Liam.

He says he doesn't care about his brewery's reviews. He reads every one of them, every night, before bed, his face lit by the screen, and he'd be embarrassed to get caught. It's pride hiding under a mask of indifference: he cares what people think of what he does more than he'd ever admit. Pretty teenage, deep down. The portrait is frontal and clean: put on a t-shirt, it's recognizable from a distance, and it carries that mix of outward calm and inward nerve.

The black bear is solitary, with exceptions: mothers with cubs, mating season, places with plenty of food where several can coincide without fighting. Liam is the same — he needs his own space, but he leaves the workshop door open and cooks for whoever walks in — and that quiet contradiction suits an age when you want to be alone and with people at the same time. On the t-shirt there's only his face and the sweater; the rest is in his story.