“Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found.”
“Lose what you have found, lord?” she answered; but she looked at him gravely and her eyes were kind. “I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose.”
LOTRWEEK - Day Five
↳ it grows perhaps the greater
"The music business is a crazy game, especially for somebody like me who is really a purist about the art. Trying to balance the pressures of commercialism, it's a tightrope. It's a fine line between sticking to your guns and insanity."
Summary: Annie and Elijah inch closer to truths they've both been running from. Words sting, confessions scrape raw, and ghosts of Smoke's world refuse to stay outside. But in the silence between them, the line between fun and forever blurs-fast, dangerous and impossible to ignore.
A/N: Now THIS chapter was heavy to write. I wanted to slow everything down-let Elijah say what he's never said before, and let Annie voice the ways she's been hurt, doubting herself, and carrying Soraya's poison around. This is where the "fun and casual" mask finally slips off for both of them, and we get a glimpse at what's really at stake.
Word Count: 6.2k
The chain swung once more, catching the porch light, then stilled in his palm. Annie’s breath hitched, chest tight enough that she thought her ribs might crack.
She wanted to reach. God, she wanted to. But her hands stayed glued to the doorframe, nails biting the wood.
“Elijah…” Her voice slipped out before she could stop it—soft, trembling, stripped of all the armor she’d built around herself.
The sound of his name on her lips nearly undid him. Smoke’s head dropped for half a second, like the weight of it was too much, before he dragged his gaze back up to her.
“I ain’t askin’ for much,” he said, slow, his voice gravel-rough. “Ain’t askin’ for you to forgive me right here. Just… don’t shut me out no more. Let me show you who I really am. Let me try.”
Her throat burned. Behind her, the house felt too dark, too small, like the walls might close in if she turned back. Out here, on the porch, was danger—him, the hurt, the possibility—but it was also the only place she could breathe.
Monica stood close at her side, silent. Her presence pressed warm at Annie’s shoulder, steady and grounding, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stayed near, letting Annie hold her own weight.
Annie shook her head once, sharp, even though tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. “You don’t get to just show up and hand me words, Elijah. You broke somethin’ in me. You think a chain gon’ fix that?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back away. His hands tightened, lifting what he held higher into the porch light. Not just the silver chain, but a small bundle of white magnolia blossoms, petals wide and heavy, their perfume spilling sweet into the night air.
“Not just the chain,” he said, voice low, rough. “Me. I’m givin’ you me.”
The flowers looked out of place in his hands, tender against the dark weight of metal. But he didn’t hide them, didn’t try to soften what they were. He held both out to her, side by side — the beauty and the burden, truth and promise.
At the edge of the gravel, Stack shifted, arms folded across his chest, grin gone now. He wasn’t laughing anymore—just watching, quiet, like he knew this was bigger than him.
The silence cracked. A cicada buzzed wild in the trees. Annie’s fingers finally slipped from the porch post, her hand hovering in the air like it couldn’t decide where it belonged—on the chain, or pressed back against her own chest to hold herself together.
Annie blinked hard, pulling herself back to the man at the steps. His eyes stayed locked on her—no mask, no smoke, no shield. Just Elijah, standing bare under the porch light, offering her the one thing he’d never let go of.
And still, her hand shook as it hovered there, torn between reaching and retreating.
“Say I take what you offerin’” she whispered, voice breaking soft. “Then what? You think that means I forget everything? That I let you in my house, in my bed, like nothin’ ever happened?”
His chest rose slow, steady. “No. It means you give me a chance. Just one. To prove I ain’t the man who hurt you. To prove I can be better. For you. For us.”
Her breath stuttered, her body aching with the pull between sense and want, fear and need.
And the chain hung there, silver catching the porch light, waiting for her answer. In his other hand, the magnolia blossoms trembled with the night breeze, their wide white petals glowing soft against the dark, their sweetness threading through the heavy air.
The chain swayed once, silver flashing. And then her hand moved—hesitant, trembling, but steady enough when her fingers brushed against the cool metal.
Elijah’s breath caught. He didn’t move, didn’t rush her. He just let her take it from his palm, the flowers still open in the other, proof of a softer offering.
The weight of the chain settled across her hand, heavier than it looked. Years, battles, scars—his life, his promise, pressed into that small circle of silver. The magnolias stayed between them too, fragile and tender where the chain was unyielding, both held out as pieces of the same truth.
Annie closed her fist around the chain. Her eyes burned, throat tight, but she didn’t look away from him.
“This don’t mean it’s fixed,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t mean I ain’t still hurt.”
He nodded once, slow. “I know.”
Her chest rose on a shaky breath. “But it means I’m listenin’.”
Relief flickered across his face—not a smile, not yet, but something softer than she’d seen in weeks.
On the porch, Monica let out a quiet breath through her nose, almost like she’d been holding it for Annie. And at the edge of the gravel, Stack tipped his chin, eyes narrowing, but for once he didn’t say a word.
Annie tightened her grip on the chain, the cool weight biting into her palm. Her gaze flicked once to the magnolias in his hand, soft and open, then back to his face. For the first time in too long, she felt the ache in her chest shift—not gone, but no longer hollow.
The chain pressed cold in Annie’s palm, her fist curling around it until the edges bit into her skin. It felt like proof and burden all at once. Proof that he was trying. Proof that she still wanted to believe him, even when it hurt.
Her eyes stayed on his, steady though her body trembled. “I’m listenin’,” she repeated, firmer this time.
Elijah’s shoulders dropped with the smallest release of breath, a weight loosening though he stood rooted at the bottom step. For a long beat he didn’t move, didn’t push. Just looked up at her like she’d given him back air he hadn’t known he was holding.
Monica’s gaze flicked between them, reading what passed without a word. Then she touched Annie’s arm once, light and brief, before stepping back. “I’ma give y’all a minute,” she murmured.
Annie’s throat tightened, but she only nodded. Monica slipped off the porch, her steps quiet on the wood until the crunch of gravel carried her back toward the truck.
Stack leaned against the hood, arms folded, smoke curling from the cigarette he’d just lit. He cut Monica a look as she came up, one brow raised, but she just shook her head, settling on the passenger side fender. The two of them stayed back, shadows at the edge of the yard, leaving the porch to its silence.
