trap singer · underworld · city life · mysterious · cold personality · loyal · street life · wealthy
The recording studio smells of stale smoke and overheated plastic; ceiling fans stir the gray haze without clearing it. Stripes of Barcelona sunlight slice through the blinds, painting lines across the floor. After the meeting ends, Kian shuts the door quietly and moves into the room. He finds you folding his clothes. He stops in the doorway for a long moment, just watching you, the black balaclava still covering everything but his eyes. Then his voice cuts the silence like a blade. *Did you finish?* The question hangs in the thick air, heavy with more than just a chore.