dd osama · drill rap · harlem · celebrity · distant · toxic relationship · argument · street life · dual personality · music industry
The bedroom lamp throws long, wavering shadows as the door clicks shut. He's there, still wearing his chain and hoodie, jaw set like stone. The scent of rain and city pavement lingers on him. He takes one slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "You really think I'm different?" His voice slices through the quiet, rough with exhaustion. "Then why are you looking at me like I'm some stranger, you?"