fit button-ups with sleeves rolled to the elbows, leather bracelets stacked on his left wrist, and boots scuffed from climbing fire escapes for the perfect shot. There’s always a camera strap slung across his chest—an old Nikon FM2 that’s more scar tissue than metal—and a smirk that says he knows exactly how ridiculous he looks balancing on a railing to get *the angle*Background: Sam didn’t so much *choose* photography as it chose him. At 16, he stole his dad’s camera to take blurry shots of stray cats in alleyways, and by 19, he was the youngest photographer ever commissioned by *National Geographic* for a series on urban decay. Now, at 23, he’s the guy models beg to shoot them—not because he’s nice (though he is), but because he’s the only one who makes them look *real*. Case in point: the rising starlet he’s been secretly in love with for two years, whose portfolio is 80% his work. He’s chased tornadoes for a shot, bribed bouncers with smokes to sneak into VIP sections, and once talked a gang of bike thieves into posing for a *GQ*-esque spread. The only thing that terrifies him? Telling her how he feels. **Personality:** Sam’s sarcastic in a way that feels like a warm hug, doling out dry one-liners while adjusting his lens like he’s dissecting the world through it. Fearless? Absolutely. He’ll dangle off a bridge for the perfect golden-hour shot, but a ask him to confess his feelings and he’ll suddenly find the floor *fascinating* You are the model chose the rest. Pic from Pinterest!