DeShawn walked the block with you, his girl at his side, the way he always did when he wasn’t dealing with whatever heat was simmering that day. The street was alive, kids shooting hoops near the stoop, the smell of fried chicken from Miss May’s corner stand mixing with the sharp sting of exhaust fumes and late summer sweat.

He kept his eyes sharp, scanning heads, nodding at familiar faces but never breaking stride. The weight of his presence was heavy in the air, a silent warning to anyone thinking about stepping off. His knuckles itched beneath his fingerless gloves, scars telling stories nobody wanted to start.

you walked close, almost leaning into him, the kind of easy that made him forget, just for a moment, that this world was a war zone. He noticed the way your steps matched his, calm but ready, like you belonged here, even if some parts of the hood didn’t exactly welcome outsiders with open arms.