Annie stood straighter once Monica was gone, the weight of the chain still warm in her fist. The night felt sharper now, every sound of the cicadas and the faint hum of the porch light pressing in.
She drew a breath, shaky but strong enough to hold her ground. “You can come up the steps.”
Instead of waiting at the door, she turned and crossed to the porch swing, the old wood groaning faintly as she sat. The chain pressed cold into her palm, her knuckles tight around it. She didn’t look at him right away, just fixed her eyes on the yard, the magnolia blossoms at the edge of her vision glowing pale in his hand.
Elijah climbed slow, deliberate, each step measured until he reached her. He hesitated for half a second, then sat beside her on the swing, careful to leave a breath of space between them. The magnolias lay across his knee, their sweetness spilling soft into the night air.
The swing rocked once under their weight, creaking in rhythm with the cicadas. For a long beat, neither spoke. Annie kept her eyes forward, her fist tight around the chain. But the silence wasn’t empty. It carried everything unsaid, everything waiting.
Finally, she turned her head, her voice low. “This don’t mean you get to stay. Don’t mean I trust you again. Not yet.”
“I know,” he answered, voice rough. “Ain’t askin’ for all that in one night.”
His gaze flicked down at her hand, the silver glinting faint between her fingers, then back to her eyes. The magnolias stayed open in his hand, fragile where the chain was unyielding.
“All I’m askin’,” he said slowly, “is that you let me try.”
The words settled in the night between them, heavier than the heat, heavier than the hurt. Annie swallowed, her grip tightening on the chain.
“Then talk,” she said. “Start there.”
Elijah’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping as he searched her face in the porch light. He dragged in a slow breath, the kind that felt like gravel in his chest.
“I ain’t good with words,” he admitted. “Never have been. Always easier to fight, to shut down, to… disappear. That’s how I handled shit. That’s what kept me alive.” His gaze flicked away for a second, then found its way back to her. “But it ain’t what keeps you.”
Annie’s throat worked. The chain in her hand felt heavier with every second. She wanted to press him, to cut through the pauses—but something in his voice stopped her. Something she hadn’t heard before.
“You deserve more than Smoke,” he went on, voice low. “And Elijah… he ain’t never let nobody close enough to see him. Until you.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
He shifted, the swing creaking under his weight as he leaned a little closer—not enough to crowd her, but enough that his words carried. His voice dropped, slow and rough, like every word had to be pulled from deep in his chest.
“When you stitched me up… at the hospital,” Elijah said, his words dragging, slow as gravel turning over in his chest. “All those months ago. I don’t even know what made me go. Shoulda just kept to my routine. Same ol’ shit. But I didn’t.”
He paused, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the porch boards before they lifted back to hers. “I went. And I’m glad I did. ’Cause it brought me to you.”
The porch light caught the worn pull at his eyes, the lines carved deep. “When you asked me my name…” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That was the first time in a long time I said it out loud. Elijah. Been Smoke so long, I damn near forgot he was still in me. Forgot there was more than the mess I made.”
His hand tightened around the chain, the silver winking faint in the light. “You reminded me. You made me remember.”
Annie blinked hard, eyes burning. Her voice came quiet, almost a whisper. “You damn near lost it anyway.”
“I know.” His answer came steady, no dodge in it. His gaze found hers again, raw, unguarded. “But don’t get it twisted. Smoke ain’t gone. He part of me. Always will be.”
The swing creaked with the weight of his pause. His jaw flexed, breath heavy. “If you want Elijah… Smoke is there too.”
He leaned forward, elbows to his knees, voice rougher now. “I ain’t proud of the things I done… the things I still do. But you…” His throat worked, the words almost breaking. “You the only thing, besides my mama, I ever wanted to keep untouched. The only thing I ain’t wanna ruin.”
The words landed heavy between them, pressing down thicker than the heat.
Her breath caught, chest rising sharp. Before annie could stop herself, she said, “You talk about keepin’ me untouched,” she said, voice shaking. “But you let her touch me anyway. Not with her hands—” Annie’s throat tightened. “With her words. With the way she came to my job, smiled in my face, told me I wasn’t what you wanted. That I wasn’t enough.”
Elijah’s head dropped, his hands tightening on the magnolias in his lap until the petals bent. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his jaw working, chest rising hard like he had to fight his own instinct to lash out.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, gravel-thick. “I put that on you.” He shook his head once, sharp. “Ain’t no excuse for it. I brought Soraya in your path. From my heart, I’m sorry for that.”
He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, eyes locked on hers like he could will the truth into her bones. His voice came low, rough, every word scraped raw.
“But I don’t give a damn what Soraya told you. She’s never meant to me, what you mean to me. I ain’t never felt for her—or for nobody—what I feel for you.”
His hand lifted slightly, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for her but held back. “You the first woman that made me want somethin’ real. Made me want to be better than Smoke, better than the shit I been. That’s you, Annie. Not her. Not anybody else.”
He dragged in a breath, shoulders tight. “I know words don’t mean much right now. I broke somethin’ in you. And I ain’t expectin’ you to believe me just ’cause I’m sittin’ here sayin’ it.” His voice dropped, steadier now, like he was setting stone. “So if you can’t believe me yet… then let me show you. From here on out, let me show you how beautiful you are. How smart you are. How amazing of a woman you are. Let me show you every day until you believe it for yourself.”
His chest rose slow, steady, like every word weighed him down. “You enough, Annaliseé Lavigne. More than enough. Don’t let nobody—Soraya, me, anybody—make you doubt that.”
Annie’s grip on the chain tightened. She knew he wasn’t offering her a fairytale. He was offering her the truth—raw, unpolished, unfixable in parts. And somehow that made it land deeper.
For a long beat, she didn’t move. Then she drew in a shaky breath. “I was makin’ dinner,” she murmured finally, voice trembling at the edges. “If y’all hungry… y’all can come in and get a plate.”
Elijah didn’t smile, but his shoulders eased just enough to show the words had reached him. He nodded once, slow. “Alright.”
Behind them, Stack muttered something low, and Monica’s laugh flicked through the night, but neither Annie nor Elijah looked back.
She stepped just inside the door, chain clutched in her hand, and the weight of it felt different now—not just his promise, but his truth.
The kitchen was thick with the smell of home — red beans simmered slow with smoked sausage, garlic, thyme, and bay leaf, peppers and onions cooked down soft until they melted into the gravy. Steam still curled from the pot on the stove, the heat carrying a whisper of cayenne sharp enough to linger in the air. Plates were set out on the small table, each one heavy with beans over rice, cornbread tucked on the side, butter already melting into the crust.
Stack leaned back in his chair, tearing into his slice like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Now this right here,” he said around a mouthful, shaking his head in awe. “This the best thing I had all week. Mississippi food solid, don’t get me wrong, but Louisiana? Y’all cook like y’all tryna heal a man’s whole soul.”
Monica laughed, spoon clinking against her bowl. “Don’t let him fool you, Annie. He cleaned his plate before I even sat down. Bout licked the spoon too.”
Stack grinned wide, holding up a hand in mock defense. “Can you blame me? She put her whole foot in this pot. I’m thinkin’ I oughta marry you myself, Annie.”
Annie gave a small smile, her voice quiet as she glanced down at her own bowl. “Glad y’all enjoyin’ it.”
Monica rolled her eyes and smacked his arm, but the way she leaned into him, the smile tugging her mouth, spoke louder than her protest.
Annie noticed it — the easy back-and-forth, the kind of familiarity you didn’t normally build overnight. She looked across the table, catching Elijah’s eyes on her. One brow arched, and she tilted her head toward the pair with a silent question written plain on her face.
Elijah’s jaw flexed as the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He gave her a look back — quiet, pointed — that read clear as words: Don’t even ask.
Heat pricked Annie’s cheeks, but she ducked her head quick, focusing on her cornbread.
The chatter rolled on easy, Stack and Monica sparring like they had the room to themselves. But under it, the silence between Annie and Elijah hummed steady. Their glances kept catching in the low kitchen light, saying everything neither of them had words for yet.
The magnolias sat in a chipped glass jar on the counter, filling the small kitchen with their perfume. Every time she caught Elijah’s eyes across the table, the scent seemed to swell, sweet and sharp, knotting her chest tighter.
The meal wound down slow, the air thick with chatter from Monica and Stack. Annie rose first, gathering plates, grateful for something to do with her hands.
“I’ll help,” Elijah said, his voice low, steady. He stood before she could argue, collecting bowls from the far side of the table. Stack cracked a joke, Monica rolled her eyes, but the two of them stayed behind, laughter trailing as Annie and Elijah slipped into the kitchen.
At the sink, Annie turned on the water, slipping her hands into the suds. Elijah leaned against the counter for a moment, watching her, then took the dish towel from the hook. “I’ll dry.”
It was quiet between them now, but not empty. Their shoulders brushed as he set the first clean plate aside. The next time, it was their hands — her fingers passing him a slick bowl, his brushing hers as he took it. Neither pulled away.
The rhythm built, plates passing between them, heat thick in the small kitchen. Annie’s pulse jumped every time his hand lingered that second too long. She could feel the warmth of him behind her, the way his presence filled the space without crowding.
By the time the last pot was rinsed, her hands trembled under the water. Elijah took it from her slowly, his thumb grazing the inside of her wrist before he set it down to dry.
She looked up, and he was already looking at her. The air tightened, silence stretching, the kind that pulled rather than pushed. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Their gazes locked, heavy with everything unspoken — apology, want, the ache of what still lingered between them.
Annie’s breath caught, lips parting. Elijah’s jaw flexed, his hand still holding the dish towel like he’d forgotten what it was for.
And then the front door opened.
“Annaliseé? We home, bébé.” She heard her Papaw call out.
Annie flinched, the chain still clutched in her pocket. Elijah’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to her. The moment dissolved, unfinished, leaving the kitchen thick with something heavier than steam.
The voices filled the front room before Annie could fully steady herself.
“Maman, Papaw,” she called, wiping her hands on the dish towel as they stepped inside.
Introductions came quick. Monica already had her place in their hearts, greeted with familiar warmth. Annie named Elias next, and Stack charmed them like he’d been practicing all his life — a grin here, a polite “yes ma’am, no sir” there. They laughed at his stories, amused at the toothpick in his mouth, his presence filling the room with easy mischief.
But when she said Elijah’s name, her Maman gave her a look — quick, sharp, knowing. One that saw past the word itself into something Annie hadn’t spoken. Heat prickled at her cheeks, but she forced her smile to hold steady.
Maman’s lips curved, gentle but edged with meaning. “Elijah, hm? Strong name,” she said softly, like she was tucking the thought away for later.
Papaw leaned forward then, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he gave Elijah a slow once-over. “So tell me, Elijah… you hunt? You fish?”
Elijah, quiet but steady in his chair, answered slow. “Yes, sir. I’ve hunted a few times, but I love fishing,” he admitted, voice low but sure.
That was all it took. Papaw leaned forward, pride warming his face. Before long, he had his phone out, showing Elijah photos of the trout he’d pulled from the Gulf, the catfish as long as his arm. Elijah studied each one with patient interest, nodding, asking where and when, his eyes glinting just enough to show it wasn’t small talk.
“You fish out back too?” Elijah asked finally.
“Sometimes,” Papaw said. “But I got me a better spot. Little cove off the bayou. Peaceful there.”
Elijah’s jaw ticked like he wanted to smile. “Bet it is.”
Papaw’s chest puffed a little, pleased. “It is. Caught me some of my biggest bass out there. One day, maybe I’ll show you.”
Elijah’s jaw worked, but he only nodded once, slow. “Yes, sir.”
Annie sat quiet, watching — her rough-edged, haunted Elijah leaning forward to talk fishing like it was the simplest thing in the world, her Papaw nodding with approval. Something settled heavy and tender in her chest.
Later, after coffee had been poured and goodnights exchanged, Monica and Stack excused themselves. Hugs, quick laughter, Stack’s wink, and then the sound of the car doors shutting outside.
The house fell quiet behind her as Annie stepped onto the porch with Elijah. The cicadas carried on in the trees, the glow of the porch light wrapping them in soft gold.
He leaned against the post, shoulders loose but his gaze fixed on her. She stayed by the door, the screen pulled half-shut, chain warm in her pocket.
“You fit in here,” she said, softer than she meant. The words slipped out before she could catch them.
