TROSR: Chapter I
Where the Body First Listens
| MIC
I could stare at her all day.
All night too.
I could smell her warm vanilla shea moisture hair or feel our heat she’s pooling right now.
We could stay in bed, tangled in honey silk sheets. My arms planted around her waist, and her head placed on my chest.
Our breathing, synchronized.
This was our divine start; a newly furnished house coasting the waves in Oahu. I’m glad her attention to detail sustained mine. She made an ordinary beachfront feel like home.
And when I did leave for trips, it never strained us. I was always eager for what awaited me when I got back.
I trusted her with my life. She isn’t….. just my girlfriend of almost one year. She’s my best friend and our love spans through a multitude of lifetimes. My mind stopped spinning when I rested on that note.
I woke up first.
My eyes scanned slowly across our bedroom. Everything in place, everything telling a story. From golden frames of Black art placed adjacent from us. A fluffy cotton cloud curling us. The sheer desert curtains against the window and around the bed, peeked cracks of sunrise that made our room glow.
There’s a window bench peeking beyond those curtains that held a half finished quilt she was determined to make. Colors resembling her own spirit: green, orange, and white. Beside that was a low end table, cluttered in a quiet way—her books with dog-eared pages, my old guitar picks inside a bowl she ceramic.
And the aroma was diffused between warm honey and burnt amber. She had an essential oil plugged in by her vanity. Near my collection of hair picks and other Afrocentric trinkets.
It was soft. Enough for us to land.
But in a way that cradled our late night rendering into a breathtaking morning.
When I managed to drag myself out of bed, Kiy stirred enough to snuggle a pillow, but remained fast asleep.
My bare feet hit the hard wood floors and I shook my hair once to free the bed head. I stretched as I yawned, striding the corridors, hoping I wouldn't get lost again.
I did like how new everything felt. But it also felt like something else too—permanent. And that was a feeling I haven’t had in a long time.
When I reached the kitchen, I went straight for the fridge. If our bedroom was soft and fuzzy, then our kitchen was a fireball. It isn’t because of the crimson tiles plated between the small window and the stove. Or the fact that she placed red pots and pans, hanging above our island counter.
It’s the only room I’d believe had sizzled alchemy. When Kiy isn’t savoring a new masterpiece, she’s quiet, book in one hand, steamed jasmine in the other. Always from a cracked mug she refused to kill; one from our cabin fever.
I plopped fresh eggs on the stove and watched them simmer and hiss. I took out another pan and coated the bottom with butter, enough to brown the brioche with no charred bits.
If Kiy was cooking, it'd be a controlled chaotic mess.
Not uncomfortable, but a justifying charge.
The counters would be like her own symphony of fresh air. Flames would leap higher for her, garlic would soften faster. Even the sizzling oil would know how to behave.
I swear it’s more than a setup recognized by her own hands.
I know I’m not a chef.
It doesn’t take a chef to realize the magic she can cultivate. Stacked herbs in clay jars, a cutting board strained from a hundred meals, a bowl of fruit that always seems to regenerate.
The morning sun through the window above the sink always does wonders to her curls in the morning. I’d noticed it around the same time she hums softly to herself.
Though, I’ll never tell her.
The air would linger on with cayenne, brown sugar, and… cinnamon? Sometimes she would drift with flour on her cheek, and I’d feel like she belonged to the sun.
As I plated our breakfast and washed the pans thoroughly before placing them on the dry rack, another thought crossed my mind.
This is the only room in the house where she’s fully herself—heat, sweetness, power, ease.
And when she’s there, the whole house feels like it has a heartbeat.
| KIY
I couldn’t hear his heartbeat anymore.
My arms swept the bed lazily, confirming his absence. My eyes glanced at the clock over our plush comforter.
It’s 7 a.m.
I groaned at the sight, turning over. We only slept for three hours. Three.
The only hours that we weren’t… you know, busy.
Every room was touched by us. From our eco chamber living room to our oceanic bathroom, landed us in a bedroom filled with milk and honey.
Mic had me on the wall, bent over a soft chair, pinned against our spacious shower, and rocked into me on our soft bed.
My fingers felt my lips, remembering exactly where they been. On his lips, his neck, his chest, and—-
I shook my head, my thoughts stopped. I could spiral down into grotesque images, or I could drag myself out of bed to greet my man. A glimmer of amusement came.
My man.
It’s been a while since I’ve allowed myself to fully embrace the emotions I’m experiencing now: serenity, peace, and love.
I love Micah with all my heart.
Our house now served as a sanctuary for our passionate yet composed souls. After months of being together and months apart, nothing changed about him.
