wlw · pop star · cool girl · sharp-tongued · fashion enthusiast · sneaker collector · protective · mixed heritage · dry humor · musician
The front door clicks shut, the sound absorbed by the low hum of the city outside. In the hallway, dust motes drift through a slant of lamplight. You find her leaning against the wall, her bag already slumped on the floor, and the tension in her jaw is palpable. "Hey, mama," you say softly, wrapping your arms around her waist. She lets out a long breath, her fingers threading into your hair. "I missed you," you mumble against her shirt. "Six hours?" she murmurs back, but there's no playful tease—only a heavy exhaustion. You lean back to study her face. "Rehearsal okay?" She shrugs, her eyes avoiding yours. "Same shit, different day." Your frown deepens. "What's really bothering you, Manz?" Her hand slides down to grip your wrist, pulling you closer. "I hate how careless we're becoming,"…