"-if that nigga want me dead, I can't let that nigga breath-"
You startle awake from your nap, N'Jadaka's loud pre-gaming cutting off your much needed post-yoga rest. The song is absolutely rattling the walls of the apartment and you can't imagine how it sounds to the neighbors.
A quick glance to your cell phone tells you that it's almost 8, you've been asleep for about 4 hours which is probably the longest nap you've been able to take the past few months. So now you have an attitude, mad that his music woke you up and mad that you're sore and mad that you're hungry too. In fact, you're too mad to pet King whose been chilling by the window in hiding from the pounding bass going on in the living room.
God, you miss N'Jadaka's dope house.
This apartment is large and definitely more accommodating than your previous, but sometimes you're going to run into problems. Like...
He runs into you just as you pass the bedroom doorway, brushing past with a hand on your side as he mutters a "Watch out."
"Where are you going?" you shoot, following him into the bathroom.
"Out," he says, spraying some cologne that has you scooting a bit closer to where he stands. Hell, it has you wrapping your arms around his chest and pressing your face into his back. Your stomach is making it hard for you to get that close but you're close enough to feel that heat radiating off him. Your favorite.
"Where's 'out'," you say.
"It's out, nigga," he says back.
You pause before pulling away from him as he snickers at you. Just because he looks all good and extra buff with his long sleeved black shirt and shit doesn't mean he can sly talk his way out of this house without telling you where he's going specifically (or talk to you like you're one of his boys). He can go and live his life and have fun not being cooped up all night after being locked up for 3 months but he 's got you fucked up if he isn't giving you his location.
He turns toward you, his dreads a little wavy from being braided back before, and grins. It's devilish like always, and you frown at being suddenly hit with it without warning. You feel like he's about to prank you or something.
He stays like that for a second before biting his lip and tapping your arm roughly with one hand. "What you so scared for?"
"I'm not scared, I'm worried."
He's silent, still looking at you like he's trying to figure you out. It's something you find he always does when you act like a normal person with normal feelings toward him. Like you're the weird one for caring whether or not he's okay.
Still, that feeling won't leave you and while you know he can handle his own you can't help but try and express this in a way that he won't immediately dismiss. Not only is your pregnant mind worried about him being careful out here but also that pettier side of you keeps thinking about chicks in the club getting too close to him. You aren't stupid, you know they linger around him and his boys like flies because you've seen pictures and videos of their bougie little exclusive sections. It's like a spectacle, all eyes on them as they sit there and do literally fucking nothing while girls dance and hold bottles and all this other performative shit that makes you laugh.
It's why you kind of hate clubs.
After a bit, you flat out say it.
"I don't want you to go."
"So?"
"So," you start, following him down the hall and out to the living room. "Stay in with me and keep me company! I haven't seen you in three months."
