𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍.

𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗.

⌖ NO RETURN | O65. ‹ ⚜ ›
❝ i should've never let myself love you. i should've never trusted you. i should've never let myself feel safe with you. ❞

— JUNE NINETEENTH
7:30 A.M. ᐟ

Jasiah woke to the sound of Asiah crying. It was unusual, because Asiah never woke up like this. Normally, at this hour, with the sun barely leaking its first light through the blinds, the baby would either still be sleeping or lying quietly in his crib, babbling to himself, testing out sounds that never quite formed into words.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jasiah swung his legs out of bed & dragged a hand down his face before he pushed himself up & made his way across the hallway to Asiah's room.

"Man, Eggo..." His voice came out soft as he leaned over the crib & scooped the baby into his arms. Asiah's body trembled against him, his cries hitching as if he was gasping for comfort. "You good lil' bruh?" He murmured, pressing his chin lightly to the top of Asiah's head. His voice was a calm rhythm, something that always soothed the boy as Jasiah settled into the rocking chair. "We all had a rough day yesterday... I know." He said, almost to himself while his hand rubbed slow circles against Asiah's back as he spoke. "But it's all good. You ain't gotta worry 'bout nun'."

The baby's cries softened, his breathing slowing as he held on to the warmth of his father's shoulder. Jasiah wiped the wet streaks from his cheeks with the pad of his thumb, & soon, Asiah's tiny body went limp with sleep, his face pressed against his father's skin, the faint sound of his breaths evening back out.

Jasiah stayed there, rocking slowly in the chair as his head leaned back against the cushion, his eyes closed with heavy thoughts. Yesterday's fight played in the back of his mind, & regret chewed at him. He really didn't know what to do at this point. Iris had been talking about leaving, & no matter how hard he tried to swallow it, the thought of it kept attacking him. They were supposed to be getting married this time next year, supposed to be building something so solid, so generational. Everything they talked about in Bali, all that shit was spoiled now.

It had felt so close at first. All the external pressures, the people who whispered poison into their lives—gone. Jasiah had made sure of that. He cleaned house, erased every enemy, every doubt, every bad intention that dared circle around them. There wasn't a single soul left on this earth who could hurt them.

But now, it felt so far away, like the very thing he fought to protect—through the kidnapping, the blood being spilled, the bullets, all the lives he took—was slipping through the cracks of their fingers. All the enemies outside had been silenced, every threat erased, yet the pressure wasn't coming from the world anymore—it was coming from within.

Now it was what they each carried within the walls of their own home, the quiet aches they didn't share, the scars that reopened. It was the way they dealt with their pain—separately, instead of together—that was slowly building a wall between them.