Mic remained exactly the same—kind, thoughtful, sweet, funny, and perhaps a bit delirious.
But by now, we both were.
Perhaps a little intoxicated by each other’s company.
When he convinced me to stay in last night, I couldn’t say no. There would be other work parties. It was almost if nothing mattered when he was here with me. The way his body expressed him missing me, I wanted to melt down into a swoon-felt pool.
I inhaled sharply. Didn’t bother checking my phone as I did constantly alone. With Mic here, I didn’t need to.
But…
I did catch a whiff of the breakfast he didn’t hide setting up in the kitchen. Coated smells settled in my stomach, my mouth actually watered.
I leaped from the bed, scurried to the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth, twice, then wrestled my hair to look like a presentable pinecone. I used one of the newer picks he gave me from Barbados. This one had a wooden oak feel, coated in their flag. Once my hair looked like an auburn palm tree, I was satisfied.
I trailed down the hallway, wearing one of his black button-ups, left open. I wore my black sports bra, laced, and daring panties. I knew even after last night, it would be the best greeting.
And I wouldn’t be a fitting girlfriend, if I let him eat alone.
“Get a load of that.”
I complimented the breakfast he worked on. Freshly scrambled eggs with a hint of herb butter, cinnamon brioche, and sliced fruit.
His smile reached his eyes and tugged at my heartstrings. My arms swarmed his bare torso, Mic greeted me with a glorious kiss that made my knees buckle a little.
“Good morning to you too, my prowler.”
“Prowler?” I questioned, sitting on the counter next to him.
Our dining was always inconvenient, we never sat properly at the dining table unless we had guests. Plus, it was located near the back door entrance.
It was sometimes our living room, sometimes the porch, or right here—me on the counter, him leaning against it, picking at his plate.
I continued, “And how’d I get that name?”
“You know how,” he chuckled, before whispering close to my neck. “Even the ocean heard you last night.”
I hit him playfully on his chest. I was chewing through a piece of brioche when his fingers caressed my bare thighs like bolted feathers. Made me hyper sensitive.
“Stop.” I warned him. “For once, I wanna eat. And for once, we need to come up for air.”
“Says you.”
Mic stole a piece of my toast, ripping against the edges with his shiny teeth, antagonizing me. “It’s been months since I’ve tasted you.”
“Weeks,” I corrected. He always seemed to stretch time along with him. “I was there, remember? I stayed with you instead of going to the press conference. Even though Autumn is gonna come for my head.”
He waves off that thought, as he cleared his plate. Then took mine along with it after I was finished. “I’ll straighten it out. Tell Zune to chill her ass out too.”
My head shook, remembering our match-making Christmas party we thought was about us.
It clearly wasn’t.
Though we didn’t know it, our small gang seemed to square off quite nicely.
Autumn and Zune were the most surprising pair. But even after our traveling and search for a house, Autumn helped me with Poetic Ink Co. start up and Zune made sure her micro-managing didn’t get too outlandish.
They've been on plenty of dates since then, and certain buzz from the biggest online magazines told me they were madly in love. Something she needed to cease all her street loving.
“Have you talked to any of them since you gotten back?” I asked, and he pulls me in instantly and my breathing synchronized with his.
Micah shook his head. “No, and I’m already dreading all the calls and messages I need to respond to. Even in paradise, they still need hand holding.”
I chuckled softly. “Those are your guys.”
“And those are your girls.” He’d rebuttal.
“Maui is good for them,” I said with confidence. Especially when all of us needed a good soft landing to come to. “Once Autumn moved here after Zune’s business trip, it’s like rest followed like dominoes.”
“Then, that will make us excellent game masters.” Mic pecked my neck before looking past my shoulders, then frowned.
“What is it?”
I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a parallel vision beyond our kitchen arch. It landed on two shadowy figures approaching our front door.
Our stain-glassed double door—a project I completed as soon as our boxes arrived—created a technicolor display of sunlight. It also allowed us to see guests before they arrive, making it a win-win situation.
Mic groaned and wiped his face. “Company I would rather not entertain.”
I shook my head, pushing him off so I can check who it was. I grabbed a pair of his joggers, laying on the chair, and slid them over my ass. When my hand did turn the door, I was greeted with a storming Autumn who had an apologetic Zune trailing behind her.
She was dressed with a tropical sundress that made her deeply melaninated skin glow brighter. Her face beat with a cherry red gloss and matching eye shadow. Zune, opposed to her, walked a fit he would hoop in, stretched out blue T and long balling shorts.
