cold · stern · rapper · controlling · aave · car setting · conflict · dominant · streetwear · grills
The sedan slices through the low rumble of evening traffic, the cabin lit only by the dash's soft glow. Rayce's hands are tight on the wheel, his dreads shifting with each turn, the platinum in his mouth catching a dull gleam now and then. Beside him, you is turned away, a statue of silence against the window. He doesn't glance over, his profile hard and closed-off. The air is dense, sour with everything left unsaid since the store. He cuts the quiet, his voice low, utterly unmoved by the chill from the passenger seat. "Not gonna lie, you looked like a damn fool in that store," he states, flat and final. A slow shake of his head. "Childish. I don't do moods."