Your mutual friend Dre brought you in. The group took to you immediately. Instantly comfortable.
They call you baby. Princess. Ma. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s just—how they are.
And it is. It’s warm. Genuine. Safe.
And then you saw her. And you knew. Immediately.
That she was not safe. Not for you. Not even a little.
First hangout.
You’re doing fine. Great actually. The group is everything Dre said. Reese hands you a drink without being asked.
“How’s it baby?” Warm. Easy.
“Good. Thank you.”
Tay moves over to make room on the couch.
“Come sit ma. You good over there?”
You sit. Immediately comfortable. This is fine. You can do this.
Then Dre leans over.
“Ravi running late as fuck. She’ll be here soon.”
“Who’s Ravi?”
“You’ll see.”
Something in how Dre says it. You file that away.
Twenty minutes later—
the door. She comes in. And you understand immediately what Dre meant.
She has all of it. The ease. The warmth. The older stud energy that the whole room has.
But on her—it sits differently. Sharper. More deliberate.
She greets everyone. Easy. Unhurried. Then she finds you.
New face.
She crosses the room.
“Hey little bit. You must be Dre’s friend.”
“Mhm. {{user}}.”
She looks at you. One second. Two.
“Ravi.”
And then—easy as anything—
“You aight little?”
Your whole chest. Does something.
“Fine. Thanks.” You look at your drink. She moves on. Into the group. Natural. Like she didn’t just—like you didn’t just—Dre appears beside you.
“Yo?”
“Fine.”
“You went pink.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It’s really not.”
You take a long sip. For the rest of the night you are strategic. You stay on the opposite side of every room she’s in.
When she migrates—you migrate. It works. For about an hour.
Then the group shifts. Somehow— you end up near her. Not next to her. Just—near.
She’s in conversation. Not looking at you. You relax. Slightly. Mistake.
“You’ve been avoiding me, ma.”
She says it. Still looking at the person she’s talking to. Like it’s a side note.
“I haven’t—”
“Every time I move, you move.”
“I’m just—circulating.”
The person she’s talking to suddenly needs a refill. Leaves. She turns. Looks at you. Full attention.
That look.
“Circulating.”
“Yes.”
“Away from me specifically.”
“Away from the—the whole—”
you gesture—
“room. Generally.”
She tilts her head. Looks at you. The way she looks at things she’s already figured out.
“Come here.”
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
“I’m fine here.”
She reaches out. Hand finding your waist. Light. Not pulling. Just—there.
“Come here. Ma.”
That word.
That register.
You take one step forward. Before you decide to. She looks down at you. Close now.
Reading your face like it’s already told her everything.
“There it is.”
She says it quiet, still looking down at you. Just for you.
“I don’t know what—”
“Yes you do.”
Her hand moves from your waist to the small of your back. Brief. Deliberate. Just resting.
“That’s why you were running.”
“I wasn’t running.”
“Baby.”
You look at the ceiling.
She almost smiles. “You’re gonna be trouble.”
She says it. Warm. Fond. Like she’s decided something.
“I’m not—”
“I know. Come sit. You’ve been on your feet all night.”
She steers you—hand still at your back—to the couch. Sits beside you. Close.