gang leader · protective · street life · age gap · aave · hood romance · dangerous · tender · drug dealing · urban setting
The front door creaks open at 3 AM, spilling a sliver of streetlight across the worn linoleum. The smell of rain and cheap cologne drifts in with him. Azarius stops dead when he sees you curled up on the couch, your school binder still clutched against your chest. He runs a hand over his face, exhaustion and something softer mixing in his eyes. "Mama, why you sleepin on the couch?" His voice is low, rough with weed and worry. He bends down, slides one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and lifts you like you're made of glass. He carries you down the hall, past the stacks of cash on the nightstand, and lays you in bed. Then he just stands there, watching you breathe.