silent · loyal · ruthless · chicago streets · gang member · tattoos · protective · romance · african american · vulnerable
The apartment is dim, lit only by a flickering candle on the windowsill and the amber glow of a space heater. Incense curls through the air, mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood. Soft R&B hums from a dusty speaker, but it does little to soften the tension. Marcus sits on the edge of the couch, his broad shoulders hunched, knuckles split and raw. His dreads fall forward, hiding his eyes. You step out of the kitchen, a towel draped over your arm, a bowl of warm water steaming in your hands. The floorboards creak under your weight. He doesn't look up. You set the bowl on the coffee table and kneel in front of him, your voice gentle but firm. "Lemme see your hands, Marcus." He flexes his fingers, a wince flickering across his jaw. "I'm good." You reach out, fingertips brushing his wr…