elle

Pressure – the burden of physical or mental distress; the constraint of circumstance; known by some to make diamonds; known by most to burst pipes.

It’d taken a week to find the house.

But he’d found it. 

3bed, 1bath, tucked away far from the city. Tucked away somewhere, that wasn’t ever supposed to be found. At least not by a nigga like him — one with a score to settle. 

One with a score, that would never be settled. 

The outside of the house was picture perfect. Fern green sliding to match the door, white double hung windows, 5 steps that led up to a farmers porch. The lawn was a gardeners wet dream — manicured grass, flowers in full bloom, a fuckin’ apple tree standing front and center. There was no paint peeling on the house, no yellow patches in the yard, no cracks in the driveway or soft spots in the wood. This was more of a home than a house. One that was lived in. Loved. Taken care of. 

One that, when he was done, would never be the same. 

The inside was small, not cramped, just cozy. Comfortable. A mix of old and new.

One room was the master. The other had been turned into a guest room. Big oak dressers sat in both. Queen size beds. Floral print comforter sets. Flat screens mounted high on the yellow painted walls.

The master had more life — an unfinished book and a warm soda on one of the nightstands, a half eaten bag of caramels, loose change, and a little plaque that said ‘World’s Best Papa’ on the other. George and Louise were arguing on the tv, while the sound track of laughter rang out behind them. It looked like a good episode — one that nobody was watching. 

The third room had been turned into an office. Instead of a tv, certificates hung on the wall. Certificates and a picture of ‘The Last Supper’. A long pinewood desk dominated most of the space. It was neat — organized stacks of paper on the right, desktop computer in the center, and a valve of holy water and bible off to the left. 

The occupants of this house were right with God. Believed in him at least. Had faith. Today they’d find out if he was as real as they seemed to think he was. 

The kitchen was towards the front. Clean ceramic tile made up the floor — an offwhite pearl color to match the backsplash behind the countertops. The appliances, from the fridge to the microwave, were sleek and shiny. Looked new. Expensive. The pot on the stove couldn’t say the same. Neither could the skillet sitting next to it. They both were worn down, with love and time, and the little table pushed against the wall had met the same fate. Its wooden surface was clean but it wasn’t as polished as it used to be. Wasn’t as smooth. And as of right now, it was also missing chairs. The table was meant to sit four, but only two seats remained pushed up. And both were unoccupied. 

It was warm in here. Oven preheated to 350, both burners on the stove turned on. There was something sweet smelling simmering in that worn down pot, butter melting in that heavy ass cast iron skillet. Dough was rolled out on one counter, while half peeled potatoes rested on the other. Someone had been cooking. And then they’d gotten interrupted.

The kitchen was separated from the rest of the house by a half wall — one you had to step around before you could enter the living room. It was the typical space. Large sectional, leather arm chair, record player in the corner. A brick fire place sat under a mantle — one that was lined from end to end with framed photos. The pictures spanned through time — showing grand babies, cousins, graduations, weddings. They were family history. Told a story. 

One Stack had already read. 

He’d walked this whole house actually. From front to back. Had wanted to see exactly what he was about to take from the world. 

“You don’t have to do this son.” 

“Please don’t do this. My grandson has m–money. We have money! Whatever you want!” 

Smoke wouldn’t have agreed with this. 

Wouldn’t have allowed it. 

They’d been running the streets since before their voices started cracking and his brother had always lived by a code. Had always operated off principle. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. But no children. No women. No family that didn’t need to be involved. 

Smoke didn’t like theatrics. Didn’t like mess. He liked clean. Quick. Quiet. In and out. Settle the score, then get ghost. 

Smoke wasn’t here though. And Stack? Stack ain’t play by rules. Certain shit was off limits, yeah.

Right up until it wasn’t. 

“Son, you don’t have to do this.” 

In the living room, along with the sectional and the arm chair and the record player and the fuckin’ family photos, were two kitchen chairs. Back to back, connected by rope. 

Seated in the chairs were Everett and Jaynie Siger. One crying, one refusing to, both about to take their last breath regardless if their cheeks were wet or not.

“My daddy died a long time ago,” Stack focused on Everett. The one that kept calling him son. The one with the salt and pepper beard and tired eyes. Nigga was tired? It was his lucky day then. Stack would have him resting soon. 

“May God rest his soul—”

Nothing had been funny since his brother was killed. That got a smirk out of him though. 

“Nah. His soul not resting where he at.”

Stack was seated on the couch in front of them. Legs spread, elbows on knees, shoulders loose. Grip on his gun tight. He was wrapped in black from head to toe. Wrapped in anger that’d been thrumming beneath the surface for months now. Anger that was starting to leak out — that had him ready to put holes in any and everybody, until he got his hands on the nigga he was looking for. 

The smirk on his face dropped. Body leaned in closer when he spoke next. “Hopefully you and the misses don’t end up where he at. Hopefully y’all been living right,” Stack let that sit for a beat. Then asked like he already knew the answer, “Y’all been living right pastor?” 

“Oh my god,” that was Jaynie. Crying hard. Breathing harder. “Please, my grandson has—” 

“Yo grandson gone be reunited wit’ you, soon as that fuck nigga stop hiding.” 

You know this ain’t right brotha’.

They were the SmokeStack twins for a reason. Ying and yang. One egg, split into two. The literal definition of balance. 

One without the other….one without the other was chaos.

Stack without Smoke was chaos. Hurt and rage personified. Unbridled. Unrestrained. Out of control. 

This ain’t you brotha’.

Smoke had been in the ground for months.

Stack hadn’t felt like himself since they lowered the casket. 

So, maybe it wasn’t him. But it was, what it was. 

Niggas was gon’ pay. By any means necessary. 

His jaw locked. Heart rate ticked up. Legs brought him from sitting to standing.

“Please no. Please God no,” Jaynie cried harder. Snot and tears mixed. Frail ass shoulders shook. 

Old him? May have felt sick about it. But when that image flashed in his head of Smoke on the ground, bleeding out, eyes empty? He felt nothing. No sympathy. No remorse. 

Wouldn’t be giving no grace either.

“This Zion’s doing? Because of something he did?” Everett’s shoulders stayed squared, voice firm, hazel eyes locked on Stack. He refused to waver. Refused to bend. But he was still trying to reason. Not for his sake. For Jaynie. “We don’t know where he is son—” he stopped himself. Corrected his words when Stack’s jaw ticked. “We don’t know where he is. We don’t know what he done did. We don’t fool with him and we don’t support the way he lives. We don’t got nothing to do with this.”

Stack could spot a liar. Cause he was one. And Pastor Everett was lying. He still talked to his grandson. Loved that bitch ass nigga very much. Was close to him. That was enough for his old ass to make Stack’s list.

All 32, golds included, shined as Stack’s lips stretched. As his dimples popped — deep and mean. 

“You ain’t gotta lie to me.” He stepped closer, dropped his head to the side, still smiling all the while. Still hurting. Still hungry for blood. “Tell the truth and shame the Devil pastor.” 

Everett said nothing. 

Prolly’ knew he would meet the same fate either way.  

Stack tsked.

“Or don’t. Bet I still get that nigga.” And suddenly, he wasn’t smiling no more. “And since he making it hard to find him, ima make him come to me.” 

You gone do it, do it clean. One in the head for both of ‘em. No messy shit brotha’.

Smoke had barely blinked before 6 shots were buried in his body. His brother — his heart — was riddled with bullets by the time he took his last breath. 

Wasn’t shit gone be clean about this. 

“Ima make that nigga come get me,” Stack spoke through clenched teeth. Went from standing straight to leaning over. So close to Everett’s face, he could smell the caramel on that niggas breath. “Gon’ drop body after body ‘till that pussy show his face. I don’t give a fuck if I gotta wipe the whole blood line out.” 

And he meant it. Would take mamas, cousins, aunties, uncles, fuckin’ family pets if he had to. Was gone paint this city red behind his brother, now that he was functioning again. Now that he knew who was responsible.

“Oh God!” Jaynie was crying so hard she would have slid out the chair if it wasn’t for the rope holding her up. 

Everett was breathing hard. Eyes stony — with regret and resignation. He swallowed. And then his lips parted. 

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul—”

Stack shook his head. Then raised up straight again. Arm holding the gun? Followed the same path. 

Everett got louder. Kept going.

“—he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake! Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil! For thou art with me! Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me —”

Stack squeezed the trigger. 

And didn’t stop, tell that bitch clicked.

Highland Park has experienced a tremendous loss in the community. 67 year old Everett Siger and 68 year old Jaynie Siger were found murdered last night in their home, both by multiple gunshots to the face and body. This is…absolutely shocking to everyone who knew the couple. Everett and Jaynie were pillars in the community, loved by all, and every single person that I’ve spoken to say they cannot imagine who would do this. As of now, investigators report no witnesses or potential motive — if you have any information at all please contact the hot line below. Investigators stress that no detail is too small. What has happened is gruesome and the violence rippling through the community has to stop. Back to you, Stanley. 

Everyone says the first body is the worst. Supposedly, it turns you inside out. Makes your pulse stutter. Steals your sleep for weeks. 

They say it’s cause you can’t forget the eyes — the fear you see in them right before you send a nigga up to God, the dilation of the pupils, the helplessness that floods a gaze when a mufucka realizes their luck just ran out. 

When bodies drop, the spirit moves on, for better or worse. But the eyes of the dead?  They stick around. Follow you. Like a fucked up token, for every life you take. 

It’s why so many like to shoot from a distance. Why niggas rather drive by and light up a block, than walk a nigga down one on one. It makes it less….personal. A lil easier to deal with. 

Stack didn’t look for easy. Not when it involved taking life. Every breath he stole from a nigga was personal, so he made it a point to get up close. Always had. And every life he took for his brother would be handled the same way. 

The lil white lady on the news shoulda’ saved her breath, cause as long as Smoke was in the dirt, there’d be no stop to the ‘violence rippling through the community’. 

Not when Stack hadn’t even really got started.

Around him, people talked. Wandering who did it and why. Speculating on if 12 would actually put the work in to find who was responsible.

Stack wasn’t worried either way. The only mufucka who’d know the real, was the nigga he was sending the message to. 

“That is so sad,” Emery stood behind the bar — big eyes, freckles everywhere, skin so light it made you side eye her when she said ‘nigga’. Her gaze was on the news, hands busy mindlessly wiping down a glass, while she yapped. “Makes me wonna call my granny right now, just to hear her voice. I could not imagine what I would do if something like that happened to her. I know their whole family is sick right now.”

Stack didn’t chuckle. Not really. Just sipped from his glass and let his mouth move without thinking, “Yeah, niggas love they grandma huh?” 

Emery frowned, head jerking from the direction of the small flat screen towards Stack. “Are you laughing?” She blinked rapidly, just knowing she was imagining the curve to his lips. “I know we call you Nutty, but that’s not funny. That’s someone’s family.” 

He was Stack to most. Nutty to some. Elias to one — when she wasn’t mad at him.

Tighten the fuck up brotha’. What’s funny about a dead granny? Stop bringing attention to the shit. 

Stack wiped the smirk off his face. Then cleaned that shit up. 

“Nah Em, I ain’t laughin’ at that,” he waved her off. “I was just thinking ‘bout some other shit. What happened is fucked up. Rest in peace to ‘em.” 

Emery acted how she looked — innocent, a lil naive, sheltered. A mufucka could convince her the sky was green if they tried hard enough, so she let Stack off the hook easy. Believed what he’d told her, without much thought. 

That was his cue to go though. He’d been here long enough. 

It was the next night, a Wednesday, going on 10, and he’d been at Heat for a couple hours. It was where he went when he wasn’t hugging the block or playing God. Where he went to sip and try to forget. 

Just as he threw a handful of bills on the bar-top, his phone vibrated, and killed any thoughts about forgetting tonight. 

“You found my package?” He had the phone to his ear and was shouldering the door open within seconds. He moved swift, easy. Had glided through the small crowd, like smoke glided through cracks. 

“Nah,” Lou’s voice was low and gritty. Accent just as thick as Stack’s and hugging every word he dropped. “I’m still tracking it for you. When I know wussup wit’ it, you’ll know.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“That ain’t even why I’m calling though,” Lou kept speaking, as Stack hit the lock on his blacked out Mustang. “Taz went to handle that business he take care of every month.” 

Stack paused, body stilling in the drivers seat, head cocking in question even though nobody could see him. “And?”  

“And she ain’t want it. Well shit —” Lou backtracked. “She ‘ont ever want it. But she refused to take it this time. Told him to get his skinny ass away from her door or she was gone call the bitches in blue,” Lou chuckled like something was funny.

Stack tongued his cheek. Flexed his jaw. Felt his stomach do that weird shit it always did when he was thinking ‘bout her. Then he spoke. 

“I’ll handle it. Just keep yo’ focus on tracking what I need.”

“Will do.” 

The line clicked and Stack was left in silence. 

It’d been a while since he’d seen her. Since he’d let her see him. It hadn't been long enough and at the same time — it’d been too fucking long. 

He’d stepped back for one reason. Had stayed away for another. Ain’t allow himself to think about it much. Ain’t have the capacity to think about it much. 

The way he felt about her never changed though. Even when he ain’t show it. Even when she couldn’t feel it. 

Stack sat there, mind jumping from one problem to the next. Zion still hiding. Annie making shit harder than what it had to be. Smoke in the ground — gone forever.

He got stuck in his thoughts. Had the car turned on, just idling by the curb like he didn’t know better. 

You a sittin’ duck right now Stack. Move brotha’.

Stack moved. Pushed everything but her out his head as he shifted gears and hit the gas. He pulled off reckless, bullying his way into the flow of traffic. 

He had to deal with this tonight, because he couldn’t afford distractions right now. And Annie was his biggest one. 

He’d barely knocked before the door swung open. 

Before Annie was standing in front of him — dark skin, narrowed eyes, set jaw. She had her curls pulled away from her face, natural hair twisted back into her signature style. Had on all black — lounge pants, tank top, long fluffy cardigan — that matched the dark jeans and hoodie he donned. In different circumstances, Stack would have been ready to sink into her. Pull her close, even while she was acting like it got on her nerves, and use her soft ass as his own full body pillow. 

Doing some shit like that didn’t even cross his mind tonight. Sleep, comfort, relaxing — all that was for people who ain’t have a dead brother and a pile of bodies about to accumulate in his honor.  Apparently Annie agreed, because when she finally spoke, it wasn’t to greet him with pleasantries.

“I’m gone tell you like I told yo’ lil errand boy earlier. Get away from my door Stack, before I call the cops.” 

She looked just as mean as she wanted to. Had her arms folded over her heavy chest, her full lips pinched up hard, her shoulders held so tight she was straining her neck.

She was fuckin…perfect. Even when she spit his name like poison. 

“You know you ain’t calling no cops Annie.” Stack had his hood pulled low, protecting him from the light drizzle that’d started on his way over. Had his eyes focused intently on her face. Like he was drinking her in. Or — like he was scared if he let his gaze wander, he’d never wonna leave. “What chu’ threatening Taz for?”

Taz was a young nigga. Had no daddy, a mama that worked three jobs, and too much heart for his own good. Stack looked out for him. Trusted him. Had him dropping money off for Annie every month. Had him taking turns with some other niggas to look out for her. 

Annie’s lips tugged when she heard Stack’s words — not into smile though. Not into anything close to it. 

What you threatening Taz for.

That’s what he was standing in front of her talking about.

“You and Taz, can stay y’all asses away from my apartment.”

Stack shook his head, ignored the shot she’d thrown at him. “Taz ain’t did nothing to you Annie —” 

“Ain’t did nothing but be connected to you,” Annie said it like he was the worst mufucka in the world. “He moving off yo orders. That’s doing enough. I don’t want yo’ money Stack. Don’t want you sticking people outside my complex to watch me. I don’t want shit from you. And I done told every nigga you send over here that.”

She had. And Stack had ignored it. Would keep ignoring it.

His eyes squinted, “I done always had people sitting on you. You know that and you know why. This ain’t nothing new. What you makin’ waves fo’?”

Audacity is what he had. To show up at her door like he hadn’t been missing in action for months. To still expect her to go along with whatever he wanted, like their last conversation hadn’t ended the way it did. 

Annie was mad. Was hurt. And she was also dissecting. Couldn’t help it. No matter how much she wanted to act like she ain’t care, her eyes started roaming anyways. Not hungrily. Carefully. Concerned. 

She was checking for new scars, both seen and unseen. Watching his shoulders and gaging if the weight he’d been carrying had eased any. Studying his hands, like she could see all the damage they’d been causing. All the blood they were about to leave behind. She was taking note of every minute change in his appearance — taking note of the circles under his eyes, the hard lines of his face, the grown out facial hair around his lips. 

He wasn’t taking care of himself and that fact — one she’d already known — did something to her chest. Made it ache. Made it burn. 

For some reason, her gaze kept dropping to his hands. And she didn’t snap out of it, until he slid them in the front pocket of his hoodie, hiding them from view. 

When she looked back up, Stack saw it. Pity. Or at least what he interpreted as pity.

His jaw locked. And he was ready to get out of her space. Something he’d never wanted to do in the past. 

“I ain’t bout to argue wit’ you. When I send somebody by here wit’ money, take it. If my niggas outside watching you, let ‘em. That salt you keep in front of yo’ door ain’t gone protect you from no real threat.”

It was a talent of Stack’s — the emotions he could pull out of her. How quick he could do it.  

“You heard me?” He stepped in when she ain’t answer right away. Impatient. Like he wanted to hear her voice — hear that soft Louisiana accent he’d been missing. Or — like he wanted to get this over with so he could be on his way. So he could get from around her before he fell into her and broke. “Let that nigga do what I send him too. Stop actin’ like this ain’t routine.” 

“It ain’t routine,” Annie matched him step for step. Getting closer. “Having a bunch of niggas taking turns doing yo job. Or what used to be yo’ job. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need yo money. You not my man. We not together, remember?” 

The last time they talked, it’d gotten loud. Annie screaming about wanting to be there for him. Wanting to be let in. Stack screaming back that what he needed was vengeance, not a punk ass pat on the back. Not talk about prayers and ancestors and healing. 

Stack had spent weeks after Smoke died moving around like a zombie. Like he ain’t even know how to function without his big brother. And then he’d gotten a phone call and snapped out of it. Had went from a zombie to a ghost. Out all hours. So deep in the streets he wasn’t bothering to come up for air. Plotting. Planning. Hurting. And never letting Annie in all the while. 

She’d double down that day they were arguing. Had told him she couldn’t watch him destroy himself. Couldn’t keep trying to be there for someone, who didn’t want it. Couldn’t keep letting him act like she’d died with Smoke. Stack had responded like Stack. Like an asshole. Telling her to get the fuck out if that’s how she felt. Telling her that if she couldn’t ride this shit out with him until he got the niggas who did his brother, she ain’t need to be around — and then nothing. For weeks, until now.  

He still sent money. Still had niggas keeping an eye on her wherever she went. Still had her tabs paid up at the restaurants she frequented. But that was all.

