If you relax, it will enable me to do anything I-, you're mine

Chapter 13 1/2: You can't get out of the game

Sunny didn't yell.

That was how Davis knew it was bad.
They sat on the front steps of Sunny's place, the city humming low around them—distant traffic, a trumpet crying somewhere a few blocks away like it had something to confess. Sunny listened while Davis told the story: Whitmore, the office, the suspension, Mama Odie's hand across his face.
Sunny lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it right away.

(Sunny pov)
Man, even when we don't try, we still can't win...

"They always suspend you for tone," I said finally.
"Never for bein' wrong."

He scoffed. "Tone. Like I came in there shoutin'." Sighing, I sat down and turned to him then, eyes sharp. "You didn't," I told him..

"You see, nephew—when a Black boy speaks calm and confident, they hear a threat. When he speaks angry, they hear confirmation."

Davis stared out at the street.
"Mama says I gotta survive," he muttered.
I nodded slowly.
"She ain't wrong."

I leaned back, resting my elbows on my knees. "But survival ain't obedience," I continued.

"And it damn sure ain't silence."

I shrugged as I glanced at Davis, measuring him like a chord progression. "Question is—what you gonna do with what you see now?"

(Davis pov)
He's right, it is up to me to decide.

I didn't answer.
Sunny stood, clapped a hand on his shoulder—not hard, but grounding.

"Careful, nephew. My advice? If you're going to practice doing what they've been taught you, do it with a mindset that doesn't leave you astray." I says.

Taking in his advice, I then replied, "I will try."

"Don't go out there looking for trouble, just take it day by day. " he said quietly as he walked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

3 weeks later...
The city hummed around him—vendors calling out, jazz floating from an open window, children playing in the alley—but his focus was elsewhere.

A shadow fell across the sidewalk.

"Facilier," a voice said, calm but cutting through the noise like a blade. Davis froze. Heart thumped. He knew that tone anywhere.

Claude Frollo.

The man stepped from the shade of an archway, coat drawn tight, expression severe. His eyes didn't wander—they measured, analyzed, weighed every possible weakness.

"Frollo," I said carefully, tone light but deliberate, "to what do I owe the... pleasure?"

Frollo's mouth twitched—not quite a smile.

"I've been watching, Davis. Your little performances at school. The ways you charm. The ways you bend situations to your will."

Pulse quickened, but I kept my composure. My outward demeanor remained calm. "I see," I said, voice casual. "So, my reputation precedes me?"

Frollo's eyes narrowed.

"It does. And it concerns me. Influence without responsibility is dangerous. You're walking the line between brilliance and... ruin."

*flashback*
James finally said, "You ever think about the future?" My eyes gleamed. "All the time."

"What you wanna be?" He asked.

I smiled, slow and secretive. "Someone people remember."

James chuckled. "I just wanna build somethin'. Somethin' that lasts."

I looked at him then—really looked. "You already got that kind of soul, James."
*end of flashback*

Frollo's hand brushed the edge of a nearby lamppost—gesture calm, controlled—but it carried weight, warning. "This city is full of men and women who will push back harder than I do. Charm can only carry you so far. Sooner or later, every action has a cost."

My eyes flicked toward the street ahead, considering the vendors, the children, the jazz drifting in the background. I let the words settle, weighing them.

"We will meet again, Facilier. Whether you believe me or not, every action leads to consequences, even if it does come from having good intentions."