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The dishes were washed. The lights were dimmed. Everyone was off doing their own thing, tucked away in bedrooms or glued to their screens in other corners of the house.
I was in my room, door closed, lights off except for the soft glow of my LEDs. The tension from dinner still clung to me like static, but I wasn't mad anymore.
Just tired.
I laid back on my bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the messages between me and Trayvon. We'd texted every day this week, but suddenly that didn't feel like enough.
I wanted to hear his voice.
The idea made my heart pound a little too hard in my chest. I'd never called him before not like that. It was always texting, with enough time to rewrite a message three times before hitting send. Calling felt bold. Real.
But maybe that's what I needed right now. Something real.
I stared at the screen for another full minute before finally tapping the little phone icon. It started ringing.
I immediately regretted everything.
What if he didn't pick up? What if he was busy? What if he thought this was weird?
The ringing stopped.
"Yo," Trayvon's voice came through, smooth and familiar. "Angel?"
I sat up instantly. "Hey yeah. It's me."
There was a pause, but not an awkward one. Just a surprised little beat like he wasn't expecting the call but wasn't mad about it.
"You good?" he asked, his tone already softer. "I don't think I've heard your voice on the phone yet."
I felt myself smile without meaning to. "Yeah, I just felt like calling. Hope that's okay."
"It's more than okay," he said. "Honestly, kinda glad you did. It's been a long ass day."
That made my chest feel warm. "Same here. I had dinner with the family, the usual chaos."
Trayvon chuckled. "Let me guess, your sister started drama halfway through dessert?"
"Zarina's whole life is dessert and drama," I said, laughing. "She kept trying to dig into stuff like she's a reality show host."
Trayvon's laugh was low and easy. "You sound tired, though. You good?"
I paused.
I could've told him about Felix. About the fight, the weird tension, the part of me that still felt like I got sucker punched emotionally.
But instead, I said, "Just a long day. Still adjusting to work stuff. But I'm good now."
I meant that.
Trayvon didn't push. He just let the space stay easy and calm.
"So how's your world?" I asked. "Did your sewing machine behave today?"