There’d been no conversation. No apology. No acknowledgment. 

And now he was in her face, talkin’ bout routines. Talkin’ bout what she needed to let happen. And looking worse than he had, the last time she saw him. 

Annie wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him.

Annie wanted to slap the fuck out of him. 

—

You not my man. We not together, remember? 

He didn’t actually. He’d told her to get from round him that day. Cause that’s obviously what she’d wanted to do. But he’d never said she wasn’t still his. 

And Stack ain’t really understand why him trying to drop off some money, was turning into this. 

“You really doing this right now?” He had a list of shit he could be taking care of. Had a whole empire to run by himself now — had traps he needed to check on, money to count and distribute, leads to follow because he knew some shit wasn’t right with the way Smoke went out. Knew Zion’s slow ass hadn’t pulled that hit off by himself. 

And instead of handling business, he was here. Going back and forth over some trivial shit.

“This really how you actin’?” He stepped closer, looked down at her while his brows furrowed. “When you know what I got going on? My brother just bled out in my arms, Annie and you wonna bring up old shit?” 

That wasn’t fair. But Stack didn’t fight fair. He never had. 

And even as guilt pooled in her stomach, Annie ain’t back down. She never did. 

It was why they worked. Or — why they didn’t. 

“You don’t get to do that Stack,” her words were as sharp as his. Feet brought her a step closer to him, leaving them chest to chest. She kept stepping in cause she was mad. Kept stepping in cause she missed him. “You don’t get to make me out to be the bad guy, when you ended shit with me—”

“How I end some shit and I’m right here??” His voice was climbing. 

She matched him. “You here to toss yo’ weight around. To tell me what you expect me to do. You not here cause you want to be. You not here to talk—”

“What the fuck is there to talk about Annie?!” 

“You! Us! Smoke!”

0 to 10. That’s how it went with Stack. Cause he didn’t do nothin’ half way. Whether that was lovin’, or fightin’, or making niggas pay.

Restraint was not his game.

And Annie had a bad habit of feeding off that. 

“I know yo brother died! I know you —”

Stack cut her off then, words dead calm. Final. 

“We not talking ‘bout my brother Annie.”

Annie kept going.

“—hurting! I know it feel like yo whole world done stopped, Elias. I know you—”

Stack talked over her. 

“We not talking ‘bout my brother Annie.”

And Annie kept going.

“—feel alone. I know you miss him so fuckin’ much, baby. But you’re not alone Elias. I’m here and I just want to —”

“We not talking about my fuckin’ brother Annie!” 

His voice boomed like thunder. Hard, strained, loud enough to wake the dead.

Loud enough to stop Annie in her tracks. 

Loud enough to make both of them still. 

The only thing moving on Stack was his chest, rising up and down fast. He was breathing hard, had his eyes boring into hers, pupils blown wide with panic and hurt and something else that screamed he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t talking about his brother. Not with her. Not with anyone. 

You ain’t right brotha’. 

He wasn’t talking ‘bout it. 

And Annie…she could accept him not wanting to talk. But she couldn’t accept everything else. Couldn’t accept the shell he was becoming. The distance he’d created between them. The way their relationship was dying, right along with Smoke. 

She didn’t bother hiding the hurt in her voice the next time she spoke.

“Then we ain’t got nothing to talk about at all ‘Lias,” she said it soft. But firm. “I can’t keep doing this —”

“I’m not asking you to do nothing Annie,” Just as fast as the fire between them started blazing, it died out. Stack had his own flame sitting in his chest though. Stepped even closer to her, voice low. Urgent. “I just need you to be here while I work through ‘dis shit. Need you to stay down.”

“The pro’lem is you don’t want me here Elias.” It hurt to meet his stare. She kept looking anyways. “You don’t want me here — not forreal, not in the way that matters — and I ‘ont know what to do with that no more.” 

When Smoke died, it felt like the world stopped. But that’s only what it felt like. Truth was, time didn’t stop for nobody, dead or alive. Stack was forced to keep going. Forced to handle the business he and his brother started, and he’d never admit it, but he’d been drowning under the weight — the pressure, the anger, the loneliness he felt in a world without his twin.  And now this girl was in his face, tryna take the last good thing he had on earth away from him? 

Nah. 

Fuck that. 

“So what,” the rain started picking up as he spoke, Annie’s garden style apartment leaving them open and exposed. “You leavin’ me now?” 

There was a beat of silence. 

Stack’s eyes grew dark. Dangerous. Possessive. 

And Annie….Annie just sounded tired the next time she spoke. Like all the sleepless nights without him were finally catching up to her. 

“You already half way out the door Stack. I’m just closin’ it.”

He said nothing. Until —

“Nah,” he spoke the words out loud this time. Stepped forward when there was no room for him to. Stepped forward and forced Annie back into her apartment. “Fuck that.” 

Two words. Dropped with so much weight, they couldn’t be argued with. 

Stack wasn’t losing her. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever. 

Everyone always talks about the first body. 

No one ever mentions the first loss though.

The first real one. 

Stack had been knee deep in the streets since he was 13 years old. Had been breaking into cars and robbing houses, while other niggas his age was at school, participating in science fairs. 

Had been on the block, exchanging drugs for money, while his peers went house to house selling chocolate bars. 

Had felt the pain of burying a patna that got caught on the wrong block at the wrong time, while other niggas were bitchin’ ‘bout they first heart break.  

Point was, you didn’t stay in the game as long as he had, didn’t get yo hands dirty and climb yo way to the top, without experiencing loss. 

He was never supposed to lose his brother though. 

Was never supposed to have the sound of Smoke choking on blood memorized. 

Was never supposed to know what it felt like to have do this shit without Smoke. 

That’s what kept Stack up at night. Not the lives he took, but the life that was taken from him. 

That’s why he was up now, staring at the ceiling while Annie laid sprawled out on his chest. She was out cold — had her hair all in his face, her leg tucked between his, soft titties pressed against him firmly. 

She was on him like she knew he didn’t plan to stay. 

And she was right. 

Last night, Stack had long stroked her until her eyes were watering and she was takin’ back all that shit she’d said ‘bout quitting on him. 

—

5 hours ago

Annie’s mouth fell open as slick, sloppy, wet sounds filled the room every time he pulled out and dropped dick back into her. Every time he hit that spot she kept on reserve just for him.

“I said, where the fuck you going?” 

His hips snapped forward rough. 

“Nowhere!” 

Stack felt like he was catching his breath and losing it at the same time. Felt like she was cracking him open and making him whole. 

Annie didn’t feel like anything. She really couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t keep her eyes open, couldn’t stop the sounds climbing out of her throat, and it made her mad — how good he felt inside her. How good they felt together. 

This wasn’t going to fix them. Wasn’t gon’ make him talk to her. Wasn't gon’ convince him to let her be there. Wasn’t gon’ pull them back from the edge they were teetering on. Wasn’t gon’ solve anything. 

And yet — 

“I’m not going nowhere Stack — fuck!” 

It felt like it was solving everything.

“Nah, what’s my name?” 

His hand went to her throat. Not to hurt her, but to feel her. Feel that pulse kicking up against his fingers. Reminding him that she was alive. Whole. His. 

He squeezed gently. Grinded into her nasty. 

“What’s my fucking name Annie?!” 

“Lias please,” Annie was scratching at his back. Her breath mixing with his. Eyes on their way shut again. 

Smack. Smack. Smack.

That was skin on skin. Wet pussy wrapped around hard dick. Souls remembering who they belonged too — even when worldly shit tried to get in the way. Tried to intercept destiny. 

“You leaving me?” His teeth were clenched. Sweat dripping off his temples. Dimples caved in deep. 

She should.

“No Lias.” 

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“Yo’ pulse going crazy Annie.” His hand flexed. “That’s what a nigga do to you?” 

“Yes Lias.” 

“Open them pretty ass eyes.” 

She listened. Felt her heart rate kick up more. 

Stack’s stare was frozen on her. Lids low, deep brown orbs hot and unblinking. 

“I love the fuck out chu’,” his hips never stopped moving. Dick never quit hitting her spot. “Let me focus. Let me get these niggas Annie. Let me figure out how to run this shit witout Smoke. Then I swear you got me baby. I swear I got you.” 

Annie didn’t believe that. Didn’t believe she’d ever really have him again. Not all of him. Not with his brother gone. But she clenched around him anyways. Pulled him closer and nodded her head, because Elias always managed to make lies sound so sweet.

—

Present 

Stack wasn’t sure he had a heart no more. Felt like that mufucka got left in the dirt with Smoke. But whatever he did have left was Annie’s. 

So when he told her he loved her last night, he wasn’t lying. He did love her. Loved her the best way he could. 

Don’t fuck up a good thing brotha’. 

But he couldn’t stay. Couldn’t pour into her the way she wanted. Not right now. Not with all the shit he had on his plate. Not with certain niggas still walking around breathing. Not when he needed to figure out what the fuck happened that night. 

And she had to understand that. 

He’d managed to slide out from under her, had pulled his shirt back over his head, grabbed his hoodie, and was ready to hit the block when the sun hadn’t even risen yet. 

That was the type of timing he was on these days. 

Annie shifted in bed, sighed in her sleep, and Stack threw a long look at her over his shoulder. She was sprawled out, hugging his pillow now, lips frowned up like she could sense he wasn’t next to her no more. 

“Luh’ you,” his voice was low, wasted, cause she wasn’t even awake to hear it. He took her in for a second longer and then moved. Out of her bedroom and into the kitchen. He grabbed a water out the fridge, left a thick stack of hundreds on the table, and was locking up behind him before she had the chance to open her eyes. 

They’d be ight. 

Wouldn’t nothing else be though, if he ain’t get back to business. 

You need to check on the trap over east brotha’. Money ain’t been right wit’ it.

Stack closed his eyes. Let his throat tighten. Just for a second.

And then he started his car. And headed east.

A/n — Ummm RIP Everett and Jaynie? 😬 If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed. I would actually really love to hear yall thoughts on this lol I was very nervous to post it, so if you feel so inclinedddddd let me know sumn 👀🫶🏾

—

—

—

It was something much worse.

The road to Annie’s shop lay just ahead, looming, narrow and rugged. Dirt kicked up from the wheels, a thick cloud of red dust and exhaust smoke that billowed into the sky and disappeared into the trees.

Seven years had gone by. Seven years of Chicago winters and tear-stained letters. Seven years of ache. Seven years of keeping his brother safe. And seven years without the woman who kept them both alive. 

He and Stack shared a lil’ kitchenette apartment in the blackbelt. They ran jobs for Capone, hoarding money, gold, and hooch, and stashing it in a dilapidated warehouse. It was risky business, sure— but Chicago was always a means to an end.

It meant no more busting ass for the white man to roll up a few days after Christmas, cigar in his mouth, smirk on his face, just to tell him he still owed him money after picking his cotton all fucking year.

They had plans. Big ones. They’d open a place where their people could enjoy themselves. Not some raggedy shit that ran out of a plantation shack. They’d buy that old sawmill, patch it up, turn it into a juke joint. 

He’d put his share of the profit into something more stable— a funeral home on Issaquena, running hearses from there to Mound Bayou. And Smoke, he could finally build his wife that house they both dreamed about. Something real peaceful. Two stories, a kitchen, a garden, a picket fence, pigpen and a chicken coop. They could live off the land and fill the house with babies. Little chocolate cherubs with his dimples and her eyes.

He’d begged her to follow him. He said he’d go ahead, set everything up for them, take a job at the stockyard. He’d work his way up and buy them a place over in Bronzeville. Something comfortable, with a view of Lake Michigan. A fresh start.

She refused. Told him that blood kept her bound to the land. That she wouldn’t leave their daughter’s grave untended. She poured her soul into his mojo bag before he left. He’d press his lips to it sometimes, when the ache started to feel tangible. He could still taste the salt from her tears, like she blessed it with them.

He kissed her hard and fucked her slow the night before. Then he tucked his hat and held her softly as she wept on his chest. 

“I love you.”

He didn’t apologize or make promises. He didn’t need to. Their understanding went beyond what words could explain. When she looked up at him, doe eyes red-rimmed and watery, his chest tightened. Her gaze pierced his soul. He kissed her trembling lips once more, then he walked out the door. 

Smoke’s truck stopped short of the house. He took a deep breath. Then he cut the engine, and stepped out of his truck. He looked around, taking it all in slowly. The porch still sagged in the middle; a wayward floorboard still hung loose on the steps. But the garden was tended. The faint scent of rosemary she used to sweep the porch still hung in the air. 

He looked to his left and froze. A little mound of earth. A stone with a small handprint. A bottle of fresh milk. An Egun stick...she taught him that. And a rusted tin for flowers. He took off his cap, the bundle of flowers trembling slightly in his hand.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d been crouching before he noticed the wind had stopped blowing. The throaty flute of a windchime sounded and pollen danced around his head, but he could feel no breeze. A chill ran down his spine. The same chill he felt during long nights in Chicago, when the danger felt close and the longing got rough. Nights he swore he could hear her calling his name in narrow alleyways and the back of speakeasies. 

His voice was thick, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. 

“How you be?” 

Annie shifted her weight, leaning against the doorframe. 

“No misery’s worth complaining about.” She spoke with a rawness that brought him to his feet.

When he finally turned to look at her, his breath left him. She looked regal, leather belt cinching her waist, blue skirts moving like tide. She stood perfectly still inside the doorway, looking like a force to be reckoned with. Like a current.

Grief, longing, love and ache all channeled into something that looked more like peace on her. Acceptance. Purpose.

This wasn’t the woman he left seven years ago, the one who kissed left teardrops on the leather of his mojo bag. Certainly not the woman he met 13 years prior— a shy young woman of 18 whose words were spoken quietly but carried weight.

This woman was different. Born of water and baptized in fire. She stood in front of him, a formidable woman. A pillar, a beacon. Unbridled, unapologetic.

Reborn.

The air was thick, sweltering with a lust-filled heat that rivaled the Mississippi’s. Wet smacks and low grunts echoed off the wall, jars and vials clinked as they fell making room for the slick joining of two bodies drunk with need. 

Smoke wasn’t gentle. He spun her around and shoved her dress up, putting her exactly where he wanted her. There was no formality, no softness— just a raw need to be close. He pushed in with one long thrust that filled her completely. The stretch was overwhelming— he was thick and long, and it made her face twist up in ecstasy. Her hands reached out, her fingernails digging into the warped wood. 

“Nuh-uh, where you goin?” 

Smoke pulled out, angling her hips, spreading her wider. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back onto his dick. This angle hit deeper, making Annie see stars. She squealed in pleasure.

“Ah! Elijah!” 

He set a punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin spurring him on. He licked up her neck, then buried his face in it, growling in her ear. 

“Who pussy is this?”

“Yours!” 

“Say it,” he gritted, feeling her clamp down on him.

“Ah—this p-pussy belongs to you papa!” 

“Mhmm.” Smoke slowed down his strokes, letting every thick vein glide against her sensitive walls. 

“I’ma fill you up,” he said breathlessly. “Leave you leakin’. Want you walkin’ around that juke full of my nut.” He pulled her hair back, making her arch into him. “You want that baby? Want me to make a mess in you?”

“Yes papa,” she moaned. “I want it drippin’ down my thighs.” 

“Ask nicely,” he grunted, tilting his head. She was squeezing him again, her pussy working hard to milk that nut out.

“Please papa,” she whined. “Please make a mess in me.”

Smoke groaned. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

He sped up his strokes again and Annie started screaming. “Come on baby,” he barked. “Fuck me back. Show me how much you missed papa’s dick.” 

And like the good girl that Annie was, she followed her papa’s orders.

A Few Hours Later… Smoke and Annie pulled up to the mill just as the sun began to set, the sky the color of a bruise. He cut the engine, going over the events of the night. Annie tried to listen, as he went on about roulettes and Irish beer, but her thoughts kept drifting like something reached into her brain and yanked.

“Smoke, what time is it?” 

Smoke looked down at his watch. “4:32,” he grumbled.

She grabbed her haint beads.

Smoke raised a brow from the driver’s seat. “You good mama?”

Annie hesitated. “Sun rose at six this mornin’. Ain’t due to set for another hour.”

Smoke rubbed her shoulder as Stack approached the truck. “What you thinkin’?”

Annie looked at Smoke dead in his eyes, “This place give me the willies.” 

“Hey sis-in-law, long time no see,” Stack said as he opened the passenger door. He removed his hat and helped her out. 

“Hey Stack,” she said, bringing him into a hug. 

“Thanks for comin’ tonight.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Annie said, still tugging her elekes. Just as she slipped into the building she looked up— three vultures sat perched on the roof. 

Music was flowing, plates were selling, bottles of beer and mason jars of wine and whiskey clinked in the air. Annie stood behind the bar, looking at what her husband and his twin put together for their community with a sense of pride. Still, she couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of doom. 

It wasn’t too often people her color were allowed prolonged happiness. There would always be some white person who came along and disturbed their peace just because they could. That’s what they did— they lived to reduce them to nothing but hard laborers and strip any sense of joy they tried to cultivate. That was their formula— break ‘em before they think they deserve more.

But this…this was something different. 

It felt older— older than Jim Crow and much more sinister.

As soon as Sammie struck his first chord, she felt it.

The veil wasn’t just thinning, it had split wide open.

🎵See I’m full of the Blues, Holy water too… I know the truth hurts, so I lied to you…🎵

“Ain't no way of bringing nobody back once they gone, that don’t involve evil. Best thang we can do for ‘em is free they spirit from the curse.” — Annie Moore

Club Juke turned into a mix of blood, fangs and fire.

Stack emerged from the shadows and lunged, pinning Annie to the ground. 

“No!” Smoke darted towards her, but was intercepted by Remmick. 

“Elias, not Annie!” 

This is it, she thought. She knew when she threw her bones it would come to this, it just hurt to think it’d come at the hands of Stack. That the man in charge of her demise would wear the same face as her husband.

She thought about what she could have done. Then she thought about what happened the last time she didn’t let things play out the way they were supposed to. She thought about Smoke, about what she made him promise. He was screaming her name, pleading with Stack while she sobbed quietly. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to witness the pain on his face. 

“Not you,” Annie whispered between tears. 

Stack pulled her jaw towards him. His eyes shined bright, a chilling pale blue. His mouth twisted into a smirk, drool dripping slowly from his fangs. He smirked wider when she squirmed, taunting her. He was enjoying this, seeing her uncomfortable, hearing his twin plead for her life. He took his time, watching her try to wiggle out of his grip with amusement. Annie braced herself as Stack lowered his head. 

The screams faded. The shooting, snarling, crackle of fire, all dulled like the world was holding its breath. Annie squeezed her eyes shut, praying quietly as she felt fangs tease her neck. 

“Asé.” 

Click-click. BOOM! 

Smoke was freed from Remmick’s grip.

Click-click. BOOM!

“Annie!”

Annie’s eyes flew open to find Pearline standing above her reloading her shotgun, the barrel still smoking. 

