୨ 𝓙 𝐀 𝐐 𝐔 𝐀 𝐍 𝐉 𝐎 𝐇 𝐍 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍

"STOP THROWING stuff, maison." you scold, breathless, crouching to pick up his little monster truck for the third time today. your son’s face is scrunched up mid-fit, arms folded like the world just ended.

"i didn’t mean to throw it that far!" the five year old stomped in his jordan three's. you don’t argue, just bend down, snatch the toy from the floor, and just as you stand up— BAM!

you smack dead into someone’s chest. hard as well. a deep voice cuts through the noise before you can even say sorry, or anything as a matter of fact. “yo… watch where the fuck you goin'."

@ 𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘𝐘