Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You stood outside Happy Trails Penitentiary, equal parts nervous and excited. It’d been two and a half weeks since you’d last seen him, when he helped you break out. You hadn’t realized how much you’d miss him once you were out; the skeleton key in your car burned a hole in your head every time the feeling of how much you missed him hit you particularly hard. You wanted to use it to free him so badly, but you knew he didn’t want to be free, and you didn’t want to make that decision for him. When he brought up parole when he helped you out - that was a huge start. You could help him slowly start to make the transition from prison life to freedom. It’s what friends do.

The buzzer overhead signaled that the doors were opening, and you quickly stepped inside. You’d read up on visitation and the rules that needed to be followed. You made sure you didn’t wear anything that was at all similar to the prisoner’s uniforms, opting to wear some jeans and a maroon sweatshirt. You had only kept your phone and your keys on you when you got off of your car - both of which you handed over to the guard that was checking you in.

“Name,” the guard prompted, putting your phone and keys into a little ziplock baggie and pulling out a notecard.

“Oh, yeah, right, it’s Y/N YL/N,” you stammered out. Your nervousness was definitely getting to you. You couldn’t help but worry as the guard wrote your full name on the little notecard, before typing it on the keyboard. You waited with bated breath, waiting for your name to pop up and ignoring the questions running circles around your head. What if he hadn’t updated his visitors list? What if they turned you away?

After a few tense seconds of silence, the guard nodded, squinting at the screen and then breaking into a smile. “You’re here for Yancy?”

You nodded. “Yeah - that’s okay, right?”

“‘Course it is,” the guard said as he stuck the notecard in the baggie with your things. “It's just that he’s been here so long and he’s never gotten a guest - it’ll do him some good to have someone to look forward to.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” you smiled, feeling a light blush rising up your face.

The guard clicked on the buzzer, prompting the next door to open up. “Just head right through there, the other guard will take you to the visitation room and get Yancy out for you.”

“Thank you,” you said with a nod, ducking through the door. It was a short hallway, with a few metal panels built into the wall. You knew those were metal detectors, but you had left anything that would set them off in your car or with the guard out front, so you made it through without any trouble. As soon as you got through the hall, another guard opened up the door to the visitation room.

You weren’t sure what you had expected. The room was the size of a small cafeteria, with about a dozen or so round tables spread throughout. There were a few inmates with their visitors already sitting and talking, enjoying their time with their loved ones. Some of them recognized you, giving you a nod of greeting but not saying anything aside from that. You realized that none of the guards had given even an inkling of having recognized you, and you were extremely glad of that fact. You hoped to keep it that way.

There was an empty table towards the back of the room that you were led to. “I’ll be right back with Yancy,” the guard told you, leaving you at the table while she exited the room. There was another 3 guards milling around the visitation room, just keeping an eye on things.

Sitting there, you tried not to fidget nervously as you waited. You tapped a tune out on the table, humming lightly under your breath. “ I don’t wanna be free…” It helped calm you, but it didn’t get rid of the nervous energy thrumming through you.

“Youse really came ta visit,” someone said breathlessly, and you immediately rose to your feet, looking up at Yancey.

“Well, yeah - you told me visitation was every third Sunday,” you answered, suddenly feeling self conscious. “And you added me to your visitor list.”

“Yeah,” Yancy smiled, something small and soft that turned into a full blown grin. “I did.”

You both stared at each other, feeling the weeks that had gone by since you’d last seen the other disappear, the ache that had followed you since you left Happy Trails filling up. He looked good, the cuts and scrapes that had been on his face when you’d last seen him having healed over completely. His clothes were crisp and clean - no blood anywhere.

“Would youse like ta -”

“Should we take a -” you both started, coming to a halt as you were talking over each other. You looked away, feeling a blush burn your face as Yancy laughed.

“We should, ah, sit,” he said, pulling out his chair as you did the same.

“How have you been?” you asked, looking at him again and wanting to get through your most pressing question first.

He waved your clear worry aside. “I’s been good, I’s been good - things are the same as eva here.” He leaned forward, giving you an appraising eye. “But what about youse? How’s the outside woirld treatin’ that beautiful face of youse’s?”

You willed the blush that was starting to crawl up your neck again to disappear, but you knew you were failing. You rubbed the back of your neck as you worked to find your voice. “It’s been good out here. I, ah - I decided to go clean, y’know? Left the agency.”

Yancy nodded, cocking his head to the side. “That thievin’ agency youse and that little friend of youse’s was a part of?”

“That’s the one,” you answered. “Just wanted to really start living for myself again, and not just for the next cut of whatever job I worked.”

“I’m glad ‘bout that,” he told you, that soft smile coming onto his face again. “Youse don’t desoirve ta be locked up in this joint. Youse desoirve to be free as a boird - stretch those wings of youses.”

“You deserve that too,” you said without thinking.

The soft smile slipped off his face, turning into something pained. He ran his hands through his hair as he looked away. “We’s gone ova this - I done bad things, Y/N. I desoirve to be here.” Silence fell between you two for a beat before he rallied, “But youse here, and I can’t tells youse how much that means ta me.”

Even though it made you sad to see him so adamant about staying in jail, you knew not to press it. It was a heavy subject, and you could only hope he would eventually trust you enough to tell you about it.

“And I’m gonna continue to be here, every third Sunday,” you promised.

“Youse really mean that?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder.

It almost made you reach over the table and pull him into a tight hug. “Mhm,” you hummed. “It’s what friends do.”

Something passed over his expression, so quickly you missed it, but he grinned at you. “Can’t dream of havin’ a better friend than youse, pal.”

The both of you fell into a comfortable conversation for the rest of visitation. It wasn’t anything too taxing, avoiding the heavier subjects in light of fun anecdotes and jokes. Yancy gave you a few lines he was working on for a new musical number, clearly proud of his rhythm and rhyme as you clapped and told him how much you loved it and how you couldn’t wait for the rest. You both were having so much fun that you lost track of time, so it came as a gut wrenching surprise when one of the guards came over and tapped on the table you were sitting at.

“Time’s up,” the guard said.

Yancy’s bright smile dimmed as he nodded. “Guess I’ll see youse around,” he quietly got out.

“We can write letters,” you blurted out as he stood up. “We can write letters to each other - if you want.”

“That would,” Yancy paused where he stood, his posture relaxing and his expression softening, “I’d really like that.”

“Then we’re doing it,” you repeated, getting up as well. You weren’t sure what to do exactly, and you weren’t sure if a hug was too much, so you ended up sticking your hand out to him instead.

He gave you a quizzical look, but his smile only grew fonder as he reached over and took your hand, holding it softly in his as he shook it.

“See next month,” you squeaked, clearing your throat before continuing. “And expect a gift.”

“A gift?” he asked, still holding your hand. Despite the callouses from his work roughing around the prison, his hand was soft in yours, handling you delicately.

“Well - it’ll be close to Christmas so…” you trailed off with a shrug.

He raised an eyebrow as he nodded. “It's good to knows that we’s doin’ that - I’ll have somethin’ ready for youse too.”

“You don’t have to -” you began, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “Imma make youse a gift that’ll knock youse socks off.”

Before you were able to answer the guard tapped the table again. “Time to go, Yancy.”

You managed to squeeze his hand back before he reluctantly let go. “I’ll write you as soon as I’m out.”

“I already got tons ‘a things to write youse about, so youse better get to it!” he grinned, giving you a small wave as he was led out.

You waved back, watching him go. Another guard approached you, escorting you out. You picked up your keys and your phone on your way, quickly opening up your notes app as you started writing, ignoring the hole the key was burning in your mind, and trying not to think about the ache in your chest. You focused on your letter, already getting started on it as you thought about the new things you’d have to tell Yancy about when you saw him for your next visit.

December 15th couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter Text

Yancy sat at his desk, tapping his pencil to the paper. Pages of drafts and small verses lay scattered all over the desktop, but for once he wasn’t writing a song. This time he was writing a letter.

Your letter had arrived the day before, a delightful surprise that had made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When the guard had come up to him in the yard, holding out the envelope, Yancy had leapt to his feet, excited and nervous, giving his crew a lopsided grin before he’d run back to his cell to read your letter in privacy. It was two pages long, half of it telling Yancy about your day and apologizing about how long it’d taken you to get your letter to him and giving him your address so he could write back and the other half was asking about things in prison and telling him to “ please, please, please stay safe. I want you nice and whole next time I see you. ” Reading how much you worried about him and about the little things in your day that reminded you of him - “ I can’t really listen to music anymore without thinking about how you’d sing along and dance” - had made him realize how much he missed having someone that he could be sweet for.

He’d warmed up to you much quicker than he’d anticipated, and when he’d helped you out he had been equal parts happy and sad - happy that you were happy, but devastated that he was probably never going to see you again. Telling you about visitation day had been a shot in the dark, and adding your name to his visitors list, which had been empty since he’d gotten locked up, had been more wishful thinking than anything else.

So when you’d showed up, hair a little windblown from the November breeze and all wrapped up in your maroon sweater, he had half expected to wake up from a dream. But it wasn’t, and the letter that he’d gotten was more than enough proof that this was a new addition to his life. Yancy definitely wasn’t complaining.

Which led to him now, sitting in his cell as he figured out what to write. The cell block was blissfully quiet since all the inmates were setting up the cafeteria for their Thanksgiving dinner later, so he had some time alone to his thoughts as he figured out what to write.

“ Y/N ” he started. He knew that when you had asked your questions in your letter that you had wanted answers, so he started there. “ I’m okay here - and today’s Thanksgiving, so it’s gearing up to be a fun day. ” He thought for a second before adding, “ Do you do anything for Thanksgiving? Here we just all make sure to share dinner and we go around and say something we’re thankful for. Nothing crazy, nothing flashy.”

Yancy tapped the pencil on the paper again, debating on asking his next question. Curiosity and some other feeling he wasn’t sure what to call won out. “ What are you thankful for? ”

The rest of the letter fell into place after that. He copied out a few new lines from his musical number, penciling in, “ Imagine it in my voice, it’ll sound much better that way .” He told you about how days in the yard were getting colder and that it was starting to turn into that time of year when everyone spent more time inside than outside which was “ perfect for my writing. It's easier to get away from everyone when we’re all already inside than when we’re outside. ” He kept writing, telling you about a book he’d just finished and how he was hoping to get his hands on the next book from the Happy Trails library. Yancy even included a few questions about your friend, remembering how during the visit you had mentioned that you would be going to the hospital to see how he was doing within the next few days.

His letter writing was only ever distracted when he thought about your visit. Yancy would be putting together the next few sentences of his letter in his head, when he’d suddenly think of your laugh, the shy, quiet thing it was, like a secret only for him. He remembered your cute blush, the way the scarlet bloomed across your skin, reminding him of spring flowers and sunshine and warming him from the inside out, thawing the chill in his bones he had never even realized was there. He’d forgotten how nice it felt to get lost in someone’s smile, and he knew he was definitely growing soft on you when he found himself having to bring himself back to the present every time you smiled. But Yancy was more than willing to get lost for you.

He hadn’t realized how long he had been writing until there was a knock on his cell bars.

“Just coming to tell you that we’re gathering for dinner in an hour and half,” Tiny said.

“Alright, I’ll be out with all o’ youse in a bit,” he answered, giving her a small wave of acknowledgement.

Tiny rolled her eyes. “I’m only here to tell you so that you start thinking about what you’re thankful for. You can’t say your singing voice for the 4th year in a row,” she reminded him. “So get to thinking.” And she turned around and left without another word.

Yancy leaned back in his chair, staring down at the question he’d asked you. “ What are you thankful for? ”

He knew his answer.

“ Youse ,” he wanted to say. “ I’m thankful for youse, Y/N .” He wanted to say it at dinner, wanted to write it in this letter so you could see it too. But it was too soon, he’d only known you for a handful of weeks, and even though he felt it in his heart he knew he had to be careful. He knew that he was thankful for you. Tonight, to the crew, he’d say he was thankful for the friends he had. Right now, to you, in this letter, he’d say that he was thankful for messy get-aways.

It was what had made you two meet, after all.

He finished up his letter, wishing you a happy thanksgiving and telling you how much he appreciated the letter, and giving you a tiny hint about your Christmas gift. “ It’s a tiny thing,” he wrote, glancing over at the small block of wood that he was slowly but surely working through, “ but I really hope you like it .” He folded the letter up, sticking it in a small envelope the guard had given him so he could send out his letter. Yancy got up, ready to join the crew, his letter tucked in his pocket to give to the warden to mail out, and a new reason to be thankful held close to his heart.

Chapter Text

Yancy wasn’t joking around in his letters when he said that the days were getting colder at Happy Trails Penitentiary. You were glad you decided to wear your Christmas sweater - your ugly Christmas sweater at that. Even though it got you in the holiday spirit, now, standing in front of the guard’s station as he checked you in for visitation you were feeling a little self conscious about how it made you look.

The guard saw the uneasy frown on your face, and mistook it for worry about your gift. “Just protocol, kid,” he assured you. “I’ll look it over and get everything ready lickety-split.”

