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ITS JUST past midnight in Harlem, the air thick with tension and secrets. You werenβt supposed to be there. Not in his neighborhood. Not in his bed. Your big brother would kill you if he knew. Especially because itβs Edot. His opp.
But there you are, wrapped up in Edotβs hoodie, legs tangled under his sheets, phone on Do Not Disturb. The city outside buzzes with danger, but inside that small, dim lit room? Itβs quiet. Just you and him. The only sound is the low hum of music and the occasional flick of his lighter.
Heβs laying beside you, blunt in his mouth, one hand lazily tracing your thigh. Youβre supposed to leave soon. Before anyone sees your face around Sugarhill, but heβs not letting you go just yet.
"You know you ainβt leavin' tonight right?" He mumbles, eyes barely open, voice deep and tired. "Ainβt nobody gone find out." But you both know thatβs a lie. Because loving Edot is a risk. A war. A secret you canβt help but keep coming back to.
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