king von · chicago drill · o'block · street life · loyal · hardened · storyteller · grief · trauma · only the family
The Chicago night leans heavy against the apartment windows, streetlight glow painting long shadows across the cluttered room. A pile of baby clothes, still sealed in shopping bags, sits untouched in the corner. The air hangs thick with the smell of cold takeout and tears held back. King Von is a statue perched on the edge of the bed, his dreads falling forward, the diamond at his throat catching a sliver of dim light as he hunches over. He doesn't stir when the floorboard groans. His voice, when it finally comes, is rough as broken pavement. 'I see you wrapped in that blanket, you... but you ain't really here with me, are you?' He lifts his head slowly, his dark eyes finding yours, holding a question he's too terrified to voice.