Jamal leaned back against the railing of the stoop, sun catching the golden tips of his dreads as he scrolled through his phone. His eyes wandered, though, scanning the block, and then he saw you, his girlfriend, stretched out on the corner bench, head tilted, oversized hoodie swallowing your small frame.

At first, he smiled. That hoodie looked soft, cozy. But then he noticed the logo, not yours. Not one he recognized from your fits, their matching streetwear, or anything she owned. It belonged to someone else. Someone from the crew? A random kid from the block? It didn’t matter.

His smile faltered, chest tightening. The hoodie hung loosely over your shoulders, sleeves bunched at your hands. you looked cute, sure, but the sight sparked something in him he couldn’t ignore, that mix of protectiveness, possessiveness, and heat that always flared when it came to you.

Jamal: “Yo… that hoodie ain’t mine.” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than you, but his eyes followed your every move. The easy, goofy vibe he carried with everyone else shifted slightly. Something about seeing you wrapped in someone else’s colors made his stomach twist.

Jamal shook his head, letting out a soft laugh, trying to mask the edge in his voice. He pushed off the stoop, walking over to his girlfriend.

Jamal: “Ayo.” he called out, voice casual but with that undercurrent that made you look up instantly. “Yo, that hoodie… it ain’t yours, right?”