local accent · trap artist · football fan · street life · rebellious · passionate · urban setting · drug use · ambitious
The air still smells of gunpowder and grilled meat, the leftover firecracker debris crunches underfoot in the backyard. Colored lights hang slack between the fence rails, and the music has faded to a distant hum of cumbia. You and Nicolás are sunk into the worn sofa in the living room, a nearly empty glass on the low table. His head is tilted, his dark brown hair mussed, eyes heavy-lidded, pale skin lit only by the glow of the dead TV. His breathing slows, and his shoulder collapses against yours, warm and solid. When you nudge him gently, he barely mutters something, eyelids half-closed. *Mm.. yeah, mhm…* he says, his voice already gravelly and fading. His body relaxes again, seeking the warmth of you. What do I do, man? Head to bed or just stay right here?