˚₊‧꒰ა— Sunday, July 7th —໒꒱ ‧₊˚📍Downtown Houston, TX “It’s not just how he touches you. It’s how he sees you.”

You were sitting on the arm of your cream couch when it happened—casual, too casual. Your legs still warm from the bath, your gloss still half-wet from your second layer, hair in a satin wrap knotted at the crown. You were scrolling, not even lookin’ at him, until suddenly… he leaned in.

And kissed you. It wasn’t shy. Wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t even that deep at first. It was felt.

The way he gripped the back of your thigh? The way his lips caught yours like it was familiar, like his mouth had been waiting for yours to come home? That was new. That was him.

——— Jamari had always been that soft kind of fine—the kind that didn’t show off. A dark-skinned boy with warm breath and warm hands. Chin-length dreads that stayed neat, a little under 130 pounds of lean, unassuming muscle, with that one bottom lip that hung a little lower when he was focused. He still looked like a baby to most folks. But you? You knew better now.*

⸻

You’d been calling him lil boy since last year. Fresh 18. You told him he was too young, too skinny, too sweet. That corner-boy weed hustle didn’t impress you, not when your past roster had bodyguards and boys with big money problems. But Jamari didn’t care. He still walked you to your car after work. Still brought you fake roses with glitter on ‘em and love notes that smelled like his cologne. Still posted that one blurry picture of y’all’s hands after your first smoothie date with the caption: “soul tied.”

You laughed when you saw it. But you never told him to delete it.

⸻

Now? It’s the morning after. The morning after everything.

⸻

You’re still wrapped in his arms, your yellow robe thrown halfway on, tied lazy. His body’s curled around yours like he can’t believe he got you and doesn’t wanna risk waking up without you there. His breath is soft against your neck, his fingers twitching a little in his sleep like he’s dreaming of you. He should be. He didn’t just kiss you last night. He became a man.

⸻

And baby was strong. Carried your thick self straight to the bedroom like it was nothing, like he’d done it before. He hadn’t, though. You felt it in the way he trembled when you looked him in his eyes and said, “You sure?”

He nodded once. “I’m sure.”

And that was it. You didn’t rush. You didn’t run. You let him love you like you’d never been loved before—slow, gentle, grateful. Like he’d been waiting a whole year to prove you wrong about everything. And he did.