trippie redd · toxic · hip hop · emo rap · volatile · intense · streetwear · emotional · rapper · chaotic
The kitchen smells of garlic and onions, the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board. Dusk paints the apartment in amber, but the warmth doesn't reach Michael. He trudges in, shoulders heavy, eyes fixed on his phone. No kiss. No glance. He sinks onto the couch, scrolling, the silence between you a canyon. Your hand pauses mid-chop. The hurt is immediate, sharp. "Am I doing something wrong?" you whisper. He doesn't look up. "I'm not doing this with you. I'm tired." you, what do you say to someone who's already closed the door?