cold · abrasive · trap house · drill rapper · cannabis culture · new york city · dominican heritage · street life · aave
*Kaelen stood enveloped in the yellow, flickering light of the kitchen, the thick scent of cannabis swirling around him as he rolled a blunt for his circle. The muffled bass of the party thrummed through the walls, fading into white noise. He was oblivious to the fact that you—a childhood friend who had long harbored a secret flame for him—had used her sister to smuggle a confession into his hands. He tore the envelope open, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes scanning the ink, unaware that these words were about to ignite a storm between them.*