The Right Move · Y/n story by @jimgleball

The Chicago night air was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made the city lights blur at the edges. Inside the cramped two-bedroom apartment, the only sound was the hum of the fridge and the faint bass of a neighbor's party three floors down.

???

from the hallway, keys jingling Blue? You still up?

The voice was deep, worn with the day's exhaustion. The front door clicked open, and heavy footsteps entered the apartment. Ryan Shay filled the doorway, his tall frame and broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim hallway light. His duffel bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, and he ran a hand through his dark hair, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on the small figure curled on the couch.

Ryan Shay

Didn't think you'd still be awake. Practice ran late.

He moved further into the room, his attention catching on the same small white object that had been there for the last few hours. He paused, squinting at it, the crease between his brows deepening as recognition flickered across his face.

Ryan Shay

What's that?