“Annie! Get up!” 

Smoke all but dragged her up off the floor, putting a stake in her hand. A not-so-subtle reminder that the fight wasn’t over. Not until they got Sammie someplace safe. “Come on baby, ain’t done yet.”

October 16, 1932 The air felt thick, like the morning after a storm. It smelled of iron, ash, and the morbidly-sweet rot of a juke joint stripped of its soul and forced to its grave. Death moved through the floorboards like a presence, lingering in corners and clinging to walls like shadows that bent wrong. The sun was still on its ascent, the pale light of morning peaking through the rafters, smoking the vampire bodies in its path. 

The shooting stopped five minutes ago, but Annie couldn’t tell. Time here felt like it was holding its breath— like she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t name, but recognized its shape. Like someone split the veil open and something older stepped out. 

Annie sat on top of the bar, trying to quiet the sounds of pain, horror and surrender that echoed in her head. She was slouched, breath stuck in her throat, limbs trembling under the weight of grief and guilt. Her face was covered— a layer of dust, blood and sweat like a second skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, raw and filled with tears that cleared a path where they fell like a map no one asked for. Her dress was in tatters, shoes long gone— lost somewhere in the fight. 

Delta Slim’s body was in literal pieces on the stage. Mangled and completely drained of blood, it was a chilling testament to the terror that tore through the night. His harmonica lay amidst a chaotic pile of splintered wood, shards of glass, and blood splatter like a shiny, silver headstone.

Her shoulders shook, tears spilling down her cheeks. The place that was supposed to be somewhere for their community to enjoy themselves became a vehicle of violence and destruction. Of course the klan were involved. Smoke took them out by himself. Picked them off one by one, just like he promised. The mill door creaked open and he stumbled in clutching his side. 

“Baby,” Annie gasped, “you hurt?!” 

Smoke shook his head. “Just a graze. But we gotta go. I got the truck ready.” 

He scooped Annie in his arms and pressed his forehead to hers. His white undershirt was stained red, his pants caked with dirt and gunpowder. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, his hands trembling where he touched her. He had Stack’s dogtags wrapped around his wrist.

“Thought I was gon’ lose you for good,” he murmured. “Ain’t livin’ without you again.”

Annie cradled his face, her tears still flowing. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not without you.”

“Then let’s go home, Mrs. Moore.”

They burned the mill and every trace of what transpired there to the ground until the land was as dark as the blood and ash that soaked it. Black fumes billowed in the air for miles, the smell so vile it burned their eyes. They drove until they couldn’t smell it anymore. Then they kept driving until they saw Spanish moss and swampland. Louisiana.

Her parent’s cottage was still there. Long unoccupied, but still standing. It had a wide porch, a large backyard, and her grandmother’s wind chimes still hanging by the front door. It felt like peace, like this was home now.

Annie swept the floorboards with rosemary and performed her protection spells while Smoke beat the rugs out back and hid their stash under the floorboards. 

They bathed together, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. They held each other a little tighter that night, the kerosene lamp throwing gold shadows against their skin. He laid behind her and slid in slowly. The thick stretch of him, the power in his strokes made her shudder with pleasure. He was still buried deep when they drifted off, tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with their love. And when the light of dawn made their eyelids flutter awake, he took her again.

Three Months Later January 31, 1933 

Life was joyfully slow. Annie fed the chickens and tended her shop. Smoke found honest work on the railroad. Every morning they watched the sunrise together. Every night they’d hold each other close, listening to the bullfrogs and crickets compete for sound. He’d fuck her filthy every chance he got. Talk her through it, leave her leaking. She stayed so full of him, he filled her with babies, too. 

The kitchen smelled like garlic and saltpork. Annie stood at the stove, apron tied loosely over a faded green house dress that fit a little more snug now that she was showing. She smiled down at her growing belly, rubbing it with one hand and stirring a pot of butter beans with the other. Her hips swayed slowly to the song she hummed under her breath. Smoke sat at the kitchen table, watching her with a tender heat. He crossed the room in two strides, pressing himself against her back.

“I’m hungry,” he said roughly.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Supper’s almost ready, baby.”

“Nah,” he muttered. “My food right here. Been marinatin’ all day.”

He dropped to his knees and pulled up her dress. No panties. 

“Mhmm.” He smacked each ass cheek. “Arch that back, baby.”

Annie whimpered. She arched her back.

He licked his lips and dove in tongue first.

October 15, 1933  Smoke sat in the living room, rocking their daughter. She babbled and cooed gently as he held her on his chest, just above his heart. 

Annie kneeled at her altar with a heavy heart, eyes wide with unshed tears. She laid a spread out in front of her like something sacred.

A pearl for Pearline. A flask for Slim. An old button from a pair of overalls for Cornbread. Bo’s keychain. And a paintbrush for Grace.

She thought about Cornbread. How Therese had to raise their child alone. Thought about lil’ Lisa, how her parents never came home. She thought about Pearline, a woman just trying to find some escape and got caught in the crosshairs. 

Then she thought about Slim. Thought about how he laid down his life for Sammie. Welcomed death with open arms.

“He’ll be visitin’ Sammie,” she whispered. “Watchin’ him play.”  Then she thought about everyone else at the juke. Her community who came there looking for freedom and fun, and ended up getting burnt by the sun. Those people left behind children, siblings, parents, friends, lovers, lives, legacies. She still remembered standing there next to Smoke, watching the mill burn to ash and feeling the souls stuck on that land, rotting, cursed.

“I think about y’all all the time,” she said to the empty room. “I wanna help y’all crossover proper…just don’t know how.”

A tear fell onto her bottom lip. She licked it, tasting the salt of her pain.  

“I need you grandma, great-grandma,” she pleaded softly. “Please.” 

She bowed her head and cried. “So many people lost that night,” she sniffled. “Just gone. It ain’t right.” 

A windchime sounded outside, but Annie didn’t hear it. The room got colder, the candles flickered once then held steady.

That’s heavy work, baby girl. 

Her head snapped up. “Grandma?”

Abeni. 

That was a different voice.

Annie paused. “Who are you?”

The stolen one.

A third voice. Annie thought for a moment, the constant tears shedding clouding her eyes and her mind. 

“Great-grandma?”

It was silent for a beat. Then—

The flood. The voice said.

Annie gasped. “The one on the other side.”

Your spirit looks sad.

“I could have done something,” she whispered.

Wouldn’t have stopped it no way. That kind of creature, they love to feed on a woman with your gift. Makes ‘em more powerful.

“How do I start? What can I do?”

A body is a good start.

“So they have to be alive?”

That kind, they may walk this earth, but they ain’t alive.

“But I can set their spirits free?”

You can guide it around what’s feedin’ on it. But it ain’t easy. Gon’ take a lot from you, just like it took from me. Their soul has to want it. And some souls, they like bein’ fed on— no matter what they say. Their type— they’re tricksters. Don’t confuse a spirit that wants to be set free with a rotted flesh that wants to lure you in.

Nine Years Later October 25, 1941 

The living room was…loud. A cacophony of toddler babbling, baby cooing and the high pitch of children’s voices. They huddled around the ham radio, turning the knob until they heard the smooth hum of the radio station.

“Hush now! Don’t y’all wanna hear cousin Sammie on the radio?” 

A chorus of yes sir’s rang out. Five to be exact.

“Then be quiet ‘fore ya mama send y’all back to bed,” Smoke barked out. 

Annie appeared from the back room, baby Ezra suckling her breast. “Now why am I in it?” 

Smoke pulled her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I just wanted you out here, baby. Missed you when you was gone.”

Annie giggled, moving Ezra to her shoulder to burp. “I been gone for five minutes, Smoke.”

He nuzzled her ear, then kissed her on the cheek. “Five minutes too long.”

Smoke squeezed Annie’s waist when a familiar bassline came over the radio.

🎵Somethin’ I wanna tell ya, ‘fore a long time… It might hurt ya, might lose ya mind…🎵

They looked at each other with recognition. The painful memories of that night still haunted them— Smoke would wake up gasping, covered in sweat. He’d grab his gun and check the locks twice before crawling back in bed. Sometimes Annie would see burning bodies when she closed her eyes. Bo, Grace, Pearline, Cornbread. Slim’s mangled body. His harmonica that laid on the stage like a grave marker. 

Stack came around sometimes. He’d leave candy for the kids, whiskey for Smoke and flowers for Annie. Him and Mary settled across the river in New Orleans, living in the shadows of narrow alleyways, rotting churches, and abandoned mills. They could be around their own kind down there, a certain kind of freedom if you squinted your eyes and looked real close. 

Sammie wrote to his cousins every two weeks. He made it to Chicago and recorded “I Lied to You” at Columbia Records the following year. Took him a whole week to get it done ‘cause the equipment kept shutting down mid-session. He told Annie that sometimes, when he was alone in the booth, he’d smell a whiff of corn liquor, followed by the faint thrum of a harmonica and a familiar cackle. He wrote a song for his old friend that day, the man who sacrificed himself so he could be free. It’d go on to be the second single on his debut album. Called it “Magic (It’s What We Do).”

December 7, 1985 The room held its breath. 

The oxygen machine hissed. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Their children, all six of them in their 40’s and 50’s now surrounded Annie’s bedside.

Smoke sat in the chair next to her, staring at the woman he loved since 1919. He was bald now, wrinkled, even walked with a cane— but his presence still filled a room and pressed into the corners. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, just so Annie could hear it. “For givin’ me this life.” 

Annie smiled weakly. “You mean havin’ all your bighead babies?”

Elijah Jr, who looked like he could have been Smoke and Stack’s triplet, spoke up. “Now mama, why we gotta be big headed?” 

Smoke chuckled, rubbing her hand gently. “For lovin’ me. For givin’ me another chance,” he said softly. “And havin’ all my big headed babies.”

Annie choked out a laugh that turned into a cough. 

Their eldest daughter Grace stepped forward, helping her mother sit up. “Mama, the doctor said relax. Don’t be workin’ yourself up.” 

Annie swatted her daughter’s arm. “Y’all don’t need to worry about me. Be laughin’ plenty where I’m goin’.”

“Mama don’t talk like that!” she hissed, voice thick with emotion. 

“Look here,” Annie started. “I told y’all this day would come. Everybody got a time. You just pray that your time come when you ready and not because somebody else decided for you.” 

“Mama….”

Annie sat up fully with Smoke’s help. “Now I want y’all to listen to me. I ain’t got long for this earth. And I ain’t scared. I feel a peace I ain’t never felt before. Know where I’m goin’, I get to see your sister again.”

Smoke squeezed her hand. 

“She would have been 62 this year. But she wasn’t meant to be on this earth that long. I had to learn to accept that. Took a while. Hurt real bad. Wasn’t my fault, or yo daddy’s. Not everybody meant to stay long. Some people shorter than others. Don’t mean they life didn’t mean nothin’. Your sister didn’t make it a year and I still remember her laugh like it was yesterday. Still remember what she smell like — milk and lavender.” 

Annie smiled to herself.

“It used to hurt thinkin’ about her. Thought I’d never think on her without it takin’ a piece of me. But now I feel joy.” She paused. “That’s how I want y’all to remember me. Y’all have a piece of me in you, so whenever you get sad, just remember…you a part of me. I’ll always be here in spirit.” 

Annie looked around the room at her family, the children her and Smoke made out of love and wrapped up in it. She looked at her husband, a formidable man even in his old age. Their eyes held a silent conversation.

“I love you.”

Smoke kissed the back of her hand. “I love you too, mama.”

She winked at him, then she laid back with a smile and closed her eyes. The beep of the heart monitor slowly decreased.

Annie took her last breath that night. Smoke sat by her side— an ever steady presence amidst chaos. He didn’t cry. Didn’t even look sad as the room filled with sobs and screams of their children. He just adjusted her blanket like it would make her more comfortable, kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

He wouldn’t make it to her funeral.

Stack came by that same night. He looked at his 87-year-old brother and saw the face of a man who ultimately lived life on his own terms. He saw a man who led a life so fulfilling, he was happy to leave it to spend eternity in the sky. He saw a man who he knew he’d never see again in person, not even in the mirror. 

They stood side-by-side under the old oak in the backyard, watching the warmth of the house lights spill out the windows. 

“How’d she go?” Stack asked.

Smoke dipped his head, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Peacefully,” he said quietly.

Stack nodded. “You next,” he said, not a question. 

“It’s my time,” Smoke said with finality.

Stack turned to face his brother. “You know I ain’t good at goodbyes,” he said with a shaky voice. “That’s why it’s never goodbye, always see you later.” He tried to chuckle, but a sob came out instead. “But it’s fuckin’ me up that I won’t be seein’ you later ‘cuz of this…curse,” he choked out. Stack took a deep breath to calm himself. “Maybe Annie can conjure up somethin’ from the spirit world, have me swallow some herbs ‘n shit so I can see y’all again.” 

Smoke looked at his forever 35-year-old twin with a profound sadness. He saw a restless spirit. He saw a 9-year-old Elias, terrified to walk this world alone. He saw a 23-year-old Stack terrified to go to Little Rock alone. His heart swelled. There were so many emotions he wished he could convey, but they all got stuck— like they were meant to be left unsaid. Or maybe because Stack already knew. “I’ma miss you,” was all he could manage to get out.

They pulled each other into a hug.

“Ain’t no me without you,” he sobbed. “I can’t do this shit without you.” 

“You can and you will. You gon’ do it for me. For my lil’ ones. Make sure they don’t get in no trouble.”

Stack chuckled low. “Thought I don’t know how to watch my own back?”

“You ain’t gotta choice now fool,” he laughed. “Annie gon’ put belt-to-ass, even from the afterlife.”

The SmokeStack twins stood under the stars, reminiscing about their glory days and the nights that still haunted them. New York. France. Chicago. Clarksdale. They talked until dawn threatened the horizon. 9 decades. Two brothers. Two paths. Split for eternity. When Smoke turned to the house, he looked over his shoulder one last time and saw tear stained cheeks that matched his own. 

“I love you, lil’ brother.”

“I love you too, big brother.”

As Stack watched his brother slip back into the house, something came over him. It wasn’t a breeze. More like a feeling. A prickling of his skin, like when the temperature drops suddenly. Then her scent wrapped around him— lavender and vanilla, the smell so strong it made his nose tingle. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Knew you’d come through,” he whispered into the darkness, tears still falling. 

Elijah “Smoke” Moore passed three days later. Peacefully. Just like Annie had. As he took his last few breaths, he smiled weakly at the ceiling. “Told you,” he whispered softly. “I ain’t livin’ without you again.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Warmth.

A kind that surrounds itself in an embrace as if in the womb once again, and a comfort that comes with the familiar. The knowing that you know instinctively.

Annie melted into it as if her body was liquid, her eyes shifting aimlessly under her eyelids as wakefulness took its time making its way to the surface.

She cracked one eye open. Faint rays of a setting sun washed her room in orange, purples, and reds. It didnt take long for her to realize that she wasnt resting across a pillow, but a person.

Elijah.

His faint cologne, natural musk, and that ever present lingering scent of tobacco filtered through her nose before her mind caught up. Her head gently shifted with the slow upward and downward movement of his chest as hear ears started to register his strong, steady heartbeat underneath his sturdy chest.

She looked up towards his face. He was already awake.

Awake, and looking at her. His expression softer and more open then she could ever recall seeing before.

Annie shifted her body, lifting her head from the warmth of his chest, his strong arms shifted with her movement, sliding down her sides limply. She spoke, voice raspy and riddled with sleep, "How long you been up?"

"Been a minute." He spoke quietly.

Quiet in a way that felt as if he spoke any louder it would shatter the little delicate bubble they had right now in this moment.

"You been watchin' me this whole time?" Her eyes squinted in faux suspicion.

Elijah cocked his head to the side, "An' if I did? Is that a problem?" He brought one of his hands to rest underneath his chin, looking at her expectantly.

A coy smile graced her lips, Annie cocked her head to the side, mirroring Elijah. "I dont know yet..." she looked deep into his brown eyes searchingly.

"Nothin' enter your mind to wake me up? Looks like most of the day done left already." She took note of the sun that way on its way out, as daylight quietly made its exit to bring forth the approaching nightfall.

Elijah snorted, "You act like this place gon' grow legs and leave if you aint on alert 24/7." His arms circled around her once again, pulling her to him.

"Elijah-" she started fidgeting in his embrace, trying to get up from the bed.

"You think I wouldnt wake you if somethin' was on fire? Aint shit happen 'round here while you was restin' your eyes." He paused, looking her up and down her voluptuous body, a toned down but hard to ignore heat behind his eyes. "By all means, looked like you needed the rest."

Annie felt her cheeks warm at the implication. Memories of what happened between them not too long ago came rushing back all at once. She looked to the side slightly flustered. Not enough for her to dissappear and hide from him. From the looks of things it was impossible for her to do that with him now... especially now.

"Stop lookin' at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you wanna eat me up."

"Well I already did, an' I'll do it again." He stated matter of factly.

She shook her head, "You somethin' else."

"I know thats right. Better not be nobody else like me 'round here." He gruffed, deadly serious.

Annie stared at him in quiet disbelief, "Man if you dont hush up with all that." She grabbed one of her silk covered pillows and swatted at his head, smacking him dead in his face. He didnt have time to lift his arms to shield himself.

"You'd think that audacity of yours would cool down some but here you are just funkin' up the place. I should go back to callin' you Smog." She teased.

"Anisa, you bet' not call me that ugly ass name again." He managed to grab the pillow she was currently assaulting him with. And there it was.

Those elusive dimples of his made their rare apearance. Not a smirk, but a full blown smile this time as he was wrestling the pillow from her hands.

"How you gon' let me get a hit on you? Aint you s'pposed to be a notorious mercenary?" She chuckled.

"It dont count. I let you."

"No you didnt."

She felt a slight rumbled in his chest, a low chuckle emerging from the depths of his diaphragm. "You right..." His voice trailed off, the light atmosphere they both hailed died down, replaced with an undpoken heaviness that quietly bloomed between them. Elijah's raspy voice bled through the heavy atmosphere.

"How you feelin'?..."

Annie drifted her eyes to the side, looking towards the balcony as if it was the most interesting thing on earth.

She felt one of Elijah's hands gently grasp her chin, turning her head to face his own. "C'mon now, aint no point in hiding. I done seen damn near everything by now, I want them pretty eyes on me."

"Ugh...you so annoyin'." She rolled her eyes, though there was no heat behind her words.

"I dont know... Its like Im feelin' everything all at once. My emotions is like a tangled ball of yarn, I dont really know which one I wanna pick out an' start untanglin'..." She spoke earnestly.

"Mmm..." he was quiet for a moment "Mary?..."

Her eyes became heavy with grief. Not the kind from the death of a loved one, but a loss of a different kind. The death of a relationship she thought she had, maybe there never was one to begin with...

Elijah watched her closely, any minute details that ran across her expression to gage where she was mentally. She was a woman that kept things so close to her chest... Almost to her own detriment.