You nodded, realizing what he was talking about - and while you were worried about your gift potentially not getting through, you had called the penitentiary and had read up enough to know that at least one of the things you’d gathered up for Yancy was going to make it through. The restrictions for gifts did greatly reduce your pool of viable gifts, but you had still managed to put together a little package that you hope would make Yancy smile.

“Looks like it all checks out,” the guard told you, handing over the small gift bag. You were glad you had thought to put it in a bag rather than wrapping it - the guard would have had to tear into it either way. He nodded towards the door. “You can head right on in, they’ll bring Yancy out in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you smiled as the buzzer sounded overhead, signaling that the door to the visitation room was opening. You ducked inside, going through the metal detectors that stayed quiet like you knew they would. The guard on the other side led you over to a table, past the other inmates and their visitors.

Even though you had only come to visitation once before, the atmosphere was different today. Everyone was more cheerful, laughing louder and smiling brighter than before. There were Christmas carols playing lightly over the speakers, and the infectious holiday cheer livened the drab little visitation room, making it feel much warmer than it had last time. Sparkles McGee was at a table with a woman you presumed was his wife, and Shithole Hank was sitting across from a young couple who were showing him pictures and pointing people out to him. No one really noticed you coming in since they were so engrossed in the people around them, but it made it all the more heartwarming to watch as you waited at the table you’d been assigned.

“Y/N,” you heard someone say, an easy smile clear in their voice.

You turned to see Yancy as he was led to your table, his smile growing with each step he took that brought him closer to you. You tried to ignore the way your heart felt like a snowglobe that’d been shaken up - tried and miserably failed.

“Yancy,” you smiled back, reaching out a hand towards him.

He took it in his and gave it a warm shake as he sat across from you, his eyes drifting down for a second before they snapped back to your face as he grinned, “Nice penguin.”

Glancing down, you realized he was talking about the penguin on your sweater - the black and white knit penguin wrapped in a little scarf, looking cartoonishly adorable against a baby blue background that contrasted garishly with the pastel green and red striped sleeves. It was a frankensteinish excuse for a Christmas sweater, but it was warm and cute and very festive, and it was most definitely too late to back out now.

“Well, it's my ugly Christmas sweater so…” you trailed off, the light blush that had tinted your cheeks only flaring brighter as you pushed the gift bag that was sitting on the table across to him. “And I got you one too.”

“It looks good on youse,” he assured you, turning his attention to the gift bag. He pulled it closer to him before he froze. “But not because - it's an ugly sweata, but I’s meant -” he stuttered out, suddenly nervous and flustered. “ Youse make it look good.”

Despite feeling like you were going to spontaneously combust at his words, you covered your mouth with your hand as a peal of laughter bubbled out of you as you watched him flounder to amend his words. “Thanks, Yancy,” you got out between giggles.

Still blushing in embarrassment, Yancy drew your attention to the bag. “The sweata’s in here?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, reigning in your laughter. “I really hope you like what I got you.”

He gave you an excited glance, moving the tissue paper aside as he peered into the bag, his face softening. “And a book?”

“You told me about the books you were reading, and I mean,” you clasped your hands on the table to keep them from fidgeting. “I just wanted to share my favorite Christmas book with you,” you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

“This is a favorite of youse’s?” he asked, drawing out the book gingerly, gently. He looked at the cover, reading it aloud, “ Let It Snow .”

“Yeah,” you nodded, shifting in your seat as he flipped the book over and started reading the synopsis. “It's a book with three stories in it, written by three different authors. I’ve been reading it every year as soon as December rolls around since I got it about seven years ago.”

“And youse think I’s gonna like it?” He turned to you, and it made your heart jump when you saw the way he held the book close to his chest.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you answered, turning your gaze to the table to try and avoid blushing again. “It’s really cheesy and stuff, but it's super sweet.”

“Youse know I love cheesy,” he grinned, and his expression softened a hairsbreadth, “and bein’ sweet for youse is easy.”

“Think so?” you said, the words coming out without thinking.

“I’s know so, Y/N.” There’s a beat of silence for a second after his words before you looked away, feeling open and vulnerable and too close to saying something else without thinking. Yancy sets the book down slowly, turning his attention back to the bag. “Are those,” he started, eyebrows furrowing, “socks?”

“You told me you were gonna knock my socks off,” you smiled, feeling relieved to be able to get to a joke to lighten the moment that had been pushing them towards something you were afraid to jump into - at least right now, when you didn’t know where Yancy stood.

Yancy laughed loudly, bright and cheerful and carefree, the joke catching him off guard and making his whole face light up as he pulls the warm wool socks out, bright green and red to stay in line with the Christmas theme. “I’s did say that, didn’t I,” he mused, and he pulls out something small, wrapped in brown paper. “I’d don’t have much to make it all bright an’ festive an’ all, but I’s really hope youse like it.” He pushed it towards you, and you can see the nervousness settle on him again like a shroud.

Slowly, you reach out for it, not knowing what to expect. It feels a little heavy, and definitely solid, and when you unwrap it you can’t stop the tiny gasp that escapes you. “Yancy, did - did you make this?”

“With my own two hands,” he nodded, as you pick up the tiny wooden bird.

It was a sparrow, with it's tiny beak opened just a bit as if it were in the middle of whistling. It’s feathers were ruffled, making it seem fluffy despite it being made of wood, and it was so adorable it made your heart squeeze.

“Yancy, this - it's perfect, I love it,” you managed to get out, holding the tiny sparrow closer to you carefully.

“Just wanted ta give youse your own little jailboird to take home with youse,” he shrugged, and although his smile was wide with the pride he felt over how excited you were about the gift, there was something shy and tentative in his expression that betrayed just how much it meant to him that you liked something he’d put so much of himself into.

“I can’t wait until I get the pair,” you blurted out, and for a second you’re afraid you’ve ruined the moment.

But then Yancy’s smile softens and he reaches over the table gently, and you meet him halfway, your fingers twining for a second. “One day I’ll get youse the pair,” he said, his voice a whisper that sounded like a promise.

You squeezed his hand, not trusting your voice quiet yet as you basked in this rare moment of optimism for a life outside of these walls.

“Did it knock youse socks off?” he smiled.

“I-it did,” you admitted. You nodded towards the gift bag. “There’s still one thing left in there.”

Yancy reluctantly let go of your hand, going back to the bag one last time. His eyes widen when he finally makes out what’s inside and he instantly breaks into a goofy grin. He tries to hide it behind a mock frown as he pulls out the offending fabric. “Is this it?”

“That’s it,” you told him.

“I’s can’t believe youse makin’ me wea’ this,” he huffed, despite you having said no such thing. He pulled on the sweater, patting himself down as he turned to you. “What do youse think?”