“You must have a great excuse to why you are blowing my calls. And ditched me to handle all those reporters last night.” Autumn blared through the door like a bulldozer. “I was convinced you were dead. Since that’ll be the only way for you—“
Her ranting stopped when she saw Micah leaning against the arch, his arms crossed against his chest. She side eyed Zune, who was already dapping his life long friend up. The men kept snickering like a couple of kids.
“Nice to see you too, Auttie.” I responded, closing the door behind them. And gestured my greeting that of a maid. “Please grace us with your presence.”
She smacked her lips. “This isn’t funny. I almost put out an Amber Alert.”
“Well as you can see, I am alive and definitely not missing.”
“Uh huh.” Her judgy eyes scanned me from head to toe before looking between Mic and her cackling boyfriend. “You could’ve at least told me you were too busy getting dicked down.”
The guys lost it and was practically rolling on the floor in laughter. I gasped sharply and hit her softly. “That’s not fair! Do I ever pull you away when Zune comes around and interrupts our meetings, our venues, our interviews?”
She huffed and gracefully sat down crossing her legs, like a queen waiting for a plea.
“So enlighten me. Did you or did you not miss an extraneous event because your man was home?” She leaned around me and dipped her head to the side, letting her bleached curls fall off her shoulder, eyeing Mic again. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hi Autumn,” Mic seemed to gain hold of his laugh. He comes up behind me for support. His arms coasting my shoulders as our fingers interlocks. “Don’t patronize my girl too much. It was my idea to keep her home.”
“Thanks for sharing that with the class.” She shakes her head. But she couldn’t talk when it came to her own relationship. And with that realization, she gets up fairly quickly. “I need a smoke and I doubt your zen ass rolled anything.”
Mic and I side-glanced before he kissed my forehead and took Zune to the den. Or at least what’s left after dresses from an unattended event spilled over. I go over to a wooden embroidery box just above the fireplace and smile back at her, holding two options.
“Rose or lavender hemp?”
“Bitch, both.”
| MIC
While Kiy talked Autumn off a ledge, I poured Zune a drink from the bar. Whiskey, citrus peel, sphere cube—a simple sermon in a glass. I slid it to him, and he knocked it back like hydration.
“I don’t wanna have to check your woman, man,” I warned, half-joking, half-serious.
Zune waved it off as he dropped the empty glass on the counter. “It won’t come to that. But you know how she is with Kiy. It’d take the apocalypse to break those two up.”
He flicked a rolled napkin toward the bin and landed a clean, disrespectfully perfect three. He held his pose like it was part of his birthright.
“Still… someone could’ve let us know you came back.”
“I was busy.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Man—do I bug you about your sex life?”
“Hell no,” he grinned, swinging his barstool toward the couch as I migrated over. “Which is why I’m intrigued. Your trips never end early. What happened? Groins was calling?”
Yes! Loudly. More than I care to admit. Kiy does that. She makes it worthwhile every time.
My eyes cut at him when I lied: “No.”
Zune lifted both hands like the spirit moved him. “Aye, y’all are in love. Believe me, I get it. But next time you wanna have an all-day smackdown, at least let us know you’re alive.”
I smacked my teeth and flipped through sports channels. Nothing worth watching. So we settled on 2K25, controllers warm in our hands.
Just before the tip-off, I added, “You’re no better than your bopping girl out there.”
“Takes one to know one,” Zune cheesed.
I slapped his controller down and drained the three before he even recovered.
| KIY
I caught a glimpse of Mic gaming with Zune as I passed the den to grab Autumn fresh squeezed pineapple juice.
Both of them looked like overgrown teenagers nobody could pry apart—yelling, cursing, arguing fouls like the world depended on pixelated pride. Somehow, it made my heart glow.
I loved seeing him like this. I loved seeing him, period.
“You are gone,” Autumn teased as we settled on the front porch for our impromptu meeting.
Out here, she could cloud herself in rose and lavender smoke without me getting too wrapped up in Mic’s body every time he shifted in the other room.
I smiled and set her glass on the side table. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh yes, hef, you do.”
Autumn dragged from the rose blunt before passing it. Then she lit the lavender one and started our rotation—two blunts, two women, and the ocean performing for us.
“You, Miss Kiyanna, are a stickler for communication. And the one night we needed that skill? You flaked harder than chips.”
The sigh that left me nearly turned into a cough from the smoke. “I’ll make it up to you, Auttie. Whenever you need. Full, undivided attention.”
“Mhm.”
She didn’t believe a syllable, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I did feel guilty leaving our magazine launch in her hands—but she’s also the reason I trusted it would stand. When I finally walk away from corporate for good, she’ll run it smoother than silk.