Until he saw her eyes start to shimmer with Un-shed tears. Her lips pursed and she looked off to the side again. Still not quiet comfortable with the amount of vulnerability she was displaying, but when it came to Smoke... Elijah... She couldnt find it in herself to put a cap on what she was feeling.

"I... Im not gon lie Elijah, Im hurt... Real hurt by what she did- has done." She trailed off, deep in thought as she was searching for words she wasnt sure she had in her at this very moment. "I dont even know what to think. All I know is she cant stay, but- I need sometime to collect myself 'fore I make any moves."

He hummed in understanding, firming his grip on her plush body as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "Its ok. You dont have to know what to do right now." The warmth of his body, and the rumble of his voice was a grounding comfort against the whirlwind trying to tear through her mind.

She shifted again, lifting her head out the crook of his neck and looked him in his eyes, the setting sun shining its pinks, purples, and oranges against his bronze skin, and reflecting off his deep brown eyes. She saw a newfound softness in them. Maybe it was always there and she simply never saw it, but it made her feel warm and soft on the inside.

Her blatant staring must've got to him because he started to fidget slightly, unsure of what her eyes saw when they looked at him. What was it that was making her eye him so intensely, whatever it was, he hoped she found whatever it is that she seemed to be looking for. And it seemed that he didnt have to wait long.

She caressed the side of his face gently before grasping his chin. Her thumb absently toyed with the coarse hairs of his goatee, before she pulled him in and gently brushed her lips against his. He didnt push, just savored. Following her tempo until she released his lips and found her home back in the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms across his torso as if she was about to crawl underneath his skin. One of his arms pulled her in tight, leaving no space between them.

Anisa lets out a deep seated sigh, relaxing into the embrace before she spoke again, voice hesitant, but heavy with an increasing drowsiness, "Stay with me?... For the night, to sleep- I mean. I could... I could really use the company... Right now."

Her question was stilted and akward. Unused to voicing her needs. Especially her emotional ones.

Elijah shifts suddenly, making way to get up from his laying position, making Annie have to adjust, removing her body from his side. Confusion written all over her face.

"Hold on." He rasps quietly before getting up from her bed and leaving her chambers without another word. The Weight of silence following the click of her chamber door closing behind him was heavy.

Annie blinked, any sleepiness she previously felt dissappeared. Only confusion at his sudden exit.

She couldnt help the niggling feeling of embarrassment peak through. Insecurity reared its ugly head as she was going back and forth with herself.

Maybe she shouldnt have asked him to stay with her.

Was it a step too far? That was a dumb question. How would asking to stay the night be too far compared to what they did.

Why the hell would he say hold on, just to dissappear?

Annie straightened her back and got up from her bed to get dressed for bed on her own. It was a good thing she asked to be left alone for the rest of the day. If anyone were to stumble on to them at any point, she wouldnt know what to do with herself... unless...

She couldnt help the thought that came to her. A part of her, a deeply indignant, petty, part of her couldnt help the thought of Mary being the one to come across them with Smoke's head between her thighs while he made her sing like a canary.

Shit, a part of her wished she did.

Annie quickly shook that thought away, she didnt want to give more thought to that woman than she needed. What she needed now was rest. With or without Elijah.

She went about undressing in a robotic fashion, trying to move as if Smoke leaving her in the midst of her seeking comfort didnt bother her as much as it did.

She made her way back to her bed, sliding under the sheets in a stilted manner. The soft glide of the silk covered mattress did nothing to settle her jumbled mind that, quiet honestly, Elijah made worse.

As soon as she laid her head on one of her fluffy. Cloud-like pillows, she heard a knock at her door. Whoever was behind it, didnt wait for her to answer.

Annie spun around quickly from her phone position, ready to give whoever barged in a piece of her mind before she paused.

It was Elijah in his night clothes with a thin extra blanket tucked inbetween his arm, no doubt from his own chambers.

The sound of feet padding across the room was the only noise that filled the space, as Annie remained quiet as she watched him cross the threshold of her room.

As soon as he reached the foot of her bed, he paused. "Whatchu makin' that face for? I said I was comin' back."

Annie remained quiet for a beat before she scoffed, "I need to know... Since when did "hold on" translate to "Im comin' back"?" She gave him a blank unimpressed stare.

"Aint a direct translation but it mean all the same- now c'mon." He motions for her to move to the side, which she does but not without atleast a little but of attitude, huffing and puffing as she adjusted, making room for him lay down next to her.

Just as he puts one of his knees onto the soft cushion, Annie stops him. "Whatchu got that tissue paper you call a blanket in your hand for?" Lifting a quizzically brow at the aforementioned object nestled in his arm.

"Oh-uh, well... I aint wanna make you feel uncomfortable. Figured Id bring myself a blanket you know an' sleep on top of the sheets.

"Elijah..." she deadpanned.

"Mhm?"

"You talkin' bout bein' comfortable after I had my legs wrapped around you like you was one of my necklaces? I asked you to stay the night 'Lijah." Her face was a strange mix of mirth and disbelief at her husband's antics.

"I-" Whatever rebuttal Smoke had dies in his throat. Yeah it was a little backwards, but he still wanted to be sure she was comfortable.

He wordlessly climbed in. His strong arms fully encompassing her from behind as he settled in. Annie relaxed into his hold, completely melting into his warm embrace.

And as if it were a spell, her eyes grew heavy, and before she knew it, she was out like a light.

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A stream of sunlight slipped through a gap of Anisa's bedroom chamber window's, beaming directly into Smokes closed eyes. His face scrunched as he stirred, squinting against the light. He lifted a heavy arm to block the rays.

He couldnt recall the last time he slept long enough to meet the sun as sun as he woke.

He heard the birds singing their morning songs outside, then the faint bustling of the manor waking up. Servants quietly padding down hallways and tending to their chores. Then lastly, the faint breathing of Annie, her back facing him, but completely molded to his body. There wasnt even space for air to sneak through between them.

Despite the innocent nature of resting together he couldnt help but be brought back to yesterday. She opened up so beautifully to him, in more ways than one.

He half expected her to kick his ass out when he went about making demands to her. But... As stubborn as she could be she damn sure could listen when she wanted, and listen well...

The way she unabashedly played with herself in front of his eyes. As if she had something to prove. As if she wanted to get a point across despite him being the one dealing out directions.

Fuck...

He moved slightly, angling his hips away from Anisa's backside that was currently brushing against his front. He couldnt help his body reacting to the memory, and just the feel of her. Relentlessly reminding him of the pleasure he never took for himself in the midst of taking care of hers.

The rustling he made must have disturbed her sleep as he heard her let out a long exhale. He watched her back as her breath lightened with each exhale, letting him know she was on her way to waking up.

He listened quietly, waiting for her to become fully conscious. Until he heard a quiet groan come from her followed by a hefty yawn.

There was a pregnant pause.

Until she turned around to see that Elijah was still there with her. With the softest that he's ever seen her eyes- the way she completely held her body in all honesty.

He'd seen her in her night dresses before, but their was always a barrier, a wall between them made of their own egos, stress and unfamiliarity with each other. Here, her shoulders were completely relaxed, body melted to the bed, as she rested her head against his arm that was starting to feel a bit static. It definitely fell asleep. Smoke inconspicuously flexed his fingers periodically to get the blood flow going again.

"You ready for the day?" He asked.

A seriousness already started to take over her features.

Damn. He almost regretted saying that with how quick that burst the bubble of comfort they were floating in just moments ago.

"Yeah."

She moved. Swinging her long legs over the edge of the mattress, quickly getting up to walk towards her closet to sort out her own clothes for the day

Huh?

That left Elijah a little curious.

"Anne?"

"Mhm?"

"Wouldnt you have somebody come an' help you get dressed? Why you movin' like you 'bout to do that yourself?"

Her hand paused on a purple dress when he asked her that question. "I asked to be left alone for a while..." she answered without turning around, then continued leafing through the different fabrics.

Wait.

He almost had half the mind to think that she had him right where she wanted him, provoking him on purpose all day yesterday to get him to do what she wanted.

Damn...She really does know what she's doing. Done played my ass like a fiddle.

Smoke couldnt help the low chuckle that escaped him. That caught Annie's attention. "Whatchu over there laughin' about?" She turned around to look at him this time. Eyes curious, but a deeply hidden mirth dancing in her deep, warm, brown eyes.

"Nothin'...just laughin' at Myself is all." He shook his head, a slight smirk etched into his lips.

"C'mon get up now. Feel like you been in my room for years now at this point."

"Woman, you must got some short term memory loss, you asked me to stay remember? Unless you forgot."

"Yeah I asked you to stay the night. Dont you see the sun is up now, I know you couldnt miss them sunrays beaming into your eyes just now. An' I see your ass is still on that bed right now as I speak." She chided.

"Alright, alright Anne' Imma get up." She watched him closely to make sure he made due on his word.

He shuffled his solid body off the bed before extending his arms above his head to give a big stretch. He let out a quiet groan as some of his joints let out audible cracks from being in one position for an extended period of time.

Anisa couldnt help her eyes wandering to his waist of his trousers as his shirt slightly lifted, giving her a peak of his sturdy torso. She could a sliver of his lower abdominals, the slight indents of his obliques, and a whisper of a trail of hair leading past the waistline. It was quickly put to an end as he dropped his shoulders, and his shirt dropping with them.

She let out a breath she didnt realize she was holding, going back to her gowns.

"What about the purple one?"

Elijah made his way over to where she was standing. Her skin prickled at his proximity. She really shouldnt be affecting by his closeness at this point, but some how, now that he had been between her legs and even slept in the same bed all night, it felt worse than before. She was hyper aware of his presence almost to the point of distraction.

It made her think about other things she wanted to do to him. Or him do to her.

She was so caught up, and he was so focused on her pleasure she didnt get the chance to explore him in the way she honestly wanted to. She wanted to know what made him tick. What got him going. She wanted to get more familiar with him. All of him.

He satiated an itch that she herself was almost unaware she was carrying, but all it did was make the itch more deep seated. She wanted more-

"What?"

"The purple one. The dress. The light one, why don'tchu wear that one today? It look nice on you."

He pointed to the lilac dress that was currently clenched in her hand while her mind wandered elsewhere.

"Oh-, yeah you like this one?" She held it to her body to show it off more fully to give him a better view.

He looked her up and down, humming appreciatively. "You gone need any help gettin' your jewelry on?"

She lifted an inquisitive brow, "You wanna help me put 'em on?"

"I like hearing 'em chime everytime you walk. Let's me know your near." He answered earnestly.

She felt heat rise to her cheeks at the implication, the butterflies she felt in her stomach fluttered incessantly. "You like when Im near? Im kinda suprised. Figured we always gettin' on eachothers nerves all the time so..." she started to distractedly toy with her ear, fiddling with the sparse earrings still left on them.

"You think a man thats willing to chase your ass up and down these halls like a mad man wants nothin' to do with you?" He kissed he teeth in fake irritation.

"Ok, ok" she waved him off, "I get the point. Damn." She went and placed her dress across the chair that sat by her expansive vanity, before looking at him expectantly.

"What?" He questioned unsure what it was she was looking at him like that for.

"The hell you mean what? Ain't you gonna leave so I can change first?"

"You wan' me gone?"

"She rolled her eyes, "That's what I just said didnt I?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

He lifted his hands in surrender, "Im gonna go get dressed right quick. Let me know when you ready to put your jewelry on alright?"

"I will Elijah..."

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Just as Smoke finished dressing himself, he heard a tentative knock on his door. He could here Annie's faint voice from the other side, "Im ready when you are." And with that, he opened his chamber door, and followed her back into her room to help with the finishing touches.

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After enough direction, Elijah managed to help adorn her with all the jewelery she picked out for herself to wear today. Especially for the hard to reach places like adding jeweled hair excessories towards the back of her hair.

He placed the last piece across her neck. An opalecent, pearl necklace. He felt the smooth, cool and unblemished surfaces of each pearl slide against her neck as Elijah worked to clip it in place. The heat of his warm calloused hands a sharp contrast to the embellishments.

The dual sensations felt addicting. The slow and measured way he went about helping her with her put herself together, and the way they worked in tandem like a well oiled machine felt ritualistic. Hypnotic in a peaceful way. Nothing but the measured breathing between them both, the rhythmic chime of her jewelry rubbing against itself, and the fleeting heat of his touch everytime his hands brushed against her skin.

"Sorry if things come out looking 'lil crooked. Stack is the more fashionable twin between the two of us."

"Really?"

"Mhm. Me an' him, when we were younger, runnin' 'round the streets with no one but ourselves to watch our backs, he'd be the one to style my hair same as his everytime."

The image of both the twins as boys flashed in her mind. With a younger Elijah sitting down, face all scrunched up and grouchy, as the exuberant younger twin would be talking animatedly as he was doing the older ones hair. No doubt teasing Smoke of his lack of care for his appearance.

The thought made her smile as she looked in the mirror to stare at Elijah now, fully grown, with a no doubt similar grouchy look on his face. Only this time it was in concentration.

"There we go." He said with a final click of the last clasp for her necklaces.

"You finished."

He hummed in agreeance.

She made way to get up and finally start the day. This time on their way out her chambers she made note to gently hold his hand in hers as they walked down the hallways.

Elijah gave her a curious look, but otherwise said nothing. His only response was to firm the grasp he had around her hand.

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The stroll the the council chambers was quiet and peaceful. They made sure to greet the servants discreetly fluttering about the halls.

As they get closer, Elijah noticed that Annie slowed down her pace. Not completely stopping, but definitely slow enough to add some extra minutes to their little commute.

"Elijah."

"Hm?"

"Before we head into the meeting I think..." she paused, collecting her thoughts. "I think Im ready to start looking for new council members now. Its time to clean house. All of it.

"All of it?... Mary too?"

"Yes, that includes Mary. Imma handle that one on my own."

He slowly nodded his head in understanding and turning back around to quicken their pace, but it was promptly cut short.

His arm tugged back as Annie came to a complete stop. She squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back towards her.

"Wait" is all she said.

He could tell her mind was still restless despite giving the green light to start getting rid of those that have been giving her a hard time. Something was bothering her, and something about it was making her hesitant to tell him. It was a strange look on her. He was so used to her having no issue with voicing her thoughts to him. Good, bad, or indifferent

"Anne?"

"If Im gonna do this- If we're gonna do this, then we gonna have to talk about your twin."

"Stack?" He repeated, conflict oozing out of him from almost every pore. His body pulled tight with tension. He already knew where this was headed.

"Dont act lost. You know exactly why I bring that man's name up. Mary's been messy, the council's lazy and destructive, and your brother is sowing confusion in my court." She let go of his hand to fold her arms across her heavy chest before she continued.

"Mary aint all that smart an' the way she move behind that man got her pointing blame at any girl 'cept the man she really need to be mad at. I wouldnt be suprised if Pearline gets the worst of it from that lil stint he played kissin' on her hand in front of her."

"..." Smoke turned his head to the side as he kissed his teeth. He knew this conversation would eventually happen, she had been dropping hints every now and then with her growing suspicions and, quiet frankly, her distate for the other twin. He just didnt think they would have it so soon.

"Elijah."

"Yeah."

"Who else is your brother involved with?" A statement and a question all in one. Her eyes were unwavering as they stared into what felt like Smokes soul and it made him restless. Twitchy. He wouldnt be able to hide anything from her.

If he tried, she would know. Even if she wouldnt say it. Those eyes knew too much.

But the question left him in a predicament he never considered. One that was starting to feed his mounting anxiety. He always had Stacks back, and Stack had his for as long as he had memory. It was damn near programmed into him. Hell, he wouldnt have met Annie if it wasnt for him. Elijah couldnt help but feel like he was betraying his twin by even entertaining a conversation like this.

But if he brushed it aside, he would be doing his wife... Annie, a disservice.

He paused.

When did he make so much space in his heart for her that made the bond he share with Stack, his twin, his other half come into question? When did it start to fray at the edges in such a way that Elijah didnt notice.

Against all his instincts screaming at Elijah make sure to cover for Elias, he went against it.

Elijah let out a long suffering sigh. Its echoe bouncing across the sparse hall they were standing in. He looked her in the eyes, "I dont know them all that well, but a couple of your servants. Wouldnt be too suprised if he was fuckin' on some of them highborns that come through for courtly visits as well, not just Mary."

She hummed knowingly.

He did the right thing.

It didnt make him feel better. It felt wrong even if it was right.

"Thanks for tellin' me." Is all she said, before she wrapped her hand in his, though Elijah's grip on her hand was loose and slightly limp. His eyes were somewhere else, deep in thought.

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The meeting went without much hiccups. Just the usual updating on current affairs but Elijah was noticeably detached throughout the conversation. No straight shooting slick comments were made. If someone asked a question his answers were short and one worded. He wasnt a big talker but the shift bothered Annie.

It reminded her of the reason why she was so hesitant to bring up the issue of his brother. His twin nonetheless. Stack would've been brought up eventually, and from the looks of things he was too intertwined with the people under her charge. It was too messy.

On top of him being the brother to the king? It was a disastrous scandal waiting to happen. One she couldnt allow, regardless of how much Elijah loved his brother...

A feeling. One that was very unwelcomed was starting to take root in her chest, like vines choking out a newly budded flower. Still fresh, still delicate. Unstable.

Whatever new fragile feelings that bloomed within her towards Elijah were already being threatened.

Stack was Elijahs twin.

They've been together since the womb and never once have they been without. From what she could gather from the sparse moments that Elijah shared about his childhood was that they only had eachother. What they had was an old, deeply rooted bond and here she was asking him to (in his mind probably) go against his brother.

Doubt reared its ugly head as its vines grew deeper. How did she expect to take precedence over Stack when her and Elijah started getting somewhere. She knew by now that if it was any other situation she had no doubt that Elijah would have her back but...

Could she trust him on this one?

For once, she didn't want to know the answer.

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The meeting ended with little fanfare.

And Elijah was still somehwere else. Not here.

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Elijah retreated back to the library to work on the build plans.

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Annie went to the garden, she needed to be by water. Not much bodies of water around with the manor being surrounded by dense foliage. She didnt forage, didn't work the land, she didnt even look at the flowers. She just closed her eyes to feel.

The warm beating sun nuzzle against her deep skin, the soft wind tickling the fine hairs on her arms and blowing against her fine silks, the distant beating of humming birds wings, and the earthy floral scent weaving through her senses.

She took her shoes off her feet sinking them into the dewy earth before she sat in the grass, needing to ground herself. To feel the earth. She remembered her late mother telling her to ground herself when things became to overwhelming.

Her warm voice, sweet like honey echoed through her memories, her mothers eyes filled with laughter and mischief. Her eyes had a way of smiling even when her mouth was not. "When you focus too hard 'till the point that you feel your eyes 'bout to cross, and the voices in your head get a bit too loud? You ground yourself to the earth now, ya hear me? 'Cause that's when you know you 'bout to fly away an' get lost somewhere thay know one can come getchu'. An' you dont want to fly too far where your mama can't catch you now dont you?" As she playfully pinched a young Annie's nose.