Elijah’s eyes narrowed slightly, like the truth of it stung and soothed at once. “Ain’t never thought I’d hear that.”
Annie’s chest rose, uneven. The night between them felt charged, heavier than when he’d first arrived. They didn’t touch, didn’t move closer, but every glance carried the weight of everything unspoken.
He pushed off the post finally, slow, steady. “We’ll head out. Hotel’s waitin’.”
She nodded, throat tight.
At the bottom step he paused, his eyes finding hers in the glow of the light. “Thank you,” he said.
“For dinner?” she asked, her voice catching.
“For lettin’ me be here.”
Her hand tightened in her pocket around the chain. She didn’t answer, not with words. But she didn’t look away either.
And then he turned, following the others into the night, leaving the porch quiet, her heart still thundering against the silence.
The night settled soft after the car pulled away, the crunch of tires fading down the road. Annie lingered a moment longer on the porch before slipping back inside. The house was quiet now, the kind of quiet that pressed in after company leaves — only the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the old boards under her feet.
Her Maman was in the kitchen, covering the pot of beans for tomorrow. She didn’t turn when Annie walked in, just said low, “Ou byen, bébé?” You alright, baby?
Annie swallowed, sliding into a chair. The chain weighed heavy in her pocket. “He wanted to apologize,” she said quietly. “Wanted to know I was alright.”
Maman finally turned, studying her. “M’ap mande w, pitit — ki jan ou santi w?” I’m asking you, child — how you feelin’?
Annie pressed her palms flat on the table, staring at the wood grain. “I don’t know. Hurt. Mad. But… seen, too. Like he wanted me to know I still matter. I blocked him, Maman. I told myself it was done. And still… he found his way to me.”
Her Maman came closer, brushing Annie’s hair back like she had when she was a girl. Her voice softened. “Tout moun pa ka pote chay yo, bébé. Men li… li toujou jwenn w.” Not everybody can carry their burdens, baby. But him… he still found his way to you.
Annie blinked hard, her throat burning. Her cheek tilted into her grandmama’s palm, tears pricking before she could stop them.
“Bondye mete kèk moun nan lavi nou pa pou fasilite, men pou fòme n,” Maman went on, voice sure. God puts some people in our lives not to make it easy, but to shape us. She kissed the crown of Annie’s head, sighing deep. “Ou bezwen konnen si li ap fòme w pou pi bon… osinon pou pi mal.” You gotta know if he’s shaping you for better… or for worse.
Annie’s fingers curled tight around the chain in her pocket. She didn’t answer — couldn’t. Not yet.
And her grandmama didn’t press. She just stayed there, steady, hand on her granddaughter’s cheek while the old house sighed quiet around them, the night heavy with what had been said and what hadn’t.
The house had gone quiet after her Maman’s words. Papaw was already asleep, the old boards creaking once as he moved down the hall. Maman’s soft humming carried faintly from her room, leaving Annie alone at the kitchen table with nothing but the weight of the chain in her pocket.
Her phone buzzed against the wood.
Monica: Hey boo, you good?
Annie hesitated before tapping back. Yeah. Just tired.
The reply came quick.
Monica: I’m glad y’all talked. I know it’s not fixed, not yet. Still a lot between you two. But I seen his face, Annie. He meant it tonight.
Annie’s throat tightened. Her thumb hovered over the screen, unsure what to say.
Another bubble appeared.
Monica: Listen… if you still up a feel like talkin’, come see me. If you not, that’s fine. Rest. Take your time. But if you are… we at the Marriott, on Hilton Ave. I’m in room 408…… but he’s in room 420. 🤸🏾♀️🙃
Annie stared at the glow of the phone, her pulse thundering in her ears. The chain felt heavy in her pocket, her Maman’s words heavier still.
She closed her eyes, breath shaky, her mind already playing through every reason she should stay right where she was. But her feet itched, restless. The night outside the window stretched long, the kind that didn’t promise sleep.
Elijah sat on the edge of the hotel bed, hair damp from the shower, sleep pants hanging low on his hips. The TV was off, room dark except for the lamp by the nightstand. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
The porch light still burned in his mind. Annie’s eyes, wide and wet, clutching the chain like it hurt to hold. She took it, though. She listened. That was more than he’d dared hope for.
He felt lighter. Better. But not clean. Not whole. The look in her eyes told him he hadn’t washed the hurt away, not yet.
His jaw flexed hard. Smoke stirred in him, dark and restless. Soraya’s name scraped his skull like barbed wire. He wanted to put her in the ground for what she did — but then, what would that change? The truth was ugly. He’d brought Soraya into Annie’s life. Put her in Annie’s path. Smoke’s violence couldn’t fix what Elijah had broken.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling rough. All he could do now was try. Give her space, all the space she needed, even if it killed him slow. Just don’t shut me out, he prayed in silence. Just don’t shut me out.
A knock broke through the quiet.
Elijah’s body tightened instantly. He reached for the gun on the nightstand — always strapped, always ready. Moving slow, he padded barefoot across the carpet, the cool weight of the steel in his hand.
He pressed an eye to the peephole.
Annie.
His breath caught, chest seizing. He hadn’t expected to see her — not here, not now, not any time soon.
For a beat he just stared, frozen, like if he blinked she’d vanish. “Just a second,” he said. Then he forced himself to move, sliding the gun into his suitcase by the door, covering it quick under a pile of clothes.
He cracked the door open.
She stood there in the hall, hair falling loose around her face. Her lips parted, voice soft.
The hallway smelled faintly of chlorine and carpet cleaner, the hum of the vending machine at the end steady and loud in her ears. Annie’s heart pounded harder with every step, but she didn’t let herself stop. Not when she’d already made it this far.
She lifted her hand, knocked once, and waited.
The door cracked open, porch-light memory giving way to the soft yellow glow of a hotel lamp. Elijah stood there, shirtless, damp hair, a sheen of steam still clinging to his skin.
For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe.
“Hi,” she managed, her voice thin.
His mouth twitched, just enough to make her think it might turn into a smile. “Hey.”
Silence stretched, heavy. Her palms itched, fingers twitching against her thighs. Finally, she forced the words out.
“Can I… can I come in?”
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask why. Just stepped back, holding the door wider, his eyes never leaving hers as she crossed the threshold.
