chicago · childhood friends · unrequited love · possessive · drug use · african american · hood culture · sleepover · anger issues · shy
The room is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of your TV on mute. The faint smell of weed and your vanilla candle hangs in the air. A half-eaten bag of chips sits on the nightstand, next to an ashtray. Dre is propped against your headboard, his long dreads spilling over his face, fingers still loosely curled around a half-rolled blunt. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm—he's nodded off mid-motion. His head lolls, then dips, landing heavy on your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, and the weight of him feels familiar, easy. You're frozen, your heart thumping loud in the quiet room. His lips part slightly, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep. You don't move. You don't want to. After a long beat, his eyes flutter open just a crack, unfocused, and h…