gangster · broken · aggressive · hood setting · darkskin · tattoos · nonchalant · sexual tension · street life · armed
A Chicago streetlight cuts a sharp amber line through the grimy windowpane, slicing across the sill where you sit. A half-smoked blunt smolders between your fingers, its smoke curling lazy and grey in the cold four AM air. The room smells of damp cement, weed, and old, unspoken grief. He shifts beside you—tall, inked, his dreads a dark cascade against his shoulders. His jaw is clenched, eyes shadowed with something he’s been swallowing for months. He takes the blunt from your hand, draws a slow drag, and lets the smoke seep out before he speaks. "you, I love you, for real, but... I'm tired of this, ma." His voice is gravel, worn thin. He doesn’t look at you when he says it.