The green sweater was adorned with a reindeer face, big and smiling and cheerful, with tinsel and lights wrapped in it's horns. You tapped on your chin appreciatively, trying to suppress another bout of giggles that you could feel coming through. “I think,” you started, standing and leaning over the table, pressing a finger to Yancy’s chest. The sweater’s tiny lights lit up, along with the reindeer’s nose. “It looks great on you. Really lights you up.”

Yancy rolled his eyes, the blush crawling up his face almost as bright as the nose on the sweater. “Real jokester, aren’t youse?”

“It looks good, Yancy,” you assured him, sitting back down. “You look cute,” you said honestly, getting wrapped up in the moment.

He smiled, “I’s not so sure - I think youse just being nice ta me.”

“I’m being serious,” you told him, trying to fight off a smile as you teased, “I guess you could say you really light up my world.”

“Y/N,” he groaned at your terrible joke, but after that the teasing and talking flowed naturally, warm and sweet and happy.

When a guard approached the two of you a handful of hours later, telling you that time was up, you sighed. It’d been a great day, and time had flown by, but you had known that it was bound to end.

“I’s had fun, Y/N,” Yancy told you, picking up his book and his socks.

“So did I,” you returned. You got up, holding onto your little bird. “I’ll see you next month?”

“I’ll be here,” he smiled. “Thanks, for coming and for,” he lifted the gifts up. “I love ‘em.”

“I loved him too,” you said, holding up your little bird. You were about to stretch your hand out for a handshake, but caught up in the moment you closed the distance between the two of you and pulled him into a hug. “Merry Christmas, Yancy,” you got out, your voice a little muffled against his sweater.

He hesitated for a split second before his arms wrapped around you. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Yancy held you for only a handful of seconds, but it felt right - like what you both had been waiting for. His hold tightened on you, and you could almost imagine that he was memorizing how you felt in his arms.

You only finally broke apart when the guard behind you cleared his throat.

“So, I’ll see you next month,” you reminded him, blush rising as you patted him on the shoulder.

“Next month,” he confirmed, his hand gently trailing down your arm. Even beneath the fabric of your sweater, you could feel the warmth in his touch - and the absence of it when he pulled away. “I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”

“You too,” you said, giving him a small wave as the guard led him away, while another guard led you to the other door. You stepped through the hallway and signed yourself out, but before you could leave the guard manning the desk stopped you.

“Would you like to be added to Yancy’s emergency contact’s list? He doesn’t seem to have anyone marked down as of now,” she told you.

“Yeah, that - yes, of course,” you nodded, giving them your contact information. If anything ever happened with Yancy, you would like to be told as soon as possible.

Filling out the forms didn’t take long, especially not when you were so happy and warm from your time with Yancy. You walked out with a spring in your step, the little sparrow still held in your hands as a smile spread across your face when you realized where you would be putting him - the perfect spot to keep him close.

Chapter Text

You walked briskly down the hall, carefully reading the room numbers as you went by - 391, 392, 393 -

The guard on duty was dozing off, but when you cleared your throat he straightened quickly. “Yes?” he yawned out, coughing before saying in a more level voice. “What’s your business?”

“They called me to tell me he finally woke up last night,” you explained, anxious and eager to get inside. “Could I see him?”

Even though the guard seemed unsure, he nodded. “Only because it’s Christmas Eve,” he relented.

“Thank you,” you rushed out, genuine and more heartfelt than you would have expected, but as the guard unlocked the door to room 394 and held it open you didn’t care. You crossed the threshold without another word and felt tears spring to your eyes when you saw your best friend. He turned towards you, blinking blearily.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, breaking into a brilliant grin. “Took you long enough to wake up, Mark.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he croaked out, a sleepy smile on his face. You skirted around the hospital bed, coming to sit beside him, but before you were able to say anything else his smile faded and he looked at you in alarm. “I died, didn’t I?” he asked. His eyes widened as he took you in. “Oh my God, and you - you died too, they killed you in there! Oh my God, Y/N - ”

“Mark, no, that’s not -” you raised your hands in a placating manner as he tried to sit up, his blood pressure spiking on the machines and his heart beating a panicked rhythm. “Mark, no -”

“Y/N, I’m so, so sorry, I was so stupid, we should have just got in good with the guards -” he rambled. “We should have just gone out through the sewers -!”

You grabbed him by the shoulders firmly, pressing him back onto the hospital bed. “Mark, I’m fine! You’re not dead!” He stopped struggling when he moved his arm and the handcuff on his wrist rattled where it was latched onto the bed railing. “You’re getting better, and they called me when you finally woke up.”

“Woke up?” Mark asked, no longer fighting to get up and instead settling back and looking at you with rapt attention. “What do you mean I ‘finally’ woke up?”

“Well,” you started, sitting back in your chair as you mulled over your next words. “You were kind of in a coma…”

“In a coma!” Mark exclaimed. “I was in a coma!”

“Yes, you were in a coma - you got punched through a brick wall, Mark, what did you expect?” You saw the panic start to rise in him again so you quickly added, “but you’re awake now and that’s what matters.”

“I’m awake now,” he agreed, nodding. His blood pressure decreased, the rapid heartbeats slowing a bit. “But - I mean - how long was I out, if you’re -” he gestured at you, and you know exactly what he means.

“Just a few months,” you shrugged, skirting past his other, unspoken question. “It's Christmas Eve, actually.”

“Christmas Eve,” he repeated, and he sounds awed. “Guess this is a real Christmas miracle then.”

“Definitely a miracle,” you laughed.

“Do my folks…?”

You shake your head. “They don’t know - about the arrest or that you’re here in the hospital. I’ve been keeping them in the dark, and the agency has helped too - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t pretty freaking hard since it's been a couple months since they last heard from you.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he smiled, and it's genuine and soft, that same puppy dog eyes smile that’s gotten you into all sorts of trouble. “And it looks like I’m not breaking tradition, either.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say with a shake of your head. “You’re not coming to spend Christmas Eve with my family tonight - and I don’t think you’ll be out in time for the two of us to spend Christmas Day with your family, either.”

“That,” he nods, grimacing as he shifts where he’s laying, “sounds about right.” You both lapse into silence as he pegs you with a hard look. “But if it was only a few months, how come you’re here - shouldn’t you still be serving time?”

“About that…” you start, and now you square your shoulders. “I got out.”

“You got out,” he repeats, testing the words in his mouth. He’s been repeating a lot of what you say back to you, and you figure it's probably just his brain being a little sluggish after being out for so long. “Just like that, you ‘got out’.” That doesn’t mean he isn’t still quick as a whip, though.

