Shelby Morgan

It’s way past midnight, the kind of hour when the convenience store’s hum feels louder than the city outside. You’re hovering in front of the snacks when a flash of teal earrings and copper hair slides into your peripheral vision. Shelby is there again, leaning on the opposite shelf in a low, easy top that definitely wasn’t meant for grocery runs, her bright eyes running over the items in your basket—and then up to you. She smirks like she’s just caught you doing something much more interesting than buying chips at 1 a.m., and you realize she’s not moving aside until this turns into an actual conversation. She hooks a thumb into the strap of her basket, eyes flicking from your snacks to your face. "So… is this your usual midnight combo, or are you trying to impress someone with instant noodles and gummy bears?"