The carpet felt too soft under her shoes, the air too warm, the space suddenly too quiet. She heard the click of the door shutting behind her, low and final, and her breath caught.
Annie stood there in the middle of the room, chain heavy in her pocket, trying to figure out what to do with her hands, her voice, her whole body. Elijah leaned against the door, bare chest rising slow, watching her.
She cleared her throat, words tumbling out before she could shape them. “I… I didn’t plan on comin’ here.”
His voice came low, rough. “Didn’t expect you would.”
Something in the way he said it — steady, no judgment — made her chest tighten.
She took a small step closer, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt. “But I kept thinkin’ about what you said. On the porch. About Elijah. About Smoke.” Her voice wavered, but she pushed through. “About me.”
His jaw flexed, but he stayed quiet, letting her fill the silence.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you,” she admitted, her throat thick. “But I didn’t want to leave it like that. Not tonight. Not after you…” She trailed off, pulling the chain from her pocket and holding it up between them. “…not after this.”
Elijah’s eyes flicked to the silver, then back to her face, sharp and steady. For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, slow as breath, he nodded once.
Annie swallowed, the room pressing in. “So… I came.”
The room was too warm, or maybe it was just him. Annie shifted, the chain cool in her hand, but her body felt hot all over, aware of the way Elijah stood there — broad chest, shoulders filling the doorway, damp hair dripping slow down his neck.
“I keep tellin’ myself to forget you,” she said finally, her voice shaky but steady enough to keep going. “But then something will remind me of you. I hear your name. Hear Smoke.”
His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing just a little.
Annie’s throat worked. “Kids at the hospital talk about you. Whisper your name like you a shadow in the room. Smoke did this. Smoke’s runnin’ that. Like you bigger than flesh and blood. Like you some kinda… legend. And all I could think was—” She swallowed hard, chest tight. “I don’t even know that person. That’s not Elijah. Not the man sittin’ and eatin’ takeout wit me. The man fixin’ loose cabinets at my apartment. They only know Smoke.”
Silence pressed down, heavy. She set the chain on the nightstand between them like proof, her hands suddenly too restless to hold it.
“And, I’m not tryin’ to harp on this, but…Soraya…” Annie’s breath caught. “When she came to my job.” Her hands clenched into fists before she forced them open again. “Told me things bout you. Told me what you didn’t like. Told me what she thought I was.” Annie blinked, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “Fat. Not your type. Someone you’d never really want.”
Elijah’s whole body went still, shoulders coiled tight. His breathing came sharp through his nose, chest rising like he was holding back a storm.
Annie’s voice dropped, thin and raw. “I smiled back at her, Elijah. I smiled and finished my shift like I wasn’t crumblin’ inside. But when I went home, I cried. Cried because I knew she was lyin’—but some part of me still believed her.”
Her words cracked open something between them. She felt it in the air, in the way his eyes pinned her, in the heat running under her skin.
Elijah pushed off the doorframe, slow, his bare chest catching the lamplight. He stepped closer, not touching her, not crowding her, just closing the distance until she could feel the weight of him in the room.
“Annie,” he said low, voice rough, like gravel turned to smoke. “If you knew the thoughts I had about you… the way I look at you…” His gaze dropped, just for a second, then came back sharp and steady. “You’d never believe a word that girl said.”
Her breath hitched, heart thundering. She wanted to step back, but her body wouldn’t let her. It leaned forward instead, toward the heat of him, the space between them charged and dangerous.
Annie swallowed hard, her voice unsteady but firm enough to cut through the thrum in her chest. “I knew what this was supposed to be,” she said. “I know what I said this was supposed to be. I’m the one who said it should be just… fun. A distraction. Nothin’ more than just sex.”
Her fingers twisted at the hem of her shirt, nerves buzzing under her skin. “I thought if I named it that way, kept it simple, it’d protect me. Keep me from fallin’.” Her breath hitched, the words scraping raw. “But somewhere down the road… those lines blurred. And they blurred quick.”
Her eyes lifted to his, sharp despite the ache in them. “One minute it was just nights together, keepin’ it easy. And the next, I couldn’t tell where fun stopped and more began, couldn’t tell myself it didn’t mean nothin’. ’Cause it did. It does.”
She dragged in a breath, shaky but sure. “And that’s what scares me. That I let it get too far, too fast. That maybe I was the only one fallin’ while you were still just… playin’.”
Elijah’s jaw worked hard, the muscle ticking like he was holding back too much. He leaned in, eyes locked on hers. His voice came low, steady, but scraped raw.
“That might’ve been your idea, Annie. Callin’ it fun. Keepin’ it light. But don’t get it twisted.” He shook his head once, sharp. “I was never playin’. Not day one. Not ever.”
His gaze burned, unflinching. “You said it was just sex. I let you call it that ’cause I thought it’s what you needed. But I ain’t never looked at you like no distraction. Never touched you like you ain’t mean nothin’. Truth is, from the first night I laid eyes on you, I ain’t been the same.”
He dragged in a breath, voice breaking lower. “You got under my skin fast. Deeper than I wanted, deeper than I knew how to stop. And I told myself lies, tried to act like it was casual, like I could walk away clean. But I couldn’t. I can’t.”
His hand flexed, curling slow like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t. “So no matter what name you gave it, Annie… it was real for me. You’re real for me. And I ain’t lettin’ nobody — not you, not me, not Soraya — turn it into anything less. You ain’t the only one who’s fallen.”
Her pulse raced. She should’ve stepped back. Should’ve told him to give her space. But when his hand lifted, hesitant, and brushed against her wrist, she didn’t move.
His thumb dragged slow over the inside of it, the touch barely there, but it sent a shiver racing up her arm. Annie’s lips parted, breath shaky.
“You believe me now?” His voice was gravel-low, words almost swallowed by the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears.
Annie’s eyes stung. She looked up at him, at the lines of his face carved tight with something raw, something breaking. “I want to,” she whispered.
His hand slid higher, curling warm and firm around her forearm. He bent his head just enough that his breath stirred against her temple. He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t push. Just lingered there, close enough to set her whole body trembling.
Her fingers lifted, shaky, like they had a mind of their own. She brushed against his chest, damp and warm from the shower, her touch so light it might not have been real. His muscles jumped under her palm, his breath shuddering out hard.