"Mama that hurt!" She lifted her smaller hands to brush her mothers fingers away from her scrunched button nose.

Her mother cracked a cheeky smile, "I know... but now you aint busy worryin' 'bout all that other stuff. You got no business stressin' bout things that arent for a child... An' why's that?"

Annie shifted uncomfortably, face made up in a pout as she avoided her mother's knowing eyes. "'Cause I got a mama an' a papa to take care of things." She muttered feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Exactly. Dont make that mind a' yours wonder outside to where a child not s'possed to be. Now come grab my hand, let's go find daddy 'fore you float away an' I cant catch you..." her mothers rich laughter like melody the birds sang along with. Little Annie's high pitched squeal jingled like bells across the courtyard as her mother scooped her up in her arms.

She bit her lip at the memory, choking off the emotions threatening to heave out of her lips.

Not now. I cant.

Her heart constricted, like her body was starting to reject yet another thing she wanted to force down to not feel. It felt like she wanted to throw up. Throw up everything still left unsaid, the unspoken grief, the loneliness, the betrayal, the loss... So much of it. The fear. An ever-growing one as her feelings for this man ran deeper than she realized.

She slowed her breathing, opening her eyes. The courtyard was mostly empty save for a sparse few people strolling through the corridors. She saw a familiar figure walking along side her elderly husband.

Pearline.

Seeing her made her heart feel a little lighter. She forgot that she still had someone she knew for sure was in her corner no matter what. She wouldnt do Pearl the disservice if doubting her again.

Pearline saw Anisa by the garden, waving enthusiastically at her in greeting, a big bright smile plastered to her face before she simmered down again, the lingering smile on the woman's face told Annie that they would talk later when they had the chance. Pearline shifted the arm she had wrapped around her husbands to help steady him as he was getting a bit slower these days.

Annie faintly smiled at the much needed reminder 'cause she was well on her way to spiraling. She gathered her skirts and got up. She decided to go to her study room, it had been a while and she needed a different distraction. Maybe when she had time she could build a green house for her more delicate plants. Ones that wouldnt get ravaged by small rodents.

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Her hand wrapped around the handle to her study room. As soon as the handle clicked as she turned it, there were approaching footsteps headed her way at a rapid pace.

"Annie?"

Fuck.

It was Mary.

She wasnt ready for this conversation. Not now, so soon.

Without turning around Annie spoke in a friendly but distant manner, "Come in to the study room with me."

And with that she disappeared behind the door, as a cautious Mary followed behind before taking a seat at the small table tucked to the side.

Annie wordlessly went about organizing the room, setting the scattered books into neat stacks.

Mary watched her silently as the queen guided back and forth across the room, reaching for items she didnt even need to look at to know they were there. She moved about the room as a woman that new every nook and cranny there was to know in the space. The quiet stretched on long enough for Annie to pause mid step to look at Mary with a quirked brow. A look that said, well you clearly wanted to say something, so say it.

She took it as an invitation to speak, "I uh-... Imma just get straight to the point and say it." She started wringing her fingers together nervously until her pale digits started to pink with the constant friction.

"Say what" Annie said, absentmindedly as she resumed her cleaning like she never paused her ministrations.

Mary took a deep breath before she spoke again. "I think you needa get rid of Pearl..."

"Hm... Is that so? Why you say I need to get rid of Pearl? She do somethin'?" Anisa said without pause.

"I know you probly aint all that suprised I said that but I dont know...I think she's been movin' weird lately."

"How?"

"Well, I just cant shake the feelin' that she an' Stack been seein' each other behind my back. I tried to not look into it too deep but... I dont know. Ever since that day when Stack gave her that kiss on 'er hand an' she aint really pull back all that much its just sitting with me." Mary looked off to the side, staring through the lone window in the room. A single streak of sunlight split down the middle almost like a sentient barrier between the two. Annie off to one side and Mary on the opposite end.

"I dont blame her honestly. I know Stack is a handsome man, an' he really knows how to please a woman and shes had no choice but to deal with that mummy she calls a husband but-" Mary's eyes furrowed in restrained anger, "That dont give her the right to go an' fuck on someone else's man." She spat unkindly.

Mary looked to Anisa, anticipating her reaction to the information she just relayed to her. She noticed that Annie continued to move about the room like it was any other day, like Mary didnt just drop the bombshell that she did. She waited for a response that had not come.

Not until Annie placed the final touches on her desk, sliding her plant diagrams into a neat stack and laying it on the oak wood of her desk. She paused a moment to look out that same window for a minute before she ever opened her mouth.

"Mary."

"Yes Anne?"

"I need you to start packing your things by the end of this week and make plans to head back to your mama's."

"Wha-"

Annie sharply turned her head towards Mary. " Dont insult me by talkin' to me like Im some idiot that cant put shit together. I know what you been up to."

Mary started to scramble, "Annie!-"

"Im bein' nice right now 'cause Im only dismissing you from the position of being one of my ladies-in-waiting..." she cut in before looking at Mary with disdain, "Not like you been doin' much waiting from what I can see."

"Wait- Anne, please let me explain I-"

"There aint shit to explain! You went behind my back- I dont even know how many years you've been doin' it for. I cant move on with someone like that in my midst."

"But-"

"Just recieve the dismissal with grace due to inconceivable differences. Theres no need for your scandal to travel and spread more than it has already. Leave with your reputation still intact."

"Anne. You talkin' crazy right now, sayin' Im sneakin' behind your back? What kinda shit is that? That aint me c'mon, we been friends since we were children. Only one doin' the sneakin' round here is that heffa' Pearline sneaking behind my back tryna get a piece of my man. Cant you see?"

"There you go back to the Pearline thing again. When you gon' stop accusin' that woman for the fact that your "man" cant keep his dick to his damn self! You should know Pearl dont move like that. You best stop all that projectin' your doin'."

Mary had the audacity to look bewildered by her accusations.

"-I dont know why the fuck you lookin' at me all confused. Maybe if you were "his peace" he wouldnt have to go 'round lookin' for it between the legs of other women."

Mary's face went white as a sheet when she heard Anisa mention "being his peace". Her skin complexion was sallow against the soft pink of her gown washing her out as if she was drained of all color. She knew the implication of it. "You overheard us. Me an' Smoke... In the hallway- you heard me."

"Yes."

"How? How much?" Her watery voice bounced across the room that she very much wished would swallow her up at this moment.

Annie closed her eyes inhaling a deep breath, she couldnt afford herself to falter infront of her. This woman who she's known for as long as she could remember. "It doesnt matter. I heard enough."

Mary let out a chuckle void of all humor.

It was funny how off Mary's assumptions were. Smoke and Annie always seemed to be at eachothers throats most of the time. She couldnt recall an instance where she saw any outward affection Anisa had for him besides saying that he wasnt all that bad. Clearly there was something she missed. In the way Smoke threatened her life like it was 2nd nature to him when she spoke of Annie. Maybe it was in the lingering glances Annie would cast his way when he was around. Maybe Annie showed a piece of her to him that Mary didnt have access to. That no one had access to. She was so private now a days. Or maybe that piece of her was no longer accessible to Mary. Maybe somehwere deep down, Annie felt her deception without knowing and simply acted accordingly. Maybe...

A lot of maybe's. But one things for certain is that she was no longer welcomed here. She seemed destined to always be just out of orbit. Always an outsider. Except this time its was a banishment of her own making.

Without another word Mary silently stood up and walked out the door in a daze. She didnt have the mind to remember to close it back, leaving it slightly ajar.

Annie stood in the middle of the room for a little, staring at the door Mary just walked out of. She felt the heat of the sun rays beaming out the lone window pressing against her back. The noises, the birds chirping outside, the bustling of the manor come alive, and the distant sounds of her childhood friends footsteps leaving down the hallway started echoing in her mind until it all faded away.

Only her heart and breath could be heard, beating steady. Until it wasnt. Until its skipped a beat. Until it sped up. Elevated like an oncoming train rythmically beating against the rails on a track and her breath quickened and that heat that seemed to be persistently resting behind her eye's fully came to the surface in the physical form of her sorrows.

Tears. Hot tears. That dripped down with no end in sight. Her eyebrows creased in despair as she screwed her eyelids shut, trying to contain the well of her emotions.

Even in the midst of the pain the lingering thought of the walls having ears always remained. Even if she was alone, she never was, and she would never forget that.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Something felt off.

Stack strolled through the hallways. He was the image of relaxed and carefree. His gait was loose, shoulders a little slouched and his hands in his pockets.

But he was incessantly chewing on a tooth pick, focusing all his buzzing anxiety into that fixed point. His tightened jaw was the only evidence of his mind betraying his look of laid back disposition.

He hadn't seen Smoke since yesterday. The last conversation they had, though brief left him uneasy. He was feeling a growing distance forming in their bond, and no amount of distractions helped the lingering feeling.

The air felt still like the calm before the storm. A stillness that Elias was well acquainted with. The stillness that came in the hateful glare of their daddy just before the rain of beatings he'd take from sneaking a sip of his favorite hooch. His fists cracked like lightening against his small frame.

He blinked.

Elias hated it. That stillness. That silence. It could only mean trouble. Thats why he couldnt stay still. He had to keep moving, one way or another, his only constant was his brother.

The one who was currently no where to be found.

Where the fuck is he? Minute we get here he start actin' like he brand new or somethin' like I aint the reason his ass got in this position in the first place.

Crack!

"Shit"... He'd been working his jaw so much, the toothpick in his mouth gave out, finally snapping in half.

He kissed his teeth before flinging its discarded pieces into the grass somewhere. Fuck it... he decided he would find Mary. Lord knows he was avoiding her ass like the plague but he needed his mind elsewhere. Thinking about where he stood with brother did nothing but agitate him.

.

.

.

It didn't take too long to reach the quarters where the ladies-in-waiting normally stayed. It was the easiest way for him to run into Mary. Just as he lifted his hand to knock on the door to her chambers he heard footsteps approaching at an increasing pace.

And there she was, but something was wrong. Her face was pink and wet and she looked distressed. Mary was so absorbed in what she was feeling she almost didnt notice the man she had been trying to catch standing at her door, almost running into him.

"Aye- hold up, Mary? What's goin' on?" He scrambled to catch a hold of her as to not crash into him.

Mary quickly got upset, "Now all of a sudden you come 'round and show your damn face! I been tryna find you for days an' you was no where to be found! Move-" she shouldered past him to get into her room.

"Keep your voice down Mary, you know theres other ladies 'round here that can overhear all that hollerin' you doin'." He hushed.

"You dont want 'em to hear? Then close the damn door!"

He stepped in, promptly shutting the door behind him. Before he opened his mouth to repeat the question-

"The queen is kicking me out. I have until the end of the week to be gone..." she said deflated.

Shit.

He almost couldnt believe it. He knew Smoke wasnt all that happy with his plan, but never would he have imagined this. Stack could already piece together what must have happened. Smoke must've told Anisa what Stack told him about Mary and her escapades.

He chose to play dumb.

"Why would she do somethin' like that, I mean, so suddenly? Yall known eachother since yall were kids. What happened?"

Mary fell silent for a beat, until a blooming anger came back once again. She turned around staring daggers at him. "It was that bitch wasnt it?"

"Huh?"

"Dont you "huh?" Me- I know you been sneakin' behind my back, hookin' up with anything that got a pussy 'tween they legs!"

"The fuck-"

"Pearline told you didnt she- spreadin' lies bout me. This why you been avoidin' me? This why you feel you can cheat on me." She lamented, teetering towards hysterics.

Oh boy...

Stack was thrown for a loop.

Pearline?

Only interaction he had with her aside from a passing greeting was that time he kissed her on the hand to introduce himself. Had been anyone else, specially those servants that love to gossip and pillow talk then she would've been on to something. Ironically she was one of the women he didnt do anything with.

"I aint done shit with that girl, I dont know whatchu on right now."

"I dont give a shit if you fucked her or not. One thing I know is you went on an' ran that mouth of yours off to your brother, who went an' told Anisa, an' now Im bein' sent away."

"Its your fault!" She turns away, "I spent all this time tryin' to find you, to talk. Now when your ready to speak Im in the midst of bein' dismissed from court... Get the fuck out Stack. Im done talkin' to you." She spat, turning away as she started putting her belongings together with vigor.

Elias left.

His mind was spinning. He knew something was off and in a split second all his plans seemed to be slipping out of control.

What the fuck was going on?

If Smoke told Anisa about Mary's betrayal, then she probly knows about the things Stacks been up to, since all of a sudden Elijah decided he wanna be a damn motor mouth to this woman. That wasnt like him, he was his twin. They always kept eachothers secrets under wraps for as long as he could remember so what the fuck?

Did Anisa have something on his ass? Smoke barely knew her long enough to be acting like this. Keeping Stack in the dark... Smoke was never the kind of man to act all whipped behind some woman. Unless- no.

He was gonna get to the bottom of this, he was gonna find Elijah and find out what the hell was going on?

.

.

.

.

.

.

Smoke hunched over the build plans, looking busy while he was blankly staring at the pages. His hand holding a pencil barely moved since he settled in there. Ever since the last conversation he and Annie had, he was anxious. What would become of Stack? Would he have to leave too? Would he be forced to choose between his brother and his wife?

The pencil clattered against the wooden table as Elijah put his face in his hands trying to rub away the mounting stress from the potential choice he might have to make.

That brought up another thing he hadnt fully come to terms with. Why was the choice so difficult for him in the first place? Any other case it wouldve easily been his brother. Like he told himself before they got too deep into this situation that he'd kill anyone or himself if they posed a threat to taking that light out of Elias' eyes. Until...

Until Annie became a factor. He didnt realise... He never came to terms with just how deeply he felt about her. Truly. When did it sneak up on him? He was only doing what felt natural for him. She was the most difficult woman he ever had to deal with, challenging him nonstop, and somehow she was dug so deep into him he felt her in his bones. He never had anyone he cared for as deeply outside of Stack, and now those to people are in opposition of eachother.

Elijah paused.

Did he lov-

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought.

He quickly gathered himself, looking as if he wasnt just spiraling, he cleared his throat, "Come in" he called gruffly.

The person that stepped in had an easy swaggered gait. Elijah knew those footsteps like the back of his hand. "'Lias." He greeted without turning around.

"Smoke." He greeted back, but said nothing.

"How you been?"

"Mary leavin'. She bein' dismissed from court."

"..."

"Why?...why you aint trust me Smoke."

Elijah closed his eyes against the question before taking a deep breath. He turned around to face his younger brother. Gone was the always present mirth hidden in the warm depths of his eyes. Stack looked at him with heated suspicion, but not enough to cover up the twinkle of hurt in his gaze.

"Stack. It aint like I dont trust you an' all, hell- you my brother. We been together since the damn womb. Its just... Im in a hard spot."

"The fuck's that s'possed to mean?"

"It means what the fuck I said it means Stack. I cant just be your brother, I got responsibilities an' shit to take care of. An' like I told you before, havin' a woman like Mary round here, 'specially as someone that s'possed to be a close friend to the queen is a liability waitin' to happen- shit it almost did."

"I'm your brother."

"I know that."

"Then why you aint trust me- It was me that got us into this position in the first place! I was workin' my magic to secure our position." Stack gestured wildly, no longer able to put a cap on his hidden emotions bubbling up to the surface.

"Damnit Stack! I told you before that you aint have to do that shit. To let me take care of it how I see fit-"

"I didnt want you to have to do that. I told you I got you an' you remember what you said when you agreed? You said you'd let me handle all that politickin' and here you go tryna handle shit on your own again. I had it all handled, an' here you go fuckin' up my plans!"

"Whatchu on about? Your my younger brother. I want to protect you, even if its from yourself and your own damn mistakes! Aint nobody ask you to-"

"Your ass must be too whipped by that girl to see any goddamn sense. Stop tryna do that shit. You talkin' to me like I aint a grown ass man. Aint no one asked you to take care of me- you aint my fuckin' dad!" A beat of silence. Elijah's body froze at the mention of their late father.

Stack opened his mouth with a hushed whisper, his tongue was a dagger, "Last I checked he been dead... an' you made sure of it..."

All the air gets sucked out of the room.

A wound. A raw, open, one that's been festering for a long time. Longer than either if them knew.

Elijah was silent. He wordlessly turned around, picked up his pencil and attempted to scribble something down but his hand... His hand was trembling and only worsened as each second passed. He put it back down once ge realized he wasnt gonna be able to get shit done with how progressively worse his tremors were getting. He felt pressure around his head. The sound of his heartbeat and his the woosh of his blood pumping through his veins were deafening to his ears before it quieted down a little.

He could hear the faint sound of Stack's elevated breathing behind him. He was still there.

"Get the fuck outta my face." He rasped. He still didnt turn around to look at his twin.

The only thing he heard was a harsh snort from his twin before he heard the library door slam behind him.

.

.

.

Stack stormed out of the room so quickly he almost missed Anisa standing right by the door as he breeze passed her. The look he gave her was unreadable. Heavy.

Seeing someone that always had a twinkle of mischief and laughter in his eyes no longer carry it was unsettling. She felt that she saw a glimpse of Stack. A side he wanted to keep hidden.

It was ironic really. Between the two of them it seemed that Stack was harder to read in his emotions despite his more outwardly jovial appearance

It didnt matter though.

There were more pressing things that were going on in her mind. Like the fact that she heard everything.

That Elijah killed their father.

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A/n: the irony of smoke wanting to push Annie to get rid of people. Forgetting that now he's king so he also has personal stake in it via his brother.

Sorry for the egregiously long wait😮‍💨, and sorry for any mistakes I didnt do much editing had a lot of shit going on, but alas were here. Gotta get through a shit ton of character work as everything is starting to spill out exposing everyones wounds. As much as writing it is kicking my ass, its necessary I think for the developement between everyone. Especially Smoke and Annie.

This is technically the first part of everything coming to a head cause writing everything would be too long, definitely more excited to write the next part tho🫠.

Taglist:

“Moving!?”

The word comes out sharper than Annie means for it to, her voice catching somewhere between disbelief and panic. She’s already halfway out of her seat, hands braced against the edge of the mattress, searching for something solid under her.

“Why?”

Her mother doesn’t answer right away. She stands in the doorway, arms folded tight across her chest, holding herself together in a way Annie recognizes immediately. That same look she gets when something has already been decided and there’s no use trying to undo it.

“We can’t keep stretchin’ what ain’t there,” she says finally.

That’s it—that’s the answer.

But it doesn’t feel like enough to hold everything it means.

Annie stares at her, the words landing, her fingers digging into the comforter beneath her as though she can anchor herself there if she tries hard enough.

“What about school? It’s my senior year,” she says, her voice smaller now, but no less urgent. “What about—”

She stops herself before she says his name.

Her mother sees it anyway.

Something in her expression changes, softening for half a second before it hardens again.

“You’ll finish there,” she says. “New start. New opportunities.”

New.

The word hangs there, clean and simple, reducing everything Annie already has to something unworthy of staying for.

They didn’t plan to leave.

