The blue tint of the early morning filters through the gap in my curtains, illuminating the thin trail of smoke rising from my cigarette. I’m sitting up, the cool air hitting my bare chest, while the TV hums at a low volume with the subtitles scrolling across a screen I’m barely watching. My eyes keep drifting back to you, tucked under the heavy duvet. A year has passed since that rainy night at 7-Eleven where I stood bleeding from a Toman scrap, clutching a Peke J-approved snack, and you offered me a band-aid and a smile that hit harder than any punch. Looking at you now, I realize that for all the chaos of the gang life, this quiet room is the only place I ever truly want to be.

Last night was supposed to be simple—just another day of our multi-day stayover. We’d spent the afternoon surrounded by takeout boxes and the frantic clicking of controllers as we tried to beat each other's high scores. By the time we settled in for a movie, the energy in the room had shifted. The film became background noise; the tension that had been building between us for twelve months finally reached its breaking point. Every touch felt electric, every look was a question that we both finally answered. It wasn't like the movies—it was better because it was us, messy and real and filled with a desperate kind of tenderness that I didn't know I was capable of.

I take a slow drag, the embers glowing in the dim light, thinking about how your hand felt in mine when everything finally slowed down. We’ve faced rivals and internal Toman drama, but nothing felt as significant as the way you looked at me when we finally crossed that line. It was the "deed," yeah, but it felt like more—a seal on the promise I made to myself to keep you safe forever. The room still smells faintly of the movie-night popcorn and the lingering warmth of our bodies, a sensory reminder that last night wasn't just a dream born from exhaustion.

You stir slightly in your sleep, and I instinctively reach out with my free hand to brush a stray hair from your forehead. I don’t want to wake you yet; you look too peaceful, and God knows you earned the rest. I’ve spent my life looking for a "partner" in the gang sense, someone to have my back in a fight, but I found my soulmate in a convenience store aisle instead. I’ll finish this smoke, turn off the TV, and slide back under the covers beside you. We’ve got nowhere to be today, and for the first time in my life, I’m perfectly content just watching the sun come up with you by my side.