“Mhm,” you hum, averting your gaze. “And I could get you out, too. Just like that,” you shrug again, still not looking at him.

“How?” the question is sharp and loaded, and you know that this is the breaking point.

“Mark, first I need you to promise me - promise me that you won’t take this away - that you won’t rat me out to the agency,” you say, and you’re finally looking at him, and you pour all the seriousness you can muster into your voice.

Although he hesitates for a second, he nods. “‘Course, Y/N. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” and it's shaky, coming out on an exhale as you close your eyes and pull out the key from your pocket.

“That key doesn’t seem like that one that’ll open up these handcuffs,” Mark lets out, the question and skepticism clear in his voice.

“This was in the box, Mark.”

Silence greets your words, the only sounds being those from the handful of machines tracking Mark’s vitals.

“It was what they sent us to steal,” you reiterate, hoping to get something from Mark, some kind of reaction or acknowledgement, just something .

“We broke into that museum,” he starts, and it's soft, the hysteria low but building with each word. “And stole that thing, and got arrested, and I ended up in a coma, ALL FOR SOME OLD FUCKING KEY !” he ended in a shout.

“It's not just any key,” you snapped back, looking at him now. “This key can unlock anything , Mark. It can do anything.”

“Just because it can unlock this,” he jiggles the handcuff, instantly trusting that you’re telling the truth, because that’s how you two worked - you didn’t lie to each other when it came down to the wire, “doesn’t mean it gets me off the hook.”

“But it does, Mark. When I say it can do anything, I fucking mean it,” you press on. Seeing his unimpressed look, you just sigh. “I tested it okay? Stole a couple of things,” and it hurts you to admit that, especially after you told Yancy you were going straight, no more thievery for you, “got thrown into a little holding cell. Used the key on the cell door, and I walked right out of there - right by the arresting officer and everything, and he told me to ‘have a nice day’ like he had just seen me in the street or something. It was fucking surreal but I know this works - it means getting out, and no consequences to boot.” You’re holding the key out towards Mark, but you pull it back, holding it close to you. “But if I use it on you, you have to promise me you won’t fucking take it, and you won’t tell the agency - as far as they’re concerned the box was lost in the arrest.”

Mark’s been watching you carefully throughout your little explanation, sizing you up and measuring your words. He sighs. “You know what we get hired for, Y/N. Do the job, get it done, and come back with the goods -” he barrels on when you sees that you’re about to protest. “But, like I said - you’re my best friend. I’m not going to sell you out like that.”

You let out a long exhale, feeling all the nervous energy dissipate, the worry and weight that had been hanging on you every time you thought of this conversation disappearing.

“Just promise me you’re gonna keep that around every time we go on a job so you can make things easier,” he added.

“Yeah...I’m not going back, Mark. I left the agency,” you sheepishly tell him.

Mark nods, as if he’d been expecting that. “I figured as much. Hearing you talk about stealing stuff and leaving, there was something about you that just,” he gestures towards you. “You changed, pal. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but prison changed you - for the better it seems.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” you say with a wave of your hand, your cheeks tinting pink as you think of Yancy and how close you’d both gotten. “One of us has to be the better of the two,” you grin.

He rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, that is not what I said. But, let me amend my condition - just promise me you’ll come through with that anytime I get caught up in any mess.” He holds his hand out to you. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, shaking his hand. When you move to pull away, he holds you firm, his expression turning mischievous. “So - what’s his name?”

You groan, yanking your hand away and covering your face. Quick as a whip, this asshole. “What gave me away?”

“ It wasn’t so bad ,” he mimicked, batting his eyelashes. “You got all daydreamy, Y/N, and, c’mon, you know Imma always be the first to tease you about stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumble, begrudgingly telling him enough to fill him up, but promising to tell him the rest after he gets better and gets out. You used the skeleton key to unlock his cuffs, and, sure enough, when you tried the door it was unlocked, and when you look outside the guard was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, uh,” Mark starts, rubbing at his wrist where the handcuff had sat. “Now that this isn’t on prison money - how am I gonna pay all these hospital bills?”

“I got you covered,” you shrug, smiling smugly. “I wasn’t just stealing any old thing when I was testing out the key. I had to get enough funds to make sure your ass was taken care of once you woke up.”

He smiles at you, and you see that he’s radiating gratefulness, and you bask in it a little, knowing that he’ll be back to his smug, teasing, asshole best friend self in the blink of an eye. “Thanks, Y/N. When you come through, you really go all out.”

“When don’t I?” you muse, settling back into your chair again and spending most of the day with him before heading out to spend Christmas Eve with your family with the promise to come visit him the very next day.

You’re not sure what time it is the next day when your phone starts ringing, and you reach for it blindly, your hand bumping into all sorts of things you have on your nightstand before you finally pick it up, sliding to answer the call and holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” you groggily get out.

There’s a beep, and a robotic voice says, “ You have a call from Happy Trails Penitentiary. If you would like to answer, say ‘Yes’, and if you would like to decline -”

“Yes!” you blurt out, sitting up in bed and instantly waking up. Ten million things run through your head as you remember that you’ve put yourself down as Yancy’s emergency contact, and your blood runs cold to think that he could be hurt - or worse.

Another beep rings on the line before there’s a small burst of static, and then - “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Yancy,” you manage to get out, your mind screeching to a halt, and you’re so surprised you almost cry. “Yancy, I - how did you get my number?”

“Didn’t youse get put down as my emergency contact?” he asks, and then adds, sounding unsure, “I-I’m real, sorry, Y/N, I’s didn’ mean ta intrude, I shoulda asked -
And you know he’s three seconds from hanging up so you rush out, “No, Yancy, no, it’s fine - it’s - Yancy, I’m so happy you called,” you finish, settling on the truth. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you can just picture him shrugging. “Wa’den came around givin’ everyone time slots for calls two days ago,” he tells you. “I neva get one but then the Wa’den came by an’ told me youse had put your number down, asked if I’s wanted ta make a call.” There’s shuffling on his end of the line, “I as’d for the first call Christmas mornin’ since I know youse like to spend Christmas Eve with ya folks.”

“You remembered,” you smile, surprised all over again by his attentiveness.

“Well, youse just told me,” he says, “how could I’s forget?” And he says it so easily, like it comes naturally to pay attention to you, to remember an offhand detail in a letter from a few weeks ago that hasn’t been touched on since, and it warms you in a way that makes you ache and soothes you all at the same time.

Glancing over at your nightstand, you see the little sparrow he made for you tucked among your things. You pick it up and hold it to you, wanting something physical in your hands that connected you to your jailbird. “You’re right,” you agree, and your voice is soft. “Thanks, Yancy.”

“For what?” he asks, curious.