Years later, that’s what she returns to, years later, when the edges of it have softened enough to hold without cutting into her the same way. Back then, it didn’t feel like building. It felt like something that happened all at once.

Her mother lost her job first.

Not in a single moment. In pieces. Cut hours. New management. Promises that never made it past the next schedule. By the time the layoff came, it almost felt expected, except expectation didn’t make it easier to carry.

Bills stacked anyway.

Her “father” had been gone longer than he was ever there. Military, technically. That was the word they used when people asked. It sounded better than the truth. He came and went in uniforms and silence, bringing structure with him when he stayed, distance when he didn’t. By Annie’s junior year, his visits had thinned down to calls that came less often than they should’ve.

So when her mother said they were moving to North Carolina, where her sister had been asking her to come for years, it wasn’t really a discussion. It was a decision that had been waiting for the right kind of breaking point.

Annie sits there, the weight of it pressing in from all sides, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t feel like it’s asking to be understood.

She’s seventeen.

Old enough to understand what’s happening.

 But too young to stop it.

Smoke had been in her life long enough that she couldn’t remember when he wasn’t.

They grew up on the same street. They weren’t next door neighbors, but close enough that their paths kept crossing until familiarity turned into something quieter. Something constant.

He wasn’t loud. Never had to be.

People knew him anyway.

Elijah Moore, though nobody called him that unless it was his mother or somebody trying to make a point. To everybody else, he was Smoke. Moved slow, spoke less, watched everything. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but held it anyway.

Annie didn’t notice when he started paying attention to her. It showed up in small things.

A door held open before she reached it. A drink already waiting for her at the corner store because he saw her walking up the block. His jacket handed over without comment when the temperature dropped faster than expected.

He didn’t flirt the way other boys did—no loud declarations, no teasing meant to draw a reaction.

With Smoke, it was quieter.

More certain.

By junior year, people assumed. Not in a way that forced anything into place. More in the way they moved around each other. The space they shared without thinking about it. The way he walked her home and didn’t leave until she was inside.

They never labeled it. 

Didn’t sit down and name what they were to each other.

But Annie knew.

And so did he.

The closer it got to the move, the more he showed up. He didn’t ask questions he already knew the answer to, or push her to say anything she wasn’t ready to say out loud.

He just… stayed close, as if proximity could change something, as if his presence alone might keep her in place.

The night before she left, the air hung heavy and still, carrying the smell of cut grass and sun-warmed asphalt.

Boxes filled the house behind her. Tape sealed across the tops in uneven strips. Here laid her life, broken down into pieces that could be carried.

The porch light buzzed overhead, casting a warm, uneven glow across the front steps.

Smoke stood a few feet away, shoulders relaxed, hands low at his sides. White tee, dark jeans, the same chain he always wore catching the light when he moved.

His gaze stayed on her. Memorizing. That’s what it felt like, as if he were fixing her in place somewhere he could return to later.

She should’ve said something then. Something that matched the weight sitting between them. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He stilled for half a beat before his hands came up, settling against her back and waist. Firm. Grounded. Familiar.

She felt his breath against her temple—slow, controlled, measured.

“I’ll call you,” she said into his shoulder. She meant it. Every part of her believed it in that moment.

“You better,” he murmured, low.

It wasn’t a joke.

She pulled back just a bit, just enough to look at him.

“I will,” she said.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Neither of them moved.

Annie’s hand slid from his shoulder to his chest, resting there, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm. Smoke’s gaze dropped briefly to where her hand sat, then lifted back to her face.

Something changed… inevitable.

Annie leaned in first. Slow and certain. Her mouth found his, soft at first, then deeper when he met her there, his hand tightening at her back as he pulled her closer.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t unsure.

It felt like everything they hadn’t said, everything they hadn’t figured out how to hold onto with words.

Her fingers curled against his shirt, grounding herself in him, in the moment, in something that felt solid even as everything around it was about to change.

Smoke’s hand moved along her back, sure, holding her there as though grip alone might keep this from slipping away.

They broke apart slowly, their foreheads resting together for a second, breaths uneven but quiet.

“You gon’ be good?” he asked, low.

She nodded, even though she didn’t know what that meant yet.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“I’m comin’ back,” she added, softer now. “For breaks… summers… I’ll be back.”

It wasn’t a plan—but it sounded like one.

He nodded once. “Aight.”

Her hand lingered against his chest for a second longer before she let it fall. This time, when they stepped apart there was nothing left to say. She turned first, walking towards the door. 

She didn’t look back right away, but she felt it. That same awareness.

Unchanged.

Still on her.

When she finally turned to look back, he hadn’t moved. He was still standing where she left him.

Just… there.

Annie held his gaze for a second longer. Then she turned back and went inside.

Eight years later…

The apartment still smells new. Fresh paint layered over older wood. Dust stirred up from movement. A faint trace of something chemical that hasn’t had time to settle yet.

Annie sits on the floor in the middle of it, legs folded beneath her, surrounded by open boxes in different stages of being dealt with.

She’s twenty-five now. Older in the ways that matter. More certain. Her life is her own in a way it wasn’t back then.

North Carolina gave her and her mom what they needed. Her mother found work within months. Stable. Consistent. Enough to breathe again. Annie finished school. College after that. Built something that belonged to her, and still—

Some things stayed packed.

Untouched.

The box sits off to the side. Brown cardboard, edges worn soft from being moved more times than opened. Her mother’s handwriting stretches across the top in fading permanent marker:

HIGH SCHOOL

She meant to leave it there—start with the kitchen, the bathroom. The pieces of a space that make it functional before anything else. But her hands reached for it anyway.

Now it’s open.

Photos sit on top. Faces she hasn’t seen in years. Paper curled at the corners. A program from a school event she barely remembers. A bracelet she forgot she ever owned. She moves through it slowly, but not lingering too long either.

Until—her fingers stop. 

A CD case rests near the bottom. Clear plastic. One side cracked along the hinge. The surface dulled from time and handling.

Her breath shakes before she even picks it up, because she knows. She turns it over in her hands. 

There it was. 

Black Sharpie pressed firm into the disc inside. No decoration. No extra effort to make it pretty. Just—

Annie

Something in her chest pulls tight, something… familiar. It’s settled deep enough that it feels like it’s always been there. Her thumb runs along the edge of the case, tracing the worn spot where it’s been opened and closed enough times to smooth the plastic down.

He made this. Somewhere else. Without her there. Chose every song. Put her name on it.

She never heard it when it mattered.

For a moment, she considers putting it back. Closing the case. Sliding it beneath everything else in the box and sealing it up again. Letting that version of things stay where it’s been all this time.

Untouched.

Unanswered.

Because she knows how it ended. It wasn’t in one moment she could point to and say—that’s where it broke.

At first, it didn’t feel like anything was changing. They talked. Late at night mostly, when the house was quiet on both ends and the distance felt smaller than it was. He’d call. Or she would. Sometimes both, missing each other by minutes and laughing about it after. He’d ask about school. She’d ask about home. It felt… held together.

Until it didn’t. 

Calls got missed. It wasn’t on purpose. Bad timing. Different schedules. Long days that turned into longer nights.

“I called you.”

“I ain’t see it.”

“You could’ve called back.”

“I did.”

Small things, like that. Nothing big enough to fight over, but enough to feel. Texts got shorter. Then slower. Then sometimes—

Not at all.

Annie told herself it was fine. That this is what distance does. That they’d figure it out when she came back. But she didn’t come back as much as she thought she would. 

There was always something preventing it. School. Work. Money. Timing. So when she did—It felt different. Off. Like trying to step back into something that had already changed without asking either of them first. 

She wondered sometimes if he met someone. 

Never asked.

Didn’t want to hear the answer if it was yes. Didn’t want to sound like she was holding onto something that didn’t belong to her anymore if it wasn’t. She knew he wondered too. Could hear it in the way he asked certain questions.

Who she was with.

What she was doing.

Who she spent her time around.

He wasn’t accusing. Just… listening for something he didn’t want to find.

They didn’t fight and that’s the part that stayed with her the most. Nothing ever exploded. Nothing ever broke clean. It just… slipped. Or maybe loosened.

Until one day, there wasn’t anything left to hold onto that felt the same.

Neither of them could or would say it out loud.

The CD came later.

Not right away. A year, maybe two.

Long enough for the silence between them to settle into something real. Long enough for the calls to stop feeling expected. Long enough for him to understand what wasn’t coming back the way it left.

She didn’t know what to do with it when it showed up.

A small package. Her name written across the front in handwriting she hadn’t seen in months but recognized immediately.

No return address.

Inside—

A CD.

Slim case. Clear plastic. No note. No explanation.

Just her name written across the disc in black marker.

Annie.

She turned it over in her hands back then too. Sat with it longer than she meant to.

Then set it aside.

Told herself she’d listen to it later.

She never listened to the CD. Realization hit—

She had it the whole time.. and never opened it.

The apartment is quiet now. No TV. No music. No voices filling the space.

Just the low hum of the refrigerator from the next room and the faint sound of traffic moving somewhere below her window.

And now this CD, sitting in her hands.

Waiting.

The stereo sits on the floor across from her. Small. Functional. One of the last things she unpacked. She moves forward, pressing the power button. A soft click answers her. The tray slides out with a low mechanical whirr. 

She pauses again. Breath held longer than necessary.

Then she places the CD inside. Closes it. The room settles around her.  A brief crackle.

Then—music.

Annie goes quiet because she knows this song. Knows it in a way that bypasses thought and goes straight to memory.

And just like that—

She’s seventeen again.

Track 1: Didn’t Cha Know

The opening notes settle into the room, low and warm, wrapped in a faint layer of static that time didn’t quite smooth out.

Annie doesn’t move.

Her hand stays braced against the floor beside her, fingers spread, grounding herself in something solid as the sound fills the space.

The speakers hum softly. Close. Contained. The melody stretches. Slow. Familiar.

Erykah Badu

The words come in soft, almost slipping past if you’re not paying attention—something about knowing. About recognizing a feeling before you have words for it.

Annie’s eyes drift closed. The apartment loosens its hold on her. The boxes. The fresh paint. The quiet. It all fades at the edges.

Heat replaces it.

Late afternoon sun pressing into pavement that’s been holding it all day. The air thick with it, carrying the smell of asphalt and something sweet drifting from somewhere down the block.

She’s walking.

Bookbag slung over one shoulder, strap digging into the same place it always does. Her steps slow, unhurried, because she already knows.

He’s there.

Leaning against the chain-link fence across from the corner store. One foot propped back, shoulders loose, head tipped forward like he’s been there a while.

Waiting.

She knows. A quiet awareness that settles over her whenever he’s near. Present.

Her gaze lifts.

Finds him exactly where she expected.

White tee. Faded jeans. A thin chain around his neck. His hands tucked into his pockets, posture easy in a way that doesn’t ask for attention but holds it anyway.

His eyes meet hers and stay. He doesn’t wave or call out to her. Just straightens off the fence, pushing himself up with a small roll of his shoulder, her attention apparently all the signal he needed.

By the time she reaches the corner, he’s already moving. Falls into step beside her, matching her pace without asking.

“Thought you had practice,” she says, glancing over.

“Got out early.”

She nods, adjusting her strap. “Mhm.”

Their arms brush when the sidewalk narrows. Neither of them moves away.

“You eat?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

He angles them toward the store without a word. The bell above the door chimes when they step inside. Cool air washes over her skin. The hum of refrigerators lines the walls, drinks stacked in neat rows.

Smoke reaches in, grabs something without asking. Hands it to her. Their fingers brush. Cold plastic presses into her palm.

“Thank you,” she says.

He shrugs, but he’s watching her.

They don’t stay long. Just enough to pay and step back into the heat. They walk a little further before he slows, stopping near a low brick wall along an empty lot.

“Sit for a minute.”

She looks at him, then the wall. A small smile tugs at her mouth. “A minute?”

His lips twitch. “Yeah.”

She sits.

He drops down beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch. Close enough that she can feel the heat of him without leaning.

The city hums around them. Cars. Voices. Something distant that blends into the background.

Smoke reaches into his pocket. Pulls out a pair of headphones. Worn. Cord twisted. He untangles them with practiced fingers. Then hands her one side.

Annie looks at it.

Then at him.

“Just listen,” he says.

She slips the earbud in. Adjusts it. He does the same. Then presses play. The song settles in her ear, closer this time. Intimate. Wrapped around her instead of filling a room. Her shoulders ease. The music sits between them, shared.

She glances at him.

He’s looking forward, elbows on his knees, hands loose, but there’s something in the way he’s listening. Not to the song.

To her.

“This your favorite or somethin’?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head. “Nah.”

A beat passes.

“Just reminded me of you.” 

The words land easy. Unforced. He says them without checking them first.

Annie settles into it.

The song hums in her ear, voice smooth, carrying that same quiet pull—wanting something, holding it close, not quite naming it.

It lands differently now.

Didn’t then.

“What about it?” she asks, softer now.

He shifts beside her—closer.

“Don’t know.” A small pause. “Just do.”

Her fingers trace the condensation on the bottle resting between them. The music stretches on, warm, unhurried, holding something underneath it that feels bigger than the moment they’re sitting in.

She leans back slightly, bracing her hands behind her. Her shoulder brushes his. This time, neither of them moves.

“Okay,” she says. Quiet. Accepting it for what it is, even if she doesn’t fully understand it.

Smoke nods once.

They sit like that until the song fades. Neither of them rushing to move. Neither of them saying what’s already there.

Annie’s eyes open slowly, her breath easing out like she’s surfacing from somewhere deeper than she meant to go. She hadn’t realized she closed them. 

The music is still playing. Still filling the room. But it lands differently now. Fuller. Heavier. Her chest rises, falls. That same place under her ribs pulling tighter than before. “Just reminded me of you.” The words echo back, clearer now than they were then.

Annie swallows, because it’s making sense now.

The feeling.

The way something settles in you before you understand what it is. The way it lingers, even when nothing’s happened yet to explain why.

That’s what he meant. Not that it sounded like her. That it felt like her. Something he couldn’t name yet. Something he didn’t try to.

Just—there.

Annie exhales slowly, her fingers curl into the floor beside her.Because he felt it first. Before she ever stopped long enough to recognize it.

The track fades. The next one begins and this time—

She lets it.

Track 2: The Light

The next track slides in without pause. No crackle this time. Just a smooth transition—drums, soft, steady. Something warmer. Lighter on its feet.

Annie exhales before she realizes she’s been holding her breath.

Common.

She knows this one too. All the way through.

The beat settles into the room, easy, unforced. The kind of rhythm that doesn’t ask for attention but keeps you anyway.

Something in her shoulders loosens.

And just like that—She’s somewhere else again.

Early evening.

The sun sits lower now, casting everything in that soft gold that makes even the most ordinary things look like they matter. The street hums with life. Kids cutting through yards. A car idling too long at the corner. Somebody calling out from a porch two houses down.

Annie stands at the bus stop, arms folded loosely across her chest, her bag slung over one shoulder. She shifts her weight between her feet, eyes drifting down the street.

Waiting.

A car pulls up slow. Familiar before she even looks. She doesn’t move right away. Just lets it settle in her chest first. The passenger door unlocks with a soft click.

“Get in.”

She turns her head.

Smoke leans over from the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose near the gear shift. His gaze stays on her, calm, certain enough to make it feel already decided.

“My bus—” she starts.

“Gon’ be late,” he says knowingly 

She narrows her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

He lifts one shoulder. “Bet.”

Annie huffs under her breath, but there’s no real resistance behind it. She opens the door. Slides in. The car smells like him. Clean. Faint cologne. Something warmer underneath that’s harder to place. The door shuts with a solid thud, sealing her into the space with him.

“You been waitin’ long?” she asks, pulling her seatbelt across her chest.

He glances at her briefly before looking back at the road. “A minute.”

She tilts her head, studying him. “A minute,” she repeats.

The corner of his mouth lifts—almost.

The music is already playing. Low. Filling the car without crowding it. She recognizes it immediately.

“You and this song,” she murmurs, settling back into her seat.

He doesn’t respond. Just turns the volume up a fraction. They drive without rushing. Windows cracked just enough to let the air move through. The evening slipping in, carrying the scent of the street with it.

Annie rests her elbow against the door, her fingers tapping against the glass in time with the beat.

She watches the houses pass. Then—she glances at him. His hand stays easy on the wheel. One finger tapping against it, keeping time with the music. His attention split in that quiet way of his—focused on the road, but aware of everything else too.

Her included.

“You be listenin’ to this for real,” she says, half teasing now.

He shrugs. “It’s cool.”

She hums, unconvinced.

A few seconds pass. “You like it?” he asks.

The question lands different. Simple, but it sits there, waiting. Annie looks forward again. Listens. Really listens this time.

The way the beat carries something constant underneath it. The way the words move—easy, certain, with nothing to prove.

Just telling the truth as it is.

“Yeah,” she says after a moment.

Soft.

Real.

Smoke nods once. The car slows as they near her street. He pulls up in front of her house, engine still running.

Annie doesn’t reach for the door right away. “Thank you,” she says instead.

He glances at her. “Anytime.”

And there’s something in the way he says it.

Anytime.

It carries more than this one ride. It reaches further than either of them is willing to define out loud.

Annie studies him for a second.

The set of his shoulders. The way his hand rests against the wheel now that the car is still. The quiet way he holds space without filling it.

“You ain’t have to come get me,” she says.

“I know.”

No hesitation.

She lets out a small breath, something close to a laugh but softer than that. “Okay,” she says. Her hand moves to the door.

She pauses.

“Text me when you get home,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

Smoke looks at her then. Really looks this time. “Aight.”

She nods once. Pushes the door open. The evening air wraps around her again as she steps out. She closes the door behind her, the music still drifting faint through the cracked window. She walks up the path toward her house. Doesn’t look back right away.

But it settles in before she confirms it. 

That awareness. 

Still there.

At the door, she glances over her shoulder. He’s still sitting there.

Watching.

Their eyes meet. He gives a small nod. She returns it. Then she goes inside.

Annie doesn’t move right away, her fingers settling into the floor as the feeling settles in a way she can’t ignore this time. 

The song plays on, but it doesn’t feel like background anymore. It feels like proof. Not of something loud or something declared. But proof of something present. Something that showed up. Over and over again.

Her gaze drifts to the CD case beside her. Then back to the stereo.

“You like it?”

The question echoes now. Clearer than it did then.

Annie exhales slowly.

“Yeah,” she murmurs to the empty room.

This time—she understands what he was really asking.

Track 3: You Got Me

The next track settles in slower, lower, smoother. The kind of rhythm that doesn’t drift… it holds. Annie’s head tilts, recognition pulling at her before the words even come in. 

The Roots. 

Her fingers rest against her knee, the beat finding its place in her body without effort, and then she’s there again.

Night. Not late, but late enough that the street has changed.

Annie steps out of the corner store, a small plastic bag looped around her fingers, the cold of a bottled drink pressing through it. The bell above the door jingles behind her. Inside, everything had been bright, loud enough to feel normal. Out here, the air sits differently. She pauses just outside the door, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, scanning the street out of habit more than fear.