“Annie…” The way he said her name — torn between prayer and warning — sent heat flooding her veins.
For a heartbeat, she thought she’d close the gap, press her mouth to his, let everything burn down around them. But she didn’t. Neither of them did.
They stayed there instead — his hand on her arm, her hand on his chest — holding still in the heavy quiet, like the smallest move would set off something they couldn’t pull back from.
A/n - Hiiiii y’all ✨It’s been a minute — a longggg one. I missed it on hereee. Feel like coming home 🥹 Anywhooo, b4 I start writing pt 3 of BL, I wanted to refamiliarize myself w/ my Shayla’s cause I ain’t been reading or writing or nothinggg for over a month. So this is me, just trying to refind their voices. I’m calling this a drabble cause it’s not really fleshed out, it’s really just some sweet little moments between them I couldn’t get out my head and wanted to put on paper. 🫶🏾 Enjoyyy, or don’t 😬
C/W- Cursing, minor elements of angst if you squint? It’s mostly sweet though, I’m veryyyy rusty
3:07 AM
Annie was halfway in love with this man.
And she didn’t even flinch at the realization, body unmoving in the middle of the bed where she sat criss cross, sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, and eyes glued to Elias — to Stack — as he slid the steel he was holding in his hand into the waistband of his pants.
15 minutes ago, they’d both been sleep, her face buried in Elias’s neck, their legs tangled together, his arms tight around her waist — always touching, always possessing. He’d been snoring in her ear — loud and obnoxious and familiar and comforting, while Annie drooled, mouth open, lids fluttering as she dreamed. And then his phone had rang.
His conversation with Smoke had been short. Brief and to the point.
“Short? Fuck you mean we short?”
“Don’t ask me no shit like that. I counted and recounted and then counted again.”
“Ain’t no nigga dumb enough to -”
“Ight! I’m on my way now. Gimme 10.”
A couple thousand was unaccounted for.
Practically nothing to the twins, in the grand scheme of things. Ten-thousand could be unaccounted for, and neither brother would be hurting because of it.
Annie knew it wasn’t about the money though. Not entirely.
It was about respect, and honor, and principle. About feeling played with. Stepped on. Chords, that when struck wrong, flipped a switch in Elias. Lit a flame that couldn’t be put out until he rectified the situation. However he saw fit.
Annie hadn’t hesitated to roll off of him when he ended the call. Hadn’t so much as blinked at the cold that hit her skin when he pulled back the comforter and rose up.
She knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep after that call. Knew he was about to go do something stupid. Something reckless. Knew it. Mostly accepted it. And still. She hated it.
151 days ago? She wouldn’t have cared.
151 days ago, she didn’t even know Elias.
And now, he was under her skin, and in her thoughts, and twisted up in her soul.
“Ima be back,” Elias stepped up to the bed, frame dripped in all black, jaw clenched so tight she could feel it in her teeth. “Prolly not tell late though.”
Annie blinked up at him, chest tight, and voice calm when she spoke.
“You talk like you God,” Her head cocked, barely, braids shifting with her movement. “Like you invincible. Like ‘cause you say you’ll be back, you just…will.”
Elias mirrored her, breaking down her words in his head fast - addressing what he knew she really wanted to say, but wouldn’t. “I got thousands missing baby,” he spoke soft. “You think I can just let that slide?”
“I didn’t say you should. Said you think you God.”
“Nah,” Elias shook his head in denial. “Not God. Just a nigga with some money missing who about to get some answers. Who gone be back, cause it’ll take God and whoever the fuck else up there to keep me from coming home to my pretty.”
Annie felt her stomach contract. Tighten, then loosen, then tighten again.
She wasn’t about to argue, though she could. Elias would stand there and let her complain too, even with thousands missing, and a pissed off Smoke waiting on him, and a itchy trigger finger that wanted to be put to work. He’d stand there and take it because Elias took whatever she gave him. Always. Whether it was convenient for him or not. Whether she was giving him sweet or mean, or soft or hard.
She didn’t argue though. Just hmmed low in her throat.
“If you don’t make it home to me, that mean you a liar Elias. You know I don’t deal with liars.”
“I ain’t lying pretty,” he leaned over the bed, getting into her space, the same hands that were just gripping steel, now cupping her cheeks. His jaw was still clenched tight, but his eyes were soft. “Never to you. Ima be back Annie. Word is bond.”
She walked him out. Kissed him soft. Slow. And then harder. Faster. Because nothing was ever really slow with Elias. With Stack.
And as she walked back to the bedroom, bare feet silent on the wood, her brain started turning. Little moments flashing in her head, quick, random, and out of order, like she could make make sense of what her body felt. Like she could understand how she’d gone and fallen this hard for jokes, and slick words, and rough touches. For a man who cared nothing about his safety or his freedom, when respect was on the line.
—
Annie was in the kitchen — barefoot, shorts, green tank with no bra — dropping chicken into hot grease and not even flinching when it popped back at her like it had a problem.
She was at Elias’s, like always, and had spent the last hour fighting off her hunger, before she stopped being lazy and got up to cook.
She wanted wings, fried hard, and home made fries, extra crispy and she wanted it how her mama used to make.
Lias was where she liked him. Inside, away from the trap, and the streets, and the chaos he thrived in. He had Webbie blasting through the house and the last time she checked, he’d been about to turn on the game.
A habit he didn’t partake in often and one she wouldn’t mind him picking up more. If for no other reason, because it’d keep him in the house and her anxiety down.
Annie dropped the last piece of chicken for the first batch and then stepped over to the sink, washing her hands and drying them before reaching for her phone on the counter.
She had a couple emails — work related — and a few other miscellaneous notifications she swiped away before clicking on the text from her best friend.
Pearline 💕
You coming home tonight? Or you gone be with Stack?
Annie didn’t even think about it.
With Elias.
And then, because she knew her friend.
Do I need to be coming home?? What you gone be over there doing??
As three bubbles appeared in the text thread, Annie stepped towards the stove, back to the kitchen entrance, and eyes still focused - now on the new message.
Don’t worry about all that! Just know ima be very very…loved this weekend. All over this apartment.
Annie wrinkled her nose, responding immediately.
Keep yo love out my room.
Don’t be tryna regulate me! When you over at Stack’s getting bent in half I don’t give you no rules!
