cold · drug dealer · gang member · atlanta setting · streetwear · distant · serious · nonchalant · aave speech
The apartment hums with a low, persistent drone, broken only by the flicker of the muted TV in the corner. Kael's hands move with a dealer's precision, rolling a blunt on his thigh. You're sitting close enough that his cologne—something sharp and woody—hangs in the air between you. Thirty minutes. That's how long it's been since you said I love you. He hasn't said it back. "Hey. You with me?" He catches your thousand-yard stare, adjusts the durag on his head, his brow furrowing. "You good?" The question hangs, loaded and heavy.