You shrug, picking out the right words to not give yourself away. “For making my day - for making Christmas day better than Christmas Eve, for once.”

There’s a pause, but when he talks, he’s just as gentle as you were. “Then I’s guess I just gotta make next Christmas even betta for youse.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you grin, and you know what he’s referring to but you don’t want to say it out loud, afraid it might shatter whatever you had right now, in this space. You lay back down in bed, snuggling into your blankets as you both continue to talk, making the most out of his short phone call, excited to see him as soon as visitation rolls around come January and the key once again burning a hole in your brain, knowing that as soon as Yancy asks, you’ll have him out of Happy Trails in a heartbeat.

Chapter Text

New Year at Happy Trails Penitentiary was always pretty fun. The inmates were all drunk off Shithole Hank’s booze, since some of the guards had brought in some of the nicer, better stuff for the Warden that he was inclined to share due to the holiday spirit, there had been plenty of that to go around too. The next morning however...yeah, not all that fun. Waking up with a killer headache was more than enough to keep everyone quiet and subdued, a feeling that Yancy knew all too well.

However, this year, Yancy had abstained - or, well, he’d at least taken it slow. He hadn’t wanted to get utterly sloshed with the crew so that he would be at his 100% come morning.

“Happy New Year,” you cheered when you answered his phone call, and Yancy could just imagine the smile on your face when you said it.

He held the phone closer, leaning against the wall by the phone and closing his eyes so that he could bask in the sound of you. “Happy New Year, Y/N. It’s nice to start the new year talkin’ to youse.”

You give a light laugh, and he knows you’re blushing, can practically hear the color rising up your face from the sweet sound of it. “I feel the same exact way,” you answer honestly.

“Anythin’ fun youse did with youse’s family?” he asked, settling in to listen to your animated explanations about grapes and suitcases and following your sister’s lead to make mochi ice cream which had ended in a failure that had still tasted sweet nonetheless. Hearing how close you and your sister were, and how close you were with your parents simultaneously warmed him up and made him ache. He could hear the genuine love and happiness at spending time with them, and it made him miss his own family terribly. He opened his eyes, finding himself starting to frown as he looked down at the hand he had halfway tucked in his pants pocket.

There was blood on his knuckles. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and when he opened them the blood was gone, the skin clean and unmarred.

“Yancy,” you said gently. “Are you okay?”

“‘Course I’m okay, Y/N,” Yancy answered, attention back to the conversation.

“You just sound a little distant, Yance,” and the way you said his name, the easy nickname that came out naturally, made him wish you were there with him, and he realized as his heart jumped to his throat that he missed you. A lot.

“Just thinkin’ a little, sweetheart,” he says, because he doesn’t want to lie but he doesn’t want to outright tell you either - and just like that, the term of endearment is out, what he’d been calling you in his head now out in the open. “But I’m right here.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he hears you say softly, “I like that - sweetheart.”

Yancy couldn’t have fought the grin that comes across his face even if he tried. “I’m glad youse like it because now that I’s said it out loud, I’s don’t think I’ll be able to stop usin’ it.”

You both fall into a bit more conversation - and the Warden allows the both of you to have more time, since lots of the inmates are still sleeping off their hangovers - before you’re both saying your goodbyes.

“I think this year’ll be a good one,” you say, unprompted, right before you hang up.

Looking down at his hand again, Yancy shakes that feeling off, letting your words cascade over him like a gentle waterfall, cooling him down and filling him with a gentle wave of hope. “I’s think so too, Y/N. I’s think so too.”

Yancy’s laying in bed later that night, rereading some of the letters you’ve sent. The latest one was one of his favorites.

To my little jailbird , it starts, and Yancy would be a damn liar if he didn’t admit that that made him swoon.

“ You sure have gone soft, ” a voice sneered, quiet and condescending.

Yancy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as a bone rattling cold swept over the room.

“ What? No sweet greeting for an old friend ,” the voice laughed. It was the sound of the monster under his bed, the voice that whispered at the back of his head.

Even though he didn’t want to, even though all he wanted to do was block it out, ignore it and continue reading, Yancy set the letters down with shaking hands, turning to the far side of his cell.

Leaning against the wall was a dark shadow, arms crossed, red eyes gleaming as it watched, the intensity of it's gaze dizzying as it jumped from red to blue and back. A blinding smile split across its face. “ Hello, Yancy. ”

When Yancy didn’t answer the shadow sauntered forward. “ Has the cat got your tongue, jailbird , ” it spat. “ It doesn’t matter, though, I know everything that’s gone on, everything you think of in that little head of yours ,” the shadow tapped Yancy’s temple, and Yancy pulled away sharply, glaring up at it. “ You’re right, you know. With all that blood on your hands, you don’t deserve them. ”

Yancy’s fists clench in his lap but he doesn’t say anything.

“ They reek of sunny places, Yancy ,” the voice sighs, the shadows coalescing, defining further until a man in an immaculate suit stands before him. He straightens his tie, looking down at Yancy. “ And that kind of happiness isn’t something you deserve at all. ”

“Youse wrong,” Yancy snapped, jumping to his feet.

The shadow shifted, and suddenly he was right in front of Yancy, startling him enough that he falls back. “ Am I? ” he asked softly.

Yancy landed on the ground, the cold, hard ground, slick with something warm and suffocating and familiar. The scent of copper hits his nose like a tidal wave, and Yancy wants to vomit. Yancy looked around, and he was all alone again, but he wasn’t in his cell, yet the furniture  was familiar but from a lifetime ago - and his hands were coated in blood. He knew where he was, and his eyes widened as his breathing grew heavy and labored as he turned his gaze down the hall. A motionless hand covered in blood lay across the hardwood floor, and Yancy knew the rest of the body was right across the threshold, inside of the room.

Shaking his head and closing his eyes tightly, Yancy began to scream.

Chapter Text

Even though you’d only visited Happy Trails twice, you felt like a pro coming in this time around. You knew the drill, walking up to the counter and setting your phone and keys on it as the guard manning the front desk looked up.

“Here for Yancy,” you said without needing to be asked.

The guard nodded, typing something into their computer as they absentmindedly took your things before they frowned, glancing up at you apologetically. “Good news is that he just got back to their cell a few days ago,” the guard told you.

Their words made nervousness prick the back of your neck, but before you were able to even ask another guard stepped out of a door at the far back of the penitentiary lobby.

“Right that way,” the guard motioned as the other one stepped aside, moving to usher you in.

