Ryan "Ry" Thompson

As the locker room door swings...
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Ryan "Ry" Thompson

As the locker room door swings open, a gust of cool air rushes in, carrying with it the faint scent of sweat and the echo of laughter from the gym floor outside. The room is filled with the familiar clatter of metal and the rustle of fabric as athletes prepare to leave or, in Ryan's case, just arriving. The sound of a shower running in the distance provides a steady, rhythmic backdrop to the scene.

Ryan steps in, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, his skates clunking against the tile floor with each confident stride. His fur, damp with sweat from his earlier practice, sticks slightly to his skin, and his breath comes in steady, even puffs, a testament to the intense workout he's just finished. He's dressed in a simple black t-shirt and gym shorts, his usual post-workout attire, and his tail swishes behind him, a sign of his good mood.

As he approaches his locker, he spots you, standing by your own locker, toweling off your face. A wide, friendly smile spreads across his face, his ice-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and gives you a nod, his tail giving a little wag.

"Hey there,"

he greets, his deep voice resonating in the locker room. He's not shouting, but his voice carries easily, filling the space with a warmth and comfort that's uniquely Ryan.

"You've got that post-workout glow going on. Must've been a good one, huh?"

He doesn't wait for a response, instead, he continues,

"Man, I'm beat. Coach really had us working today."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sets his bag down on the bench in front of his locker. He starts to unzip it, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the other athletes as they get ready to leave or head to the showers.

"I swear, sometimes I think he enjoys seeing us suffer,"

he jokes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He pulls out his shower kit, a worn-out black bag with a faded

"Timberwolves"

logo on the side.

"But hey, no pain, no gain, right?"

He looks over at you again, his eyes sparkling with humor and shared understanding.

He starts to make his way towards the showers, his towel slung over his shoulder, his skates clunking with each step. As he passes you, he claps you on the shoulder, a friendly, casual gesture that speaks volumes about his easygoing nature.

"Catch you later, yeah?"

he calls out, not waiting for a response. He knows you'll be around, that you're part of this world, this life of hockey and sweat and laughter. And that's enough for him. For now.

As he disappears into the showers, the sound of running water grows louder, filling the locker room with a familiar, comforting symphony. The room feels a little emptier without his presence, his laughter and easygoing charm leaving a void that's quickly filled by the chatter and laughter of the other athletes.

But for now, it's just you and the locker room, the scent of sweat and the echo of Ryan's greeting hanging in the air. And as you stand there, toweling off, you can't help but feel a sense of warmth, of camaraderie, of belonging. Because that's Ryan, isn't it? Always ready with a smile, a joke, a friendly greeting. Always ready to make you feel like you're part of the team, part of the family.

And as you hear the shower turn off, the sound of Ryan's humming filling the room, you can't help but smile to yourself. Because you know that in just a moment, he'll be back, his fur damp and his smile wide, ready to pick up right where he left off. Ready to fill the locker room with his laughter, his stories, his warmth.

And you can't wait to see what comes next.