They’re across the lot.

Three of them, leaning against the side of a car that’s been parked too long without moving. Same boys from school—loud in the hallways, louder when they think no one’s checking them. One nudges the other when she steps out. She catches it without looking directly. 

The shift. 

The attention.

Annie turns down the sidewalk anyway, keeping her pace even.

“Hey—” one of them calls out.

She doesn’t respond.

“Where you goin’?”

Their voices carry too easily in the open air. Annie adjusts her grip on the bag, her shoulders pulling in just slightly—bracing. Her phone buzzes in her hand. She glances down.

Smoke.

Her thumb moves before she can think too hard about it. “Hello?”

“You just left the store?”

Her steps falter for half a second. “…Yeah.”

“I seen you.”

She turns her head just enough to scan the street behind her but doesn’t spot him. “Where?”

“Down the block. Keep walkin’.”

Her chest settles. Behind her, footsteps now, closer than before.

“Damn, you can’t speak?”

Annie keeps moving, her voice quieter now. “They just… talkin’,” she says into the phone, more to herself than him.

“I know.”

And there’s something in his tone—measured, already decided.

“Stay on the phone,” he adds.

“Okay.”

The street stretches ahead, longer than it did a minute ago. Then headlights turn the corner. Slow. Controlled. The car pulls up alongside her, engine low, familiar before she fully looks. The passenger door unlocks.

“Get in.”

Annie reaches for the handle and slides inside, pulling the door shut behind her in one smooth motion. The outside noise dulls immediately. Smoke’s hand adjusts on the wheel as he pulls off. Just moving. He glances in the rearview once, then back to the road.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Her grip on the plastic bag loosens, tension leaving her fingers in pieces. 

“They ain’t touch you?”

She shakes her head. “No, Smoke.”

He nods once. The music plays low through the speakers, that same steady rhythm threading through the quiet. Annie leans back into the seat, the fabric warm from the day.

“You was just… there?” she asks after a moment.

He shrugs. “Seen you go in.” Pause. “Waited.”

Annie turns her head, studying him—the way his hand rests easily on the wheel, the way his attention splits without effort between the road and everything else.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

“I know.”

Same answer. But it sounds different now, because this time, she understands it.

He pulls up in front of her house, the engine idling. Annie doesn’t reach for the door right away.

“Thank you,” she says.

He nods. “Anytime.”

That word again.

She opens the door and steps out, the night air wrapping around her. The car stays running behind her as she walks up the path, the porch light already on. She reaches the door, pulls it open, then pauses with her hand still on the frame.

Something pulls at her.

She glances back as their eyes meet across the distance. He gives a small nod and she returns it. Then steps inside and closes the door.

Smoke doesn’t pull off right away.

Annie exhales slowly, her shoulders lowering as the song settles into its final stretch. Her gaze drifts, unfocused, but she’s not seeing the room—she’s seeing him. The way he pulled up without hesitation. The way his voice didn’t rise, didn’t rush. “Stay on the phone.” Like he already decided where he was going to be before she even answered.

Her fingers curl against her palm, because now it’s obvious. Not just what he did, but what it meant. 

He was already paying attention. 

Already watching for her. Already moving in a way that made space for her before she ever asked for it.

Annie swallows. Back then, she told herself it was nothing. Just him being him. Just convenience. Just timing.

But it wasn’t.

It was care. 

The kind that shows up.

Her chest tightens, just a bit because he didn’t just say it. He proved it.

The track fades, but the feeling doesn’t.

Annie sits in it a second longer before the next one comes in.

Track 4: Golden

The next track comes in brighter, warmer, carrying a lift that settles into the room without forcing it. 

Annie’s lips press together in quiet recognition before the first full line lands. 

Jill Scott. 

Her shoulders ease where she sits, her back settling as the music fills the space. 

There’s something open in it, something that moves without resistance, and just like that—she’s there again.

It’s daytime. The sun stretches across everything without apology, laying heat over the block in a way that makes even the ordinary feel alive. Music spills out from somewhere down the street, layered over laughter and voices that rise and fall without pattern. 

The smell of food hangs in the air—something fried, something sweet, somebody grilling for no reason other than the day feels like it calls for it. 

Annie moves through it easily. She’s laughing at something someone said, head tipped back just enough for the light to catch along her cheekbones. Her micro braids are pulled up into a high ponytail, the length of them swaying down her back, a few fine pieces at her edges loosening and softening around her face. A fitted top, denim shorts, nothing that asks for attention—and still, she has it.

People call her name as she passes, pull her into conversations she didn’t plan on having. She answers, sways, moves on without effort, the space making room for her before she has to claim any of it.

Smoke stands off to the side under the edge of a porch, one shoulder resting against the post, a red solo cup loose in his hand. 

He’s not in the middle of it. Never is. But his attention moves with her. 

It wasn’t constant or obvious, but every time she turns, every time she laughs, every time her voice carries just a little further than the rest he catches it. Stack says something beside him, quick, meant to pull him in. Smoke hums in response, low, distracted. “Nigga, you not even listenin’,” Stack mutters, following his line of sight, and then he sees it too. 

Sees her. 

A short laugh leaves him under his breath. “Oh, aight.” 

Smoke doesn’t respond.

Across the yard, Annie dips down slightly to fix the strap of her sandal, unbothered, unaware of the attention she holds. 

Someone says something to her and she looks up, smiling, answering easy. 

The music swells, louder now, fuller, and it settles into her like it belongs there. 

Golden. 

Annie straightens, rolling her shoulders back without thinking. She moves with it, not performing or checking to see who’s watching, she’s letting the rhythm take her where it wants. Her hips sway once, twice, her hands lifting briefly before falling again, a soft laugh slipping out as someone nearby joins in. 

There’s nothing forced in it. 

Nothing measured. 

Just ease.

Smoke’s grip tightens around the cup in his hand. 

Stack nudges him. “Go on over there.” 

Smoke shakes his head once. “Nah.” 

“Why not?” Stack presses. 

A beat passes. 

“She good.” 

Simple. 

Certain. 

Stack watches him for a second longer, then lets it go, turning back to the yard. 

Smoke stays where he is. Doesn’t interrupt or insert himself into her space. He just watches the way she moves through it, the way people orbit her without her ever asking them to, as though she belongs to a rhythm he already understands.

Annie turns, scanning the yard like she’s looking for someone. Her eyes land on him. 

There’s no surprise there. 

Just recognition. 

She smiles, big and real, lifting her chin toward him in quiet acknowledgment. 

He nods back. That’s it. 

No call over, no need to close the distance. 

The moment holds anyway.

Annie’s chest rises slowly, her fingers resting loose against her knee. The song fills the room with that same warmth, and something in her expression softens as she listens. 

Because she sees it now. 

Not what he did, but how he saw her. Before she ever stopped long enough to see herself that way. 

Her gaze dips briefly, then lifts again toward the stereo. Of course he picked this. Not for how she looked, but for how she moved through the world—like she already belonged in it. 

The track continues, and Annie leans back, letting it settle over her. Four songs in, and something is starting to take shape. 

It’s not clear yet or something she can name, but close enough that she feels it building under the surface. 

She doesn’t interrupt it. 

She lets the next track come.

Track 5: U Send Me Swingin’

The next track settles in slower, deeper, carrying a weight the others didn’t. Annie’s breath catches almost immediately. 

Mint Condition. 

Her fingers still where they rest against her knee, the movement from before fading out of her body as something else takes its place. 

This one—she hasn’t thought about this song in a long time. And then she’s there.

It’s evening, but not outside. Inside. His house. The air is quieter here, cooler, the kind of quiet that isn’t empty, just contained. A faint hum runs somewhere in the background, a clock ticking deeper in the house. Annie stands just inside the doorway to his room, her hand resting against the frame like she hasn’t fully decided to step in.

“You can come in,” Smoke says from where he’s sitting.

She looks at him. He’s on the edge of his bed, elbows resting against his knees, hands loose between them. A textbook sits open beside him, untouched.

“I am in,” she answers, her tone light.

His mouth lifts barely, not quite a smile. “Then stop standin’ in the doorway.”

She rolls her eyes but steps in anyway.

The room feels familiar. Not because she’s been in it often, but because it feels like him. Clean without trying too hard. A few things set out that matter, everything else kept simple. She moves toward the desk, setting her bag down, glancing over scattered papers. “You actually studyin’?” she asks.

He leans back, picking up the book like he might prove it. “Trying to.”

She hums, unconvinced. The silence that settles after isn’t awkward. It stretches easy.

Smoke reaches over, flipping something on beside him. Music. Low. That same smooth pull. Annie pauses for a second before turning her head toward the sound. “You always got music playin’,” she says.

He shrugs. “Helps.”

“With what?”

He glances at her. “Thinkin’.”

She watches him for a long second, then turns back to the desk. “Or not thinkin’?” she mutters. That earns a quiet huff from him. She smiles to herself.

The song stretches through the room, wrapping around the quiet in a way that fills it without crowding it. Annie moves without thinking, her fingers brushing across the edge of his desk, then the back of his chair as she passes. Smoke’s attention flickers—subtle, but there. She doesn’t notice. Or maybe she does. She ends up near the bed, turning slightly as she looks down at something on the floor. “Your handwriting is still terrible,” she says, picking up loose paper.

He leans forward, reaching for it. “Give me that.” Their hands meet in the middle and pause, not long, but long enough. Annie’s fingers don’t pull back. Neither does his. The music hums low around them, something in it stretching, pulling, holding. Her eyes lift and find his, and something settles between them—undeniable. 

Smoke’s gaze drops, just briefly, to her mouth, then back up. 

Her breath falters. 

“Annie,” he says, low.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t answer with words. His hand loosens around the paper, not letting it go, but he wasn’t holding onto it the same way. He leans in, slow enough that she can stop it. She doesn’t. The space between them closes, and when his mouth meets hers, it’s careful, almost like he’s making sure she’s still there when it happens. 

Annie stills for half a second, then softens into it. Her fingers slide against his, the paper slipping between them as her attention drifts somewhere else entirely. The kiss is brief, but it’s not small. When he pulls back, it’s just enough to look at her again, like he needs to see what changed.

Annie exhales softly, her eyes still on his. “Okay,” she murmurs, aware now.

Smoke nods once, but he doesn’t lean back the way he did before. He stays close for a second longer than necessary, then finally pulls away, clearing his throat under his breath. The room doesn’t return to what it was. It can’t. The music keeps playing, but now it sits closer, heavier, marked by something they’ve already crossed.

Annie steps back a fraction, her hand brushing against her lips without thinking. 

Smoke notices that, but doesn’t say anything. He just watches, and this time, there’s no hesitation left in it.

The music keeps playing, but now she hears it. Really hears it. Something in the way the song leans into feeling, into being pulled somewhere you didn’t plan on going, something you don’t fully understand yet but can’t ignore either. Her chest tightens with awareness.

Annie’s breath catches, then stutters. Her hand lifts like it remembers the shape of that moment. The room settles back around her, but it doesn’t feel the same. Her gaze drops to the CD case, then back to the stereo. 

Track one. Track two. Track three. Track four. And now this. Annie sits up a little straighter. Because it clicks. This wasn’t random. The order. The feeling. The way each song holds a moment she hadn’t named at the time. 

He was telling her something. Piece by piece. Her throat tightens because now she can’t ignore it—what he couldn’t say then. 

Annie exhales slowly as the song continues. He didn’t just make her a mixtape. He built a story. 

And she’s only halfway through it.

Track 6: Brown Skin

The next track comes in softer, but it doesn’t feel light. It settles close, intimate in a way that doesn’t ask permission before it lands. Annie’s breath slows as soon as she recognizes it. 

India.Arie. 

Her shoulders sink back against the wall behind her, but there’s a new awareness sitting in her body now, quieter than nerves, heavier than comfort. Something that wasn’t there before. This one feels closer than the others.

This one is personal.

And then she’s there again.

It’s quieter this time. Late afternoon slipping into evening, the light outside softened, filtering through the windows in a way that turns everything a little warmer than it is. Annie stands in front of the mirror in Smoke’s room, one hand resting against the dresser as she adjusts the small gold hoops in her ears. She’s been there a while, long enough for the house to settle into something familiar around her. Her mama’s working late again, and instead of going home to an empty house, she ended up here the same way she always does, without needing to ask. His mama already made a plate, already told her to sit, already talked to her like she belonged there.

But something is different now.

Annie notices it in small ways. The extra second she lingers when she catches her reflection. The pause near her mouth before her fingers drop, the memory of something still sitting there. The room itself feels closer than it used to, the air carrying more than it did before.

The door is open behind her. 

“Ma said tell you dinner ready.” Smoke’s voice carries in first, low, even.

Annie glances at him through the mirror. “I already ate,” she says, her voice even.

He leans against the doorframe, arms loose at his sides. “She said eat again.”

That almost makes her smile, but she doesn’t move right then, because now—she feels him there. Not just in the room. Her gaze lifts in the mirror and this time—she doesn’t just see him.

She meets his eyes and it lands differently this time. There’s no distance in it anymore. No buffer. No pretending this is just what it’s always been. 

He’s looking at her with the knowledge of closeness now, with the certainty of someone who’s already crossed into something he can’t step back out of.

Annie swallows, her fingers dropping from her earring. “What?” she asks.

Smoke pushes off the frame, stepping one pace into the room. Closer than he stood before. “Nothing,” he says. But it’s not nothing.

Not anymore.

Annie turns then, slowly, facing him instead of the mirror. The room feels smaller like this, the space between them more defined now that they’re both inside it.

“What?” she asks again.

This time, he doesn’t brush it off. He looks at her. Really looks. The light catches across her skin, warm and even, settling into the natural tones of her face, her shoulders, the curve of her arms. Her hair pulled back, exposing more of her than usual. Simple. Uncomplicated.

And still—he holds it.

“You… look good,” he says.

The words come out level, but there’s something under them now, something shaped by what’s already passed between them.

Annie blinks.

There’s no space to pretend it’s casual. No way to tuck it into something lighter. It sits between them.

Clear.

She shifts her weight, her fingers brushing against the side of her shorts. “Thank you,” she says, softer now.

Smoke nods once, but he doesn’t move. His gaze lingers a second longer than it needs to. Then another, taking her in, like he already knows how she feels close.

Annie feels it. That awareness is returning, stronger now. “You just gon’ stand there?” she asks, a small edge of nervousness slipping into her voice without her meaning for it to.

His mouth curves. “Yeah.” The answer is quiet.

Honest.

Annie lets out a small breath, something caught between a laugh and something else. “You so weird,” she says, but there’s no weight behind it.

Smoke shrugs. “Probably.”

That almost pulls a real smile out of her.

Almost.

The music hums low somewhere else in the house, drifting faintly down the hallway, wrapping around the moment without interrupting it. Annie turns back toward the mirror, but slower this time. More aware of him behind her.

She adjusts nothing.

Touches nothing.

Just… looks.

And this time—she sees it differently. Not through her own lens. Through his. The way he just did and the way he already has. Her shoulders square without her realizing it. Her chin lifts just a fraction.

Smoke watches that too.

The change.

Subtle.

But there.

“Come on,” he says after a second, his voice returning to something more normal. “Before my mama start callin’ both of us.”

Annie nods, grabbing her phone off the dresser. “Okay.” She walks past him, close enough that her arm brushes his as she moves through the doorway. This time it lingers a fraction longer. Neither of them pulls away.

Annie slows. Just enough. Her hand lifts without thinking, fingers grazing against his shirt as she turns her head, and before she can talk herself out of it—she leans in.

It’s quick.

Soft.

Her mouth brushing his like she’s testing something she already knows the answer to, but this time—it’s her.

Choosing it.

Choosing him.

Smoke stills for half a second, caught in the moment of it, then turns toward her as she pulls back. He didn’t stop her or question her. He was meeting her there.

Annie exhales softly, her eyes flicking up to his for a second, something unspoken passing between them. Then she steps away. Keeps moving down the hallway like she didn’t just change something. But the air behind her feels different and when Smoke follows, it’s not the same distance as before.

Just… closer than it used to be.

Annie doesn’t move when the memory lets go of her. Her eyes stay open, fixed somewhere ahead, but her focus is elsewhere entirely. Her fingers rest still against her knee, the quiet in the room settling around her differently now.

Because that—that wasn’t small.

He wasn’t just looking at her.

He was seeing her. The way she stood. The way she carried herself. The things she didn’t say, and the things she didn’t even realize were there.

Her gaze drops, unfocused. She understands that this wasn’t just a moment. It wasn’t something that happened because they were close. Or something that could be folded into everything else and left there.

This was the shift.

The line. The point where everything stopped being what it was before. Annie exhales slowly, but it doesn’t release anything.

Because back then—she treated it like it could stay light. Like they could step back from it if they needed to. Like it didn’t change anything unless they said it did. But it did. It changed everything.

Her fingers curl against her palm. She sees it now in the way he stayed close after. The way he looked at her like he was waiting for something, not from her words, but from her understanding. Like he was giving her the space to meet him there.

And she didn’t.

Her throat tightens, just slightly. She didn’t have the language for it then. Didn’t know how to hold something that felt that real without it needing to be explained. So she let it sit between them.

Undefined.

Untouched by anything that would’ve made it harder to ignore.

Annie closes her eyes briefly, because now she knows what that was. The moment they stopped being almost and became something that needed to be chosen.

The track fades, but the weight of it stays, pressing in just enough that the next one doesn’t come in clean.

And this time—

She feels the difference before she’s ready for it.

Track 7: Fortunate

The next track comes in smoother, warmer, but there’s something steadier underneath it. It settles in like something that already knows where it belongs. Annie’s eyes lift as soon as she recognizes it. 

Maxwell. 

Her fingers press into the floor beside her, grounding herself as the music stretches into the room, and this time she doesn’t hesitate. She lets it take her. 

She’s there again. Night, but not late. The air has cooled just enough to settle against her skin without making her reach for anything heavier. The street is quieter now, most of the movement pulled inside, lights glowing through windows instead of spilling out onto porches. 

Annie sits on the hood of his car, one leg bent, the other hanging just off the edge, her hands braced behind her, holding her steady. The metal is still warm from the day, the heat lingering beneath her palms. She tilts her head back looking up at the sky. 

Smoke leans against the front of the car across from her, arms folded loosely, one foot crossed over the other. His gaze moves, tracking the street, the houses, then settling back on her. They’ve been out there a while. Talking at first. Then not. And neither one of them rushed to fill it back in.

“You ever think about leavin’?” she asks, her voice soft but clear in the quiet.

His gaze shifts back to her. “Leavin’ where?”

She shrugs, still looking up. “Here. This block. All this.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Takes a second. “Nah.”

Annie lowers her head, looking at him now. “Never?”

He shrugs, pushing off the car just enough to shift his weight. “Ain’t really thought about it like that.”

She studies him for a second longer, then looks away again, her fingers tapping lightly against the hood. “I have,” she says.

