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VALENTINE SMITH WAS A IDIOT—the girl sat on the porch of Fezco's house with a sigh, the dark starry night wrapping her in a hug. The clock is straight midnight, and the African American girl waiting for the man to open the door to spill what just happened at the dealer's house.
Most likely he wasn't up—and it would be really weird showing up randomly at the house since they haven't talked in a few. But she wasn't thinking of all that at the moment, she was ready to spill the beans about the interaction.
With a groan and a chain moving, the rough door opened revealing a tired Fezco. His grey sweatpants hung on his hips lowly. The moon shined on the freckles that lined up on his fit stomach. The girl couldn't help but give him a lookup and down, because, damn, who told him to look that good?
"Yo, Val, what the fuck you doin' here?" He asked with a slight attitude in his tone, rolling his neck in a circle trying to wake his stiff bones up.
"Uhm, Hey Fez, it's a long story, can I just go inside?" Her words came out a bit unclear—since in all honesty, he made her nervous. Fezco made everybody nervous, well, not everybody? Maybe everybody, who knows.
He stared at her with a long blink, processing his surroundings. Since the ginger had his moments where he could barely understand what was going on. Sliding to the side opening the door wider, he let her in.
His house was pitch black, other than the TV that shines brightly, an old black and white movie playing. "So what's goin' on ma?" The ginger dragged his feet against the tiled floor, pushing his fingers against the switch and turning on the lights in the kitchen.
"So...there's this guy, that I've been going to for drugs.." Valentine began cautiously, fiddling with the bottom of her jean shorts. His eyebrow raised at that since it was technically like she betrayed him since she went to somebody else for drugs, and he was her main guy or only guy.
Leaning in front of her crossing his arms, "keep goin',"
"His name is Mouse—"
"You messin' with mouse?" He interrupted, eyes almost popping out of his small sockets. You see—people would assume that the two men would have some type of respect for each other since they were business, but no, Fezco hated him. But he had to pretend that he had respect for him to avoid catching himself dead—or Ash getting hurt.
"No, no, no, not like that! It's just that I've been going to him for drugs."
