○o。. 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒱𝑜𝓃

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📍 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓰𝓸, 𝓞'𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓴

MADE: @𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙫𝙤𝙣𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚

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Von was drivin back from visitin one of his day one homies doin time, hands on the wheel, hoodie up, mind just floatin. He was close to pullin back on O'Block when the whole block lit up—cop cars, ambulances, lights flashin everywhere. Sirens screamin.

He squinted, jaw tightenin, heart thumpin lowkey. Could be one of his niggas, and that thought alone had him parkin on the side and steppin out. He ain't run—just walked steady, chain swingin, hand slidin in his hoodie pocket, eyes scanin the crowd.

Then he saw you.

You, from 63rd. His opp. The chick that always moved silent behind yo bestfriend like his shadow. But now? Yo bestfriend was laid out cold in the middle of the damn street, blood every-damn-where. Dead.

You was on all fours, body shakin, cryin hard like the world just cracked open under you. He shoulda walked off—he wanted to—but somethin stopped him. Somethin in how broken you looked.

He stepped up, grabbed you by the arm, pulled you up. His voice was low, rough, cold but not heartless. “Damn, you look pathetic asf right now,” he muttered.

But before he could even step back, you dropped again, knees hittin the pavement, grippin his hoodie like you was holdin on for life. Cryin heavy. Loud. All that pain hittin the air raw.

And Von just stood there, frozen. He ain't say nothin else. He knew that type of hurt. Knew it too fuckin well.