You followed mechanically, going into the door and down a couple of halls before you were buzzed into another door. Stepping inside, you could see three booths set up side by side, separated by a small walls, like cubicles. There were chairs sitting inside the booths, facing a glass pane that revealed an identical room on the other side. You were the only person in the room, along with the guard that had let you in. It was cold in the room, and the empty seats made you nervous, but you decided to take the seat to the furthest left. It wasn’t until you were sitting down that you noticed the phone that was hanging on the wall.

There was the sound of a buzz after a few minutes, this time muffled, and when you looked through the glass you could see a guard walking into the other room, ushering in a downtrodden Yancy, his hands handcuffed in front of him as he shuffled forward. Your heart sank to your knees.

Yancy quietly walked in, trying to prolong the inevitable. He could have just said he didn’t want visitors today, but he was a weak man, and knowing you were there was more than enough to make him cave. The guard walked him to his booth, and Yancy sat in the chair wordlessly, letting his cuffed hands clank against the counter as he stared down at them. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked up at you.

You were watching him worriedly, your face filled with concern as you took him in. He could only imagine what he looked like with his puffy eyes, the bags beneath them like dark bruises. His skin was paler than usual, and he knew the exhaustion weighed him down like a shroud.

Moving to pick up the phone, you held it to your ear, and you watched Yancy expectantly until he did the same, cradling the phone in his hands.

“Yancy?” you breathed, and the sound of your voice almost made him cry.

“Mornin’, Y/N,” he managed to answer, his voice sounding rough from disuse even to his own ears. Or rough from all the crying and screaming. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“What happened?” you asked, worried and nervous and just, everything Yancy wasn’t used to people feeling for him anymore. It felt like a punch to the gut.

Even though he wanted to lie, he decided to just cut the crap and come out clean. “Solitary.”

Your expression softened, your shoulders dropping as your sympathy pulled you down with it. “But you’re out now?”

“I am,” was his curt reply. His eyes kept jumping to different parts of your face, all to avoid looking you in the eye - but none of it was helping. Not the slight tremble of your lips, or the curve of your nose, or the way your cheeks colored with feeling. None of it was helping his resolve in the slightest.

“What happened though?” you repeated.

He looked away, down at the counter. “Had an episode,” he shrugged. Honest, but vague.

“Are you okay?” you asked, and the question startled him enough to make him look at you again. You caught his gaze in yours, holding it firm, your voice soft in your question but your gaze unwavering as you took him in. You held your hand up to the glass, your palm pressed against it.

And it was just too much - no one had worried about him the way you were in such a long time, no one had cared as much in years, and suddenly his eyes were brimming with tears. This feeling made him feel alive in a way nothing else had in ages. It was warmth and comfort and reassurance, all the feelings that were strangers to him now. It was a breath of fresh air - you were a breath of fresh air - and he hadn’t realized he’d been drowning until he met you, and for a drowned man the rush of feeling alive again was a heady high that he couldn’t get enough of. Yancy was addicted, and he never wanted to quit you, and he probably would never be able to even if he tried.

Yancy lined his hand up to yours, the chain between his cuffs barely allowing for that, taking a shaky breath. “I’m okay,” he nodded. He gave you a small smile - a shy smile - as he felt the shroud slide off his shoulders. “I’m okay, now that youse here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, with a conviction so unwavering that Yancy couldn’t help but believe you.

You saw the perceptible change in him, the shift from closed off and sad to open and vulnerable. Whatever happened still hung heavy in the air, but he was talking, and he was smiling, and for now, that would be enough. You could almost forget that there was a pane of glass between the two of you - almost. The glass that kept your hands apart was what kept reminding you that whatever had happened had warranted this ; whatever had happened had meant that he needed to be kept away. But you couldn’t believe that. Not about Yancy.

“It’s botherin’ youse,” he observed, his smile slipping to a frown, ashamed.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” you sighed, your fingers curling against the glass ever so slightly. “Whatever happened, I’m worried about you. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but just know that I’ll still be here if you do.”

Yancy’s frown deepened. “I’s done some bad things,” he repeated, a phrase he’d told you before. “I just don’t want youse to change the way youse look at me.” He shrugged, peeking up at you. “I just don’t want this to change.”

You tilted your head to the side, confused for a second before you felt yourself flush as you realized what he meant. “Yancy, no , nothing’s gonna change. No matter what it is, I promise I’ll be here every step of the way to help with whatever way I can.”

He gave you a soft smile, his expression smoothing over from the frown that had tugged it down. He looked younger, more vulnerable, less like the hardened criminal you’d known. You imagined this is what Yancy probably looked like before all of this. “Youse too sweet for youse own good, doll.”

“I’m too much of a lot of things for my own good,” you answered easily, getting your words out past the lump in your throat from the way he was looking at you.

Your response got the intended effect as he laughed, bright and surprised, the sound easing both of you even more. “Too much of a lot of things,” he mused with a smile. “Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” you asked, to keep the conversation going, to help steer it away from the elephant in the room.

“It's only eva a good thing about youse,” he said without hesitation. “Only eva a good thing.”

Visitation after that fell into soft conversation, careful and caring, hesitant but sure, and longer than usually permitted since you two were the only ones in the booths. It was easy to forget about the guards that stood by their respective doors, and there were moments where you even forgot about the glass for a second, and every single time you did you could have sworn you felt the warmth of Yancy hand against yours, calloused yet inviting, and you knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to just thread your fingers with his.

Chapter Text

You blew a sigh of relief, cleaning the sweat off your brow with the back of your hand. “I think that’s about it.”

“Thanks God ,” Mark groaned, collapsing onto your new couch. “I couldn’t move another box even if I tried.”

“Oooookay, you’re one to talk,” you shot back, hands on your hips as you looked down at your best friend. “You didn’t even do any of the heavy lifting.”

“But I did do some lifting,” he replied, giving you that puppy dog look.

Even though you wanted to scold him, you merely shook your head. You couldn’t be annoyed at his not-so-helpful-help when he only three weeks fresh out of the hospital. Just the fact that he offered to help you move furniture into your new place and start with the unpacking process was win.

Flopping down beside him, you admired your handiwork. It was a nice studio apartment - thankfully with a view - that had just enough appliances in the kitchenette to make it an absolute steal and spacious enough to accommodate a small couch and wooden divider to keep your bed and closet out of view. Your bookcase and all your shelves were snuggly installed too, and Mark had actually done plenty to get everything looking much more homey than it had just that morning.

Now all that was left was just to unwind and bask in your hard earned home - now that you were coming clean with your work of course.

“Down for some Netflix ?” you suggested, reaching for the TV’s remote.

“I dunno, I’m feeling YouTube,” he shrugged, still face down on the couch.

You tugged on his hand, placing the remote in his palm. “Find us something good to watch then, Iplier.”

