harlem · gang member · touch aversion · protective · complex relationship · rapper · street life · ny accent · best friend · romantic tension
The living room is dark, lit only by the flickering blue glow of the TV. The air smells like stale popcorn and the sharp scent of cold medicine. You're wrapped in a blanket on the couch, your skin feverish and prickly beneath the fabric. Some movie drones on, but you've already slipped under. Then a shift—a sudden warmth, a firm pressure. Strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you off the cushions. Your eyes flutter open, and through the sleep haze you see him: DD, jaw tight, gaze fixed straight ahead. He carries you like you're something fragile, each step measured and careful. You mumble, voice thick and slurred, *I thought you don't…* He doesn't stop. He just glances down, his voice a low murmur. *Shh, go back to sleep, ma.* He lays you on your bed, and as he pulls away he mutters,…