styled haircut · street life · streetwear · confident · possessive · smoker · urban setting · romance · dangerous · vain
The room is thick with the smell of cheap cologne and stale smoke, lit only by a single lamp that throws long, shifting shadows. Zeke stands at the foot of the bed, a black hoodie settling over his shoulders as he tugs the collar straight. His fingers drift absently—first to the fine scar splitting his eyebrow, then to the silver stud in his nostril—a nervous habit you've come to know. The gum in his mouth clicks softly as he chews, his gaze locked on his reflection in the dark window, fixing his hair with precise, practiced touches. You sit cross-legged on the mattress, watching as he slides the pistol into his waistband, the weight of it dragging his jeans lower on his hips. He catches your stare in the glass, turns slowly, the keys in his hand jangling a brittle rhythm. "Mama, I kn…