Annie huffed out a breath, shaking her head at the words on the screen. No matter what she told that girl, Pearline swore she was getting dicked down. And contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t. Not yet.
“I hope whatever nigga you laughing at on that phone carry guns that bust back.”
Annie startled, head raising from her device so she could glance over her shoulder. Elias stood in the doorway of the kitchen - smirk on his lips, white basketball shorts low on his hips, and mischief in his eyes. Annie blinked at him like she was trying to figure out what was wrong in his brain and then turned right back around towards the stove. She locked her phone, putting it to the side, and refocused on her task, lips parting to speak.
“You are so…violent.” Annie’s head cocked as she eyed the chicken, waiting for that pull in her stomach that would tell her when to turn it. “You ever thought about talking to the lady baby?”
Elias was on her. Chest at her back, hands on her waist, lips at her ear.
“I’m talkin’ to my lady right now.”
He kissed the side of her face. Not soft and delicate, but extra. It was wet and loud and annoying and it made her stomach warm, slow and sweet.
“I’m cooking, Lias,” Annie stated the obvious, voice dry, even as her body sunk back into his.
“Umhm,” he kissed at her face again, as the hands resting on her full hips forced her body to sway in time with the bass still thumping through the house. “It smell good too. Let me find out you tryna get a ring?”
Annie scoffed, “If I never cooked again, you would still get me a ring. I got you past sprung.”
Annie was playing, lips quirked up, and ears perked as she waited for his rebuttal. Because he always had one.
All that came now though, was a low ‘hmm’ from his throat, and a squeeze to her hips, and then his voice in her ear rapping along to the Webbie song she’d been filtering out.
“I kiss on you everyday, I miss on you when I'm away
I feel like you the one fah’ me I tell you that shit to yo face,”
Annie’s eyes rolled, head shaking as her lips twitched up further.
“Elias-”
“You don't know what you've done tah’ me, see actually you've captured me
And locked me in yo own lil world, and it’s like we can’t find the key,”
Elias guided her hips to the beat, annunciating every word he spoke, like he wanted to make sure she heard him. Felt him.
“I don't feel we need the key, feel like this where we need ta’ be
We worked so hard to build this shit can’t let it fall down that easily,”
His hands moved from her waist, arms coming around her soft stomach to encircle her completely, mouth never pausing. Annie gave in, head falling back, chicken momentarily forgotten, and heart beating a smidge faster than it had been before.
“You so sweet, I'm so street, you so real, I'm so trill
Got so many scars, been in so many battles
Don't nothin else matta’, but how you make me feel…”
He continued like that, until the verse finished, his chain cold against the back of her neck, and arms warm around her body, and that southern drawl of his heavy in her ears.
It didn’t make sense. The absolute serenity she felt in that moment. But she felt it all the same. There in the kitchen, lounge clothes on, standing at the stove and reaching for her tongs, with Elias still wrapped firmly around her, rapping along to the next song that’d come up in the que.
—
“Mine better,” Annie stated the fact, holding her picture up like that was all the evidence she needed to prove it.
Three bears were on the page, colored in various shades of brown with not a mark outside the lines. Her shading was perfect and the combo of colored pencils and markers damn near brought the picture to life. Not her best work, but up there for sure.
The sound of lips smacking made her look away from her picture over to Elias, who sat on the floor next to her. His back rested against the couch, a coloring book of his own on the coffee table in front of them. He’d turned his head towards her, eyes squinted like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Now I know you see this shit,” he held his own art work up. “Yours coo’, but it’s not fucking with mine Pretty.”
The two twenty-something’s had spent the last forty minutes sitting on the soft carpet in her living room. ‘Martin’ was on the TV, fruit and cheesecake dip placed on the table in between them, and an assortment of crayons, and pens, and markers splayed out around the space.
They’d been coloring. Annie because that was one of the many ways she decompressed, and Elias because he always wanted to be in Annie’s space, which meant he’d sat his ass down and colored a picture too.
Annie’s head cocked as she eyed said picture. He’d picked an image of a dog and had made each individual part a different color. Green, red, blue, yellow and so on.
“This lil Stack,” Elias shook the picture, diverting Annie’s attention from it, to his face. “And unlike yo three lil bears,” he nodded his head towards Annie’s coloring book, “He ain’t basic.”
Annie scrunched her face up, “My picture basic because I didn’t use every color in the rainbow?”
“Don’t feel bad about it.” Elias reached over to grip her thigh like he was consoling her. “You did what you could. It’s just that me,” he gestured towards his chest, “I’m like… Stackcasso in this mufucka, Stackcardo da Vinci, Stackvan Gough —”
“Oh, shut up,” Annie cut him off, shaking her head. Elias probably hadn’t picked up a crayon since he was a kid, and now he was Stackvan Gough? Her nose wrinkled. “And why you only naming white artist? You not for our people? I can’t get to know nobody that’s not for our people.”
“Man I’m for our people,” he sat his coloring book down on the table, angling his body more in her direction, a wide grin spreading on his face. “I’m for you too.”
“And everybody else, I heard.”
Annie said is casual. Watched him hard though, as his body stilled and his grin dropped a bit.
“Where you hear that?”
Annie shrugged, “A lil bit of everywhere.” She didn’t specify further than that, didn’t question him or accuse. Just let her words sit there. Mostly to see what he’d do.
Elias watched her, eyes moving like he was turning something over in his head and then -
“You believe that?”
“It’s not hard too.” Annie raised a brow. “You’re Stack. A Moore. You get whatever you want right? The money, the power, the girls. And I hear you really like the girls. Which,” Annie held her hands up like ‘do you’. “You can like and do what you want. I just wonna know where I stand now, so I can move accordingly.”
The energy in the room had been light, easy, fun.
It wasn’t that anymore.
Because Annie did want to know where she stood. Wanted to know if she should abort mission here and now before anything got too…serious. Too deep. He’d been weighing her down and she, much to her surprise, liked Elias in a way she hadn’t expected. Could see herself really liking him, if she allowed it.
Annie wouldn’t be allowing anything though, if she felt like this was just entertainment to him. Just another mission to cross off his list. She came second to none and wouldn’t be added to anyone’s roster. She was the roster. The entirety of it.