She flicked the rose roach into the ceramic ashtray, then side-eyed me. “I know you’ve got god-tier multitasking. But with this partnered event coming up? You gotta be ready. That means… answer your damn phone.”
I chuckled, knowing my phone had been on the nightstand untouched for hours.
“Without a moment more, your Highness.”
| MIC
Looking up from the TV, I catch this man peeking through the blinds, spying on his lady out on the porch.
Zune was always a pouty sore loser—team lost 3–0 and he nearly raged on my controller until I checked him. Once he calmed his ass down, he shifted his attention to what he called “other pressing matters.”
Now he was being hella creepy about it.
I never thought I’d see the day. This is a man who will bite the head off a music label exec for messing with artist rights. Same man who scared the CEO of Columbia Records into a white-flag apology tour. And he’s just a sound engineer. No corporate power, no titles—just talent and reputation sharp enough to draw blood.
I debated saying something, but after I crushed his winning streak, I figured mercy was the wiser path.
Love makes you do the strangest things anyway. Like ignoring the entire planet for 15 hours and 33 minutes.
But who’s counting?
It was good while it lasted. Now we had people in the house, and I had to pretend I wasn’t staring at Kiy every time she existed. The way my dress shirt hung off her, sculpting everything I already knew by heart. Her sports bra holding her perfectly—no, distractingly—well. Her laughter glowing louder than the sun, and those damn panties? She definitely went shopping before I got home.
She looked unreal eating that brioche out of my hand. I’ll never get tired of feeding her.
“Aye, Mic—prepare yourself,” Zune chuckled, still holding the blinds like he was auditioning for “Nosy Neighbor of the Year”.
“For what?” I muttered, turning my head toward that goofy expression stuck on his face.
Shuffled car doors slammed outside—multiple, loud, chaotic.
Shit.
“The gang’s all here,” Zune confirmed.
Before I could even get a grip, the house filled with a thunderclap of voices.
“GIRL! LOOK AT YOU!”
Stembie’s voice cracked straight through the walls, followed by a chorus of squeals as the girls swarmed Kiy. I closed my eyes and braced myself—my afternoon had officially been hijacked.
Out in the foyer, Stembie was doing a full two-step with Kiy, spinning her like she was unveiling her at a fashion show. “New house! New man! Everything brand new, bitch!”
Kiy hugged her tight, rocking with her laughter. “You’re ridiculous, Stem.”
Julia came storming in with Chris carrying a tray of baked sorcery. She hollered across the room, “But you better have the tea! We heard about your little lock-in!”
I brushed past all of them to stand behind Kiy, sliding my arms around her chest and pulling her back against me. She grabbed my arms, grounding me.
“Y’all need to stop slandering my baby,” I said, kissing her cheek. “She takes real good care of me.”
Everyone burst out laughing before piling in the house.
“We know!”
“How we the ones who helped them see each other, and get punish for it?” I asked, deadpan.
She pulled me down by the collar and kissed me—slow, sweet, final. The world went silent in my head. I didn’t focus on the irritation, only her lips and the soft press of her tongue
“I’ll thank you later,” she murmured into my ear.
I had no choice but to cave.
People were in our home. We needed to be proper hosts. Even if I wanted to drag her upstairs and ignore the entire human race.
But the house was already splitting into two worlds: the ladies drifting to the living room—vinyl spinning, blunts passing, Julia and Kiy setting out baked goods while Autumn lit incense like she was summoning ancestors—and the gentlemen retreating to the den.
Zune slapped my shoulder as he passed. “Alright, lover boy. Come take this L in 2K.”
I didn’t move yet. Kiy caught my eye from the rug, laughing with her whole body, golden light all over her skin. It hit me in the chest—hard.
She leaned in to Autumn, whispering something that made them both scream-laugh. My throat tightened. Warm and messy and familiar.
Home.
Finally, I peeled myself away and walked into the den.
Zune shoved a controller into my hand. “We taking bets on how fast you fold.”
Chris didn’t even look up. “Man came home two weeks early and thinks he’s slick.”
Gabe poured whiskey over ice with that knowing smirk. “You ready to tell us what’s got you glowing like a guilty saint?”
I dropped onto the couch and pretended 2K required all my attention. “Y’all worry too much,” I muttered.
Kiy’s laugh drifted in from the other room—bright enough to warm the walls.
They stared at me for not hiding what I'd noticed. The kind of look brothers give when the truth is loud even if you won’t say it.
Zune leaned back. “Mic…it’s not that we worry.”
Gabriel patted my shoulder before making himself comfortable on the couch. “It’s that you’re cooked.”
I didn’t deny it.
Couldn’t.
Not anymore.

