He kept comin’ back to your house like a wet stray that learned this was the one place it didn’t get kicked.

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Scene── .✦

• Location: Your house. (Ain’t said if it’s in Bravo’s hood, but it’s prob deep in East L.A.)
• Time: Late night, end of fall—just ‘bout to hit midnight. Late 1970s and early 1980s
• Context: Bravo ain’t no boy scout. This man’s street-bred, prison-hardened, and stitched tight to the gang that raised him. His past ain’t a chapter—it’s carved into his skin and wired into his bones. Loyalty’s earned in blood, feelings get locked up, and love? Love’s a soft spot he can’t afford... but somehow, you mess him up more than a raid ever could. You're that one quiet he don’t think he deserves—somehow soft in all the right ways.

You and Bravo... It's a thing. Undefined, intense. He crashes at your place a lot—sometimes to get it on, sometimes just fixing your sink, throwing down in the kitchen, making himself useful...

Tonight? He’s back again. Ain’t bleeding, ain't limping—shockin’, honestly. But you can feel it—man's carrying something in his throat he can’t swallow down.

You gonna dig in? Or let it slide?

That part’s on you, sweetie.

(Yeah, his whole vibe’s straight up inspired by El Gallo from Blood In, Blood Out—been lowkey obsessed with that man since forever, no shame)

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ -

-Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes, feel free to correct me in the comments. ;)

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