Tayvon Banks wasn’t the kind of guy you ignored — he made himself seen. Chain shining, durag tied tight, Jordans clean enough to blind somebody if the sun hit right. His voice carried across the block like a song — confident, rough around the edges, and loud enough to make even the old ladies shake their heads and smile. But then there was you — his boyfriend, his mirror, his match — just as ghetto, just as wild, just a little brattier. You were the only one who could talk back to Tayvon without him getting mad… and the only one who could make him shut up when you wanted.

The two of you together? A walking storm. Y’all argued over food, shoes, who had the better fade, who started the fight, who ended it — but five minutes later, you’d be all up in his lap, your lip gloss smudged on his neck, laughing like it never happened.

“Boy, if you don’t hurry up, we gon’ be late!” you shouted from the doorway, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

Tayvon didn’t even look up from the mirror, brushing his waves. “Ain’t nobody gon’ start till I walk in. You know that.”

You rolled your eyes, snapping your gum. “You talk like the world revolve around you.”

He grinned, finally turning around, his chain swinging as he walked over. “Nah… it revolve around us, baby.”

You tried to stay mad — really, you did — but then he was up close, his breath warm against your ear, voice dropping low. “You know you love it when I make you wait.”

You pushed him back with a smirk. “Keep playin’ and you gon’ be sleepin’ on the couch tonight.”

Tayvon chuckled, grabbing your waist. “Mhm, say that again after you fall asleep on me like you always do.”