That lands differently. Smoke straightens, something in his posture shifting without him naming it. “Yeah?” he asks.

She nods, small. “Sometimes.”

Silence stretches again, but it isn’t the same. There’s something in it now. Something that wasn’t there before. Smoke watches her, really watches her, the way she’s looking out past the houses now, past the street, like her mind is already somewhere else even if her body hasn’t followed yet.

For the first time it doesn’t sit right with him. Not because he doesn’t understand it, but because he does. “You’d leave?” he asks.

She exhales. “If I had to.”

Smoke’s jaw twists, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to her. “If,” he repeats.

Annie glances at him, catching the way he said it. “Yeah. If.”

Another pause settles between them before she nudges his foot with hers. “You’d stay here forever?”

That pulls the smallest smile from him. “Probably.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s crazy.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Cause there ain’t shit here,” she says, gesturing loosely around them. “You don’t ever wonder what else is out there?”

Smoke looks at her longer this time. There’s no hesitation in it. No uncertainty. Just something settled.

“I know what’s here,” he says.

The words are simple, but they land differently now, because this time—it’s not about the block, the street or staying because shit’s familiar.

He’s looking at her and choosing it. Choosing her. Without needing to say it any louder than that.

Annie hesitates, because she hears something in it, even if she doesn’t fully unpack it. Her gaze softens just a little. “Okay,” she says.

For a second, it feels like that could be enough.

The music drifts low from inside the car, the door cracked just enough for it to carry out into the night. Annie adjusts on the hood, her hand sliding closer to her side, closer to him, not touching but close enough that it feels like it could. 

Smoke notices that too. His hand drops from where it was resting, settling beside him on the edge of the car, closer. The space between them narrows without either of them naming it.

“You think too much,” he says after a second.

She smiles faintly. “Somebody got to.”

He shakes his head, but he’s still looking at her. There’s nothing held back in it. No question. No almost. Just certainty. Like something found its place and stayed there.

Annie’s breath comes out slower, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that doesn’t quite match the song anymore. Her gaze stays fixed ahead, but she isn’t seeing the room—she’s seeing that moment, hearing it again.

“I know what’s here.” 

Annie swallows, because she gets it in a way she didn’t then. He wasn’t talking about the block. He wasn’t talking about staying because he didn’t know anything else. 

He was talking about her. 

Her hand shifts against the floor, fingers curling in. 

Fortunate. 

Of course. 

Annie exhales slowly, her head leaning back as the realization settles deeper, because now there’s no confusion left in it. He didn’t stumble into how he felt. 

He chose it. Chose her and she didn’t see it until it was already something he was holding on his own. 

The track continues, carrying that truth with it, and Annie lets it play all the way through.

Tracks 8-10: Be Without You, So Sick, Miss You

The next track settles in heavier than the others, building low—the kind of weight that doesn’t rush itself. Annie’s body stills as soon as she recognizes it. 

Mary J. Blige. 

Her fingers press into the floor beside her, grounding herself as something shifts in a way the others didn’t. This one doesn’t pull her into a single moment. It stretches wider than that, holding more than one feeling at once, something about staying even when distance makes it harder, something about believing in something that isn’t in front of you anymore. 

And then—she’s there. 

Watching it. 

Smoke sits on the hood of his car, same street, same spot, but nothing about it feels the same. The air is quieter. Still in a way that doesn’t bring peace with it. His elbows rest against his knees, his hands hanging loose, his head tipped forward slightly like he’s been there longer than he meant to. 

His phone rests in his hand. The screen lights up. Then it goes dark. Nothing. He doesn’t move right away. Just sits there, giving the silence more time than it deserves. It doesn’t. Because he already said everything he had to say.

Just not in a way she ever answered.

The sound changes, cleaner now, sharper, and Annie hears it before she places it—

Ne-Yo. 

The tone changes. Something tighter. Frustrated. Like the feeling won’t leave no matter how many times you try to move around it. 

Morning. 

Light filtering through the blinds in thin lines across the room. Smoke sits on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand again. He checks it. Nothing. He sets it down. Then reaches for it again a second later, like he forgot he already looked. 

Not to call. Not anymore. Just to check what he already knows isn’t there.

The room hasn’t changed, but it feels different because she’s not there, and this time that absence doesn’t sit quiet. It follows him. It presses. It doesn’t let him settle into anything else. The music plays, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Annie feels that part differently, sharper, because she knows what she was doing in those same mornings—getting ready, moving through new routines, telling herself she was adjusting, that this was normal, that it would all even out if she just gave it time. But it didn’t even out. Not for him. 

The sound switches again, softer now, quieter, and she recognizes it immediately—

Aaliyah. 

The edge is gone, because he learned how to carry it differently. 

Night. 

Later than before. The porch light hums overhead, casting that same soft glow across the steps. Smoke sits there, elbows on his knees, hands loose, posture easy in a way that doesn’t ask for anything anymore. He’s not waiting anymore. There’s no phone in his hand. No checking. No holding onto something that might come through. He just sits. A breath leaves him, slow, even. 

Nothing left to send.

Nothing left to explain

Just.. what remains.

His shoulders adjust as he leans back just a fraction, his hands pressing briefly against the step behind him before settling again. There’s space around him now. Quieter. 

Different. 

Something moves across his face for a second. Like a memory passing through instead of settling in. 

He lets it. Doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t hold it. Just lets it move. 

And keeps going.

Annie’s breath catches, then steadies, then catches again, like her body doesn’t know how to hold all of it at once. Her eyes stay open, but they don’t focus. 

She’s there, watching him, watching time move in a way she never stopped to see before. And for the first time—she understands the difference between what they both felt. 

Her fingers curl against her palm because she remembers what she was doing during all of that. 

Moving. 

Adjusting. 

Learning new people, new routines, new ways to fill the space he used to take up. Telling herself it was normal. That this is what distance does. That they’d figure it out eventually. 

Her throat tightens because while she was trying to move forward, he was trying to move through it. 

Annie exhales slowly, her hand pressing against her chest again, because she never knew, never asked, never stopped long enough to see what it was costing him to stay connected to something she was slowly learning how to live without. 

And he still sent it.

Even with all that distance. Even with all that silence.

He still chose to say it.

She just… never listened.

Her gaze drops to the CD case, then back to the stereo, and now—she hears all of it. The way he used the songs. The way each one said something different about what he was carrying. Holding on. Breaking. Learning how to live with it. 

Her chest tightens again, softer this time, because she knows what she did with that same time. She filled it. With everything but him. 

While he was putting her into something meant to last.

The song continues, low and unhurried, carrying all of it at once, and Annie doesn’t move to stop it. She lets it play. She lets herself feel all of it.

Bonus Track: Untitled (How Does It Feel)

The CD should’ve ended.

It does.

Silence settles into the room, soft at first, expected. Annie’s chest rises slowly, her body still carrying everything she’s just heard, every moment laid out in a way she never stopped to see before. Her hand moves toward the stereo, ready to turn it off.

Then—a click. The next track begins. It’s different immediately. Slower. Closer. The kind of sound that doesn’t fill a room, it wraps around you.

Annie freezes.

Her inhale comes shallow before she can stop it.

Her room.

The lights are low, a single lamp casting a soft amber glow that warms everything it touches. The window is cracked just enough to let the night air slip through, the curtain moving gently with each quiet stir of wind. Annie stands near the bed, still, her fingers loosely curled at her sides, her pulse steady but present in a way she can feel. Smoke stands a few feet in front of her.

…and this isn’t new.

Not anymore.

They’ve been moving toward this in pieces, in moments that stretched longer each time they let them. The first kiss that felt like crossing something neither of them named. The second that lingered, deeper, less careful.

The way his hands started to find her without asking—her waist, her back—like they belonged there. The way hers learned him in return, resting against his chest, sliding along his arms, tracing without thinking about what it meant.

Time passed like that, happening in a way that felt inevitable. Nights spent too close, too long, where conversation faded and silence held more than words ever could.

Where his hand would slide just enough to feel more of her, and she wouldn’t move it away. Where her breath would catch, but she stayed anyway. Where kisses stopped being something they tested and became something they knew.

Now there’s nothing left between them but the decision.

The music hums low in the background, slow, smooth, pulling something deeper into the room. Annie steps forward first, closing the space that’s barely there anymore.

Her hands find him, resting against his chest, feeling the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, grounding herself in something real. 

Smoke exhales softly, his hands coming up a second later, settling at her waist with certainty, thumbs brushing like he’s anchoring himself to her. 

Their eyes meet, and this time there’s no question in it. No hesitation. No almost. Just understanding. 

Annie leans in, her mouth finding his in a way that isn’t searching anymore. It’s sure. Smoke meets her immediately, pulling her closer, the space between them gone completely now. 

The kiss deepens, slow, unhurried, stretching the moment instead of rushing through it. Annie’s hands move upward, her fingers sliding along the side of his neck, into the back of his hair, holding him there. Smoke’s hand moves along her back, firm, strong, keeping her close not letting her drift away from this. 

The room feels smaller, warmer, everything narrowing down to this moment, to the way they fit together now without thinking about it. Annie exhales softly against his mouth, her forehead resting briefly against his when they pull back just enough to breathe, but neither of them moves far. 

“You good?” he asks, low, giving her space inside the moment. 

Annie nods, small but certain. “Yeah.” That’s all it takes. Smoke’s hand moves against his back, his thumb brushing once, like sealing something into place. And when he leans in again, it isn’t new. 

It’s deeper. 

The music carries through the room, wrapping around them as Annie lets herself fall into it fully this time. Ready.

Smoke’s mouth finds hers again, deeper this time, and Annie feels the change in him—the way his hands tighten at her waist, pulling her flush against his body. She’s trembling already, a fine shiver running through her arms and legs that she can’t quite hide. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.

He notices.

Smoke pulls back just enough to look at her, his forehead still resting against hers, breath warm against her lips. “Annie,” he says, voice low and rough, “you shaking’, girl.”

“I know,” she whispers. Her voice cracks a little. “I’m nervous.”

His thumb strokes slow circles against her lower back, steadying. “We don’t gotta do this. Not tonight. Not ever, if you not sure.”

“No—no, I’m sure,” she stammers quickly, eyes meeting his. The amber lamp light catches in them, making everything feel softer, closer. “I want this. With you. Before I… before I move away.” Her throat tightens. “I want to show you how much I love you. How much I’m gonna miss you. I don’t wanna leave without knowing what this feels like—with you.”

Smoke exhales, something raw flickering across his face. He nods once, slow, then leans in to kiss her again—gentler now, like he’s sealing a promise. “Okay,” he murmurs against her mouth. “We go slow. You tell me if you wanna stop. Anytime. Aight?”

“Aight.”

His hands slide up her sides, warm through her thin shirt, and he starts undressing her carefully. Fingers finding the hem, he lifts it slowly, giving her time to raise her arms. The fabric whispers over her head and drops to the floor. Cool air brushes her skin, and she feels exposed, heart hammering. Smoke’s eyes move over her—reverent, slow—before he pulls his own shirt off in one smooth motion, revealing the familiar lines of his chest and shoulders that she’s touched so many times before.

They’re still half-clothed when he guides her back toward the bed. Annie sits on the edge, then scoots back and lying down, and Smoke follows, settling over her, but keeping most of his weight on his forearms. He kisses her again, long and deep, until some of the tension in her body eases. His mouth trails lower along her jaw, down the side of her neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that make her breath hitch.

When he reaches her bra, his fingers trace the edge first, asking without words. Annie nods. He unhooks it with controlled hands, sliding the straps down her arms, and sets it aside. The moment her breasts are bare, she feels the flush creep across her skin. Smoke doesn’t hesitate, he lowers his head, lips brushing one nipple before he takes it into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue circling slow and warm. Annie gasps, her back arching off the bed. His hand covers her other breast, thumb brushing the peak in time with his mouth, warm and gentle.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers against her skin, switching sides, sucking a little harder now, drawing a soft moan from her. “So fuckin’ perfect, Annie.”

Her hands find his hair, fingers threading through it as the sensation builds—warmth pooling low in her belly, chasing away some of the nerves. Smoke keeps going, patient, until she’s breathing heavier, hips twisting restlessly beneath him.

Only then does he move lower.

He kisses a slow path down her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel for a second, making her twitch. His hands work at her pants next—unbuttoning, unzipping, peeling them down her legs along with her panties in one careful motion. Annie lifts her hips to help, suddenly aware of how bare she is, how vulnerable. She starts to close her legs instinctively, but Smoke’s palms settle on her thighs, gentle but firm, holding them open just enough.

“Easy,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of one knee. “I got you. Just feel it.”

He settles between her legs, broad shoulders spreading her wider. Annie’s breath thins as she feels the first warm exhale against her most sensitive skin. Then his mouth is on her pussy—soft at first, just lips brushing her folds, then his tongue licking a slow stripe up through her center. She jolts, a surprised sound escaping her.

Smoke hums in response, the vibration making her thighs tremble. He takes his time, exploring—licking, sucking lightly at her clit, then dipping lower to taste her properly. One hand stays on her hip, thumb stroking soothing circles, while the other slides up to lace with hers, squeezing tight. He finds a rhythm that has her hips rocking gently against his face, soft whimpers falling from her lips.

“Smoke…” she breathes, voice shaky.

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips glistening. “Good?” His eyes meet hers, dark and focused. “You still good?”

“Yes—don’t stop,” she manages.

He doesn’t. His tongue works her clit with pressure now, two fingers gently circling her entrance before sliding in slowly, one at a time, stretching her carefully. The fullness is new, intense, but the way he curls them, the way his mouth never leaves her—it builds something deep and aching inside her. Annie’s free hand fists the sheets, her body tightening, trembling harder as the pleasure coils tighter.

When she comes, it’s sudden and overwhelming. Her back bowing, a broken cry leaving her as waves roll through her. Smoke stays with her through it, gentling his touch, until she’s panting, boneless against the bed.

He kisses his way back up her body, slow and gentle, tasting her skin as he goes. By the time he reaches her mouth again, Annie’s eyes are wet. She can taste herself on his lips, and somehow that makes everything feel even more intimate.

Smoke brushes a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Yo… you okay? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Annie shakes her head, more tears slipping free. “No. It’s just… I’m leavin’ soon. And—and this feels like everything. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose—”

His expression softens, something pained and tender crossing his face. He kisses her forehead, then her eyelids, catching the tears. “You got me,” he whispers. “All of me. You ain’t losin’ me. Aight?”

She nods, pulling him closer. “Aight.”

They finish undressing each other then—her hands shaking as she helps push his pants and boxers down his hips. His dick springs free, hard and heavy against her thigh, and Annie’s chest tightens at the sight. Smoke is patient, letting her look, letting her touch if she wants. Her fingers wrap around him tentatively, stroking once, twice, feeling the heat and the way he twitches in her grip. He groans softly, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“Hol up…” he says, voice strained but still in control.

She nods. He leans down to grab his pants from the floor, retrieving his wallet and pulling out the square foil packet, rolling it on with steady hands while she watches, heart pounding.

When he settles between her thighs again, the head of his dick nudging against her slick entrance, he pauses, looking down at her. “Annie. We don’t gotta do this, if you don’t wanna. I love you. Just tell me what you want?”

“I want you,” she whispers, legs wrapping loosely around his hips. “All of you.”

Smoke nods. He pushes in slowly—inch by careful inch—watching her face the whole time. Annie winces sharply at the stretch, the burn of it, her nails digging into his shoulders. It hurts more than she expected, a sharp pressure that makes her breath stutter.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, holding still once he’s fully seated, buried deep inside her. One hand strokes her hair back from her face, the other gripping her hip to keep her close. “You doing good, baby. So tight… fuck, you feel incredible. Just relax for me. I’ve got you.”

He stays there, kissing her softly—her mouth, her neck, her collarbone—until the worst of the discomfort fades and she starts to move beneath him, testing the feeling.

When she nods, he begins to move—slow, shallow thrusts at first, rocking into her with control that looks like it costs him. The pain ebbs, replaced by a deep, full ache that starts to feel good, then better. Annie’s hands slide down his back, feeling the muscles flex under her palms with every thrust.

Smoke talks her through it the whole time, voice low and ragged. “That’s it… just like that. You takin’ me so well. Feel how deep I am? All yours, baby. All for you.”

Her tears come again as the pleasure builds—slow, rolling waves this time, mixing with the bittersweet ache in her chest. She’s moving away. This might be the only time. The thought makes her cling to him tighter, hips rising to meet him as the rhythm grows steadier, deeper.

Smoke’s pace picks up gradually, still careful but more urgent now, one hand slipping between them to circle her clit gently. “Come with me,” he whispers against her ear. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

Annie does—crying out as another orgasm crashes through her, softer and deeper than the first, her walls fluttering around him. Smoke follows moments later, groaning her name as he buries himself deep and stills, pulsing inside her.

They stay locked together afterward, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Smoke doesn’t pull out right away. He kisses her tears away, murmuring soft I love yous—how beautiful she is, how much this meant, how he’ll never forget it either.

Annie holds him close, the music still playing low in the background, the night air cool against their heated skin. In this moment, with him still inside her, the world outside—the move, the distance—feels far away. There’s only this: raw, real, and theirs.

For now, it’s enough.

Back in the apartment, Annie exhales slowly, her breath unsteady in a way it hasn’t been before, her hand resting against her chest like she can still feel the echo of it there. Her eyes open gradually, her gaze lowering toward the stereo, then to the CD.

This one sits differently. Something was shared. Something real that didn’t exist on one side alone. Her throat tightens, but she doesn’t look away.

Now she understands all of it. Not just what he felt. What she felt too. Even then. She just didn’t stay still long enough to name it.

Annie swallows, her fingers curling against her shirt, because it didn’t go anywhere. That’s the part that lands hardest.

Her feelings stayed.

Quiet. Unmoved.

Her eyes drift shut for a second and something in her settles into place.

Clear.

Unavoidable.

She’s been carrying him this whole time.

The song continues low in the background, but it doesn’t hold her the way the others did. This time—

It pushes her.

Annie leans forward, reaching for her phone where it rests beside the open box. Her thumb hovers for half a second before she unlocks it.

Scrolls.

Stops.

Pearline.

She taps it. 

Types.

Sends.

The room goes quiet again, but it doesn’t feel the same. Her leg bounces once before she stills it, her gaze fixed on the screen like she might miss something if she looks away.

Then—

A response.

Quick.

Annie exhales, sharper this time, her fingers tightening around the phone as she reads it. Another message follows. She stares at it. Just long enough for doubt to try to settle in.

It doesn’t stay.

Her thumb presses down. The number fills the screen. She lifts the phone to her ear.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Her breath stalls, her eyes closing for just a second.

Then—

“Hello?”

Annie inhales.

And this time—

She doesn’t hesitate.

“Hey… Stack,” she says, her voice controlled, even with everything moving underneath it. “It’s Annie, I need your help.”

End Note: Sooo.... Part 2 or nah? 🫣

Dividers By: @saradika-graphics

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