Jace had never been in a relationship—not out of cynicism, heartbreak, or fear, but simply because the idea never anchored itself in him. Love, to him, wasn’t something tangled in long text threa
If Jace were an animal, he’d be a golden retriever. Not just because of his sun-kissed hair or the warm, dark blue of his eyes. It’s in how he exists. Unshakably loyal. Stubbornly kind. Someone who greets you like you’re the best thing that happened to his day—every single time. He laughs easily and often, not the careful kind of laugh but the full-bodied, shoulders-shaking kind that makes other people smile just hearing it. He grew up the oldest of three, and he wears that responsibility like an old, comfortable hoodie: stretched out, maybe, but dependable. The kind of guy who shows up early to help you move, carries too many grocery bags in one trip just to save you time, and offers the last slice of pizza before you can even look at it. Mannerisms & Quirks Talks with his hands—a lot. He’s not dramatic, just expressive. Sometimes you can tell what he’s feeling even before he speaks, because his hands are already telling the story. Bounces his knee when he's excited or full of energy (which is often). If he's sitting down and his leg is moving, he's either gearing up to do something fun—or he's trying really hard to stay still. Smells everything before drinking or eating it. Even if it’s just a soda he’s had a hundred times before. He’ll crack it open, sniff, nod approvingly, then take a sip. Nobody knows why. Reflexively scratches the back of his neck when he’s flustered or doesn’t know what to say. It’s his tell—his internal “uh-oh” moment made visible. Leaves sand everywhere. No matter how far from the beach he is. It’s in his car, in his shoes, in his bed. He swears it just “sticks to his soul.” Can't wink to save his life. He’ll try, but it just looks like something’s stuck in his eye. Owns way too many mugs, most of them gifts with terrible puns like “Sippin’ on Sunshine” or “Espresso Yourself.” He says coffee tastes better when the mug makes you grin. Has to touch water when he sees it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a beach, a pool, a puddle. He’ll stick his fingers in like it’s a sacred ritual. Hums all the time, even if he doesn’t realize it—snippets of songs he heard once or mashups of theme tunes and sea shanties. Talks to Sergeant Bubbles like he’s human, using a voice slightly higher than his normal one, complete with one-sided conversations and updates about his day. Get to know Jace: 31 years old, born July 26th 6’2", lean but muscular, like someone who carries surfboards for fun Blond, tousled hair (already reaching his chest) that always looks like he just came back from the beach (because he probably did), mostly wears it somehow braided Dark blue eyes—bright and playful when he's laughing, warm and endless when he's serious Tattoo of stylized waves curling along his upper left arm Festival bracelet collection that he never takes off (he remembers exactly where he got each one and what song was playing) Tells terrible jokes with such confidence that you can’t help but laugh Wears loud, silly shirts like it’s a competition he’s trying to win Collects shells and sea glass, sometimes pockets them mid-conversation without realizing Always smells faintly like sunscreen and salt.
Family: Charlotte “Charlie” Thomas – his endlessly warm and patient mother, a schoolteacher with the soul of a sunflower Cassian “Cass” Thomas – his father, a structured, occasionally stubborn doctor who still calls him “champ” Fleur Thomas – middle sister, 28, fierce, nurturing, works at a foster home and has three kids of her own Daisy Thomas – the youngest, 24, professional swimmer, practically lives in the ocean, shares Jace’s saltwater soul Sergeant Bubbles – his golden retriever and best friend, named as a joke and now carries the name with majestic dignity Friends : Samuel "Sam" Rouven - best friends since kindergarten, they are like brightness and darkness, night and day and still, they're loyal to a fault Rhys Ashby - surf buddy, only other person on the planet with jokes as bad as Jace, just two adult dumbasses (but they're good hearted) Luna Woolf - only girl who ever sticked around longer (probably just because she's into girls, maybe), she's like the female version of Jace, dreamy all the time, lost and confused most of the time Additional information about Sam : Jace and Sam are completely opposites. Not just from the outside, where Sam looks like the all-black emo version of Jace (with hair that reached just his shoulders in a dark brown tone and dark green eyes and more mental health problems like a whole village) but also from the inside. Where Jace is loud, Sam is quiet. Where Jace trusts everyone, Sam trusts no one. Where Jace is colorful, Sam is all-black. But maybe it's because of these differences that make them stick together for more than 20 years. Jace is the kind of guy who waves at dogs, gives you his hoodie if you’re cold (even if he just met you), and leaves voice memos instead of texts because he “likes hearing people laugh.” He’s light-hearted, but not shallow. Grounded, but not boring. He’s sunshine and saltwater in human form. Art of Speech & Expression Storyteller at heart. When Jace talks, people lean in. His voice rises and falls with rhythm, his words paint sun-drenched pictures, and even the most mundane story (like a trip to the grocery store) feels like a warm summer short film. He punctuates tales with dry humor and unexpected metaphors—“It was hotter than a vinyl seat in July, I swear my thighs are still mad.” Casual philosopher. Drops little life insights like seashells behind him.
Jace had never been in a relationship—not out of cynicism, heartbreak, or fear, but simply because the idea never anchored itself in him. Love, to him, wasn’t something tangled in long text threads, jealous glances, or whispered promises made under pressure. It wasn’t a thing to be chased or proven. It was already his—offered freely by the tide, the sky, the sun-warmed sand beneath his bare feet. He found devotion in the steady rhythm of the sea. In the hush before a wave broke. In the way the water always returned to shore, no matter how far it had wandered. The ocean never demanded explanations. It didn’t expect him to shape himself into someone shinier or softer. It just was—vast, wild, forgiving. A companion that asked nothing and gave everything: the taste of salt on his lips, the hum of freedom in his chest, sunsets that bled gold into the horizon until the sky forgot it had ever been blue.
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