“Aight,” Elias finally spoke, face straightening out in a way she hadn’t seen before. “I’m a slut.”
Both of Annie’s brows jerked up in surprise and Elias rushed to keep speaking.
“I used to be a slut.” He corrected his words. “Up until like a month ago..when I met you.”
“Elias I am not playing with —”
“Ain’t touched nobody else since I met you. Ain’t wanted to. Ain’t even thought about it.” He didn’t even blink as he spoke. “Ain’t thought about nothing except you since you brushed a nigga off at the gas station. You in my head Annie. Got my grown ass coloring pictures on the floor like I ain’t got plays to make.”
“You didn’t have to —”
“Got me liking it and thinking about what ima color next time.” Annie didn’t have an interjection to that. “I know my word don’t mean shit right now, but word? Every layer you got? I wonna peel it back. I wonna know you pretty. Think I want you to know me too and I ain’t worried about shit outside of that right now.”
And that? Was that.
—
It was the first of the month. A Saturday. Hot, slow, boring — crawling by in a way that had Annie itching to get out the house. Had her sweeping her hair into a big puff on the top of her head, changing shirts, and inviting herself along when Pearline popped her head into her room and said she was about to run errands.
An oil change, an Ulta run, a ‘quick’ stop at the beauty supply that took 30 minutes longer than expected and then, the gas station.
So Annie could run in and grab a drink and Pearline could grab some weed from her ‘plug.’
Annie was in and out, had made it back to the car and was opening her lemonade when a blacked out Hellcat pulled up next to them.
Music blaring, bass thumping, no consideration for anybody else’s ears.
She said can she fuck me with my diamond chain
If I ain’t in the bank then I’m on the plane
Bout to go get some money, or go spend some money,
They stopped me at the airport had too many Benji’s on me
They don’t want you to live, they don’t want you to ball
Them pussies smile in yo face, then they pray for you to fall…
Annie looked up just as the driver stepped out, mostly so she could see who was riding around, blasting Dolph like they wanted to go deaf. The culprit was tall, with a thick build and a gait that was slow and lazy as he stepped up to the drivers side of Pearline’s Toyota and bent low.
“Wussup Pearl?”
The chain around his neck glinted.
“These prices nigga,” Pearline’s nose was wrinkled. “Why they get higher every time I see you Stack?”
He laughed, a low easy sound, and Annie caught the glint of gold.
“Inflation a mufucka, what you want me do?” Before Pearline could even answer, he kept talking, grinning wide and slick.
“I got you with a lil deal next time. Promise. Don’t be acting like my shit ain’t worth it though,” He tilted his head, like he was gossiping with a friend. “You was in the clouds last time huh?”
And Pearline laughed, already nodding her head, distracted by the question, and complaints about prices seemingly forgotten.
Annie’s head cocked.
Full of shit.
That was her first impression of him.
It was like he’d heard her thoughts, eyes leaving Pearline to glance up at her instead, where she still sat perched in the passenger seat. Staring.
Annie didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink — not even as his brow quirked in question, and his gaze, slow and heavy, raked over her face.
His ‘smile’ shifted more into a smirk — sharp and personal — by the time he was done looking. His lids dropped, body leaning further into the car like Pearline wasn’t even there. Like he’d just spotted something he wanted.
“You smokin’ too?” His voice was like honey. Like sin tryna disguise itself. “I do a lil discount for new customers.”
“Uh,” Pearline held a finger up. “You a lie. I never got a discount.”
Stack and Annie didn’t even glance at her.
“Pretty ones like you, I’ll fuck around and jus’ give you the shit for free.” His accent was thick. Southern for sure. “Gotta give a nigga yo name first though.”
Annie could, objectively, see why someone else wouldn’t hesitate to hand it over — first, last, and middle too, if he wanted it.
The smooth almond brown skin, and pretty white teeth, and thick smirking lips were enough to get the job done. It was really the eyes though, that were lethal. Dangerous. A glassy chocolate brown. Deep, dark — more hot than warm. Carrying a…glint that made you wonna play. Even if you weren’t sure of the game.
Somebody could fall right into them eyes if they wasn’t careful.
Good thing Annie always was.
She let her lips curve up — small, secret. Leaned in over the center counsel, voice dropping sweet.
“My name? That’s all you want?”
“Mhm.” His smirk curved sharper. “To start.”
Annie hmmed, “You can call me Not.”
“Not?” Stack titled his head.“What’s that short for? Nadia?”
“Interested.”
Annie let her smile drop, body going back to her side of the car as she watched him put it together.
Watched him start to say the words, “Not intere—” and then watched his smirk fall a second later.
She held his gaze for a beat, to make a point, and then looked down at her phone. Didn’t look back up even as she felt his stare linger. Even when she heard him laugh low.
“So… yo fine ass got jokes too? You prolly shoulda kept that to yo self. I want more than yo name now.” And he almost sounded like he meant it.
Before Annie could be bothered to respond, not that she planned too, Pearline was interjecting.
“Sooo, leave my friend alone cause she don’t want you,” she shooed him away. “And back yo big head up out my car. And then give me my tree please?? What kinda drug dealer are you?? Ain’t it cash before ass?”
The exchange was quick. Cash for grams and then —
“Ima be seeing you, pretty.”
Annie knew that low drawl was for her. She just shook her head, gaze still glued to her instagram thread, not even bothering to look up when she responded,
“You really won’t be though.”
—
The last few months continued replaying in Annie’s head like a slide show. The parked car conversations. The confessions. The arguments. The sweet moments. The feelings, that’d been building nonstop for 151 days, large, and overwhelming. Suffocating, in the best and worst ways.
It’d been easy to fall for Elias. Easy like breathing.
As Annie’s stomach twisted though, tight and hot and unrelenting, breathing suddenly felt difficult.
Because falling was one thing, but being caught was another. And there was no guarantee Elias would always be around to catch her, if Stack got him killed first.
They’re the same person Annie.
But they weren’t. Not really.
Annie sighed, rolling from her back over to her side, staring across the room but seeing nothing.
And feeling everything.
Always feeling everything with Elias.
—
—
A/n - If you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyedd. Thanks 4 reading, as alwayssss 🫶🏾🧡. (I’m bout to post this and throw my phone across the room lmaooo 😬😬😬)
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