Turning onto his side, Mark scrolled through your YouTube feed, settling on some horror game playthroughs. You weren’t really paying much attention as you felt yourself begin to nod off before there was a knock on the door.

“Be a dear and get that, will you?” You yawned, slinking further into the warmth of your couch.

“Aww but I’m so tiiiiiireeeeed,” he whined, snuggling into the couch just as much as you did.

You cracked open an eye, mustering up as much contempt as you could with just the gesture. It didn’t take long for it to work.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, slinking toward the front door.

Seconds later, the voice of your sister was filling the apartment as Otti walked through the door. “Wa-a-oooow, this place is lookin’ dope,” she grinned, looking around at your books and trinkets now in their respective places. It warmed you up to hear her praise, especially since she was the one who’d helped you pick the apartment in the first place - just far enough from home to be moved out, and just a teensy bit closer to Happy Trails.

“I didn’t think you were coming over today,” you said, standing up to give her a hug before you finally noticed the boxes of pizza in her arms.

“Eh, I wasn’t, but it's only a half hour drive, and, I’m here to deliver,” she pushed the boxes into your hands - which you then set on the coffee table - before she pulled a letter out of her backpack. “This!” she finished.

You took it, trying to keep your face as neutral and nonchalant as possible, but you knew you were definitely failing when Mark wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at you. “That from lover boy?”

“No,” you answered quickly, stepping away from them and heading to the area designated as your room. “I mean, yes, but he’s not - we’re not -” You dropped the letter on your nightstand. “We’re just friends,” you settled on as you came back out, seeing that Otti had taken your place on the couch, leaving you to squeeze onto the end as Mark sat on her other side.

“They’ll get there eventually,” Otti shrugged, popping open the pizza box and grabbing a slice.

“Otti!” you scolded, but that was all you could really say because you had no other response.

She only shrugged, snatching up the remote and finding some extremely informative science video explaining viruses and pathologies and mutations. It was oddly fascinating.

And that’s how you spent the rest of your afternoon, with two of your favorite people in the whole world, with the thought of the back of your head that wondering how Yancy would fit into this little dynamic.

It wasn’t until late that night that Mark left, and, after a quick call to your mom, your sister decided to just crash on the couch, setting her alarm just a little earlier to make it to class on time back home. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you finally opened up your letter.

Y/N , it started. You couldn’t resist the small smile that blossomed on your face as you imagined how your name sounded like when he said it.

You kept reading, finding that this letter was actually pretty short. It was only about two paragraphs long, despite being three pages long total.

I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but before I ended up in this joint, I was working on a musical theater degree.

While that didn’t exactly surprise you, it did bring you pause. This was the clearest look into his past before the incidence...s that he’d ever given you, and it was all too easy to imagine him surrounded by other musical majors, breaking into song and dance and perfecting their choreography. It made you simultaneously happy and sad, happy to know where his love of music stood in his past and sad because that had gotten thrown away. Completely.

Even though I try not to think too much about that, since it isn’t a part of my life anymore, I do got a musical I’d been working on back then that I still work on. It’s my life’s project, you could say. And here’s, y’know, a copy of that.

It dawned on you what exactly you were holding.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” you whispered, reaching over for the notepad you kept right by your bed so you could start writing to Yancy whenever the inspiration struck. Your hand bumped against the tiny wooden sparrow he’d made you. You picked it up, holding it close. “Oh my God,” you whispered to it, setting it in your lap as you grabbed the notepad and a pen, immediately starting your letter with a very fond, My little jailbird , before the next line read, OH MY GOD, YANCY! You wanted him to know just how excited you were that he was sharing such a big part of himself with you.

You set the notepad to the side, taking a deep breath as you dove back into his letter, the stage direction, [The main character slowly steps onstage] , leading you into the musical and helping you get to know Yancy a little better, helping you get to the the Yancy as he was before everything went awry.

Chapter Text

You walked back into your apartment, shrugging off your jacket in the same motion as you shut the door, all the years of thieving and heists making you quick and nimble even when it wasn’t at all necessary. You draped the jacket on the back of one of the swivel stools that fit snugly against your kitchenette’s tiny island as you set a bag down on the counter. It didn’t take long for you to take the bag apart, pulling out it's contents and sorting them in their respective places. A box of chocolates from your parents, a cheese joke card from your sister, some tickets to the new Sonic the Hedgehog movie from Mark, and a couple tupperwares full of your mom’s delicious food. It wasn’t any surprise you had made out with this haul on Valentine’s day - especially when you got everyone much of them same, an excuse to get them something cute and maybe add a heartfelt touch along the way - but it did make you feel a tad lonely now that you came to your quiet apartment after being at your parents’ place all day.

But, you did have to make this place home sooner or later. You sighed, finishing putting things in the fridge and stashing the chocolates out of sight to keep you from eating all of them in one go. Once that was finished, you flopped down onto the couch, turning on the TV and letting it drone on in the background. It was turned onto a spanish channel, a novel playing out dramatically on screen. You focused in and out as you dozed off a handful of minutes at a time before your phone rang, prompting you to sit up straight, looking around in dazed confusion as you patted yourself down and didn’t find it.

It rang louder, more insistently, and suddenly your head snapped over to your jacket, and you scrambled over to it, pulling it out of the pocket and sliding to answer it.

“ You have a call from Happy Trails Penitentiary. If you would like to ans-”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, hearing the line click before an adorably shy voice picked up on the other end.

“I’s almos’ thought youse weren’t gonna answer,” Yancy drawled, the smile clear in his voice but not confident enough to cover the nervousness he was feeling.

“Oh, Yancy, hi,” you got out, “I-I didn’t expect you to call today.”

“Bad time?” he asked. “‘Cause, y’know, visitation’s Sunday and we can, y’know, just talk then?” You could almost picture him nodding, pointing over his shoulder at the metaphoric visitation day coming up.

“Of course it’s not a bad time,” you answered, reassuring him.

“Youse sure? I, ah, don’ wanna be talkin’ time away from anything youse doin’ or anything,” he said, his shrug unseen but acknowledged.

“I’ve always got time for you.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and even though you flushed at them embarrassed and mortified and all other kinds of emotions, that seemed to be enough to soften Yancy from his nervous state.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he got out, his whisper almost too gentle to get across to you.

“Like I said, Yance.” It was your turn to shrug. “Always, for you.” You cleared your throat when the silence carried on for a beat too long and you felt your emotions were close to crawling out of your skin. You tried for playful. “What circumstances allowed me the pleasure of your phone call?”

Yancy leaned against the wall, rolling the stem between his fingers. He tried to avoid the nicks on the skin there, from his quick work to make sure he would get it in time now that he had finally gotten his tools returned after his stint in solitary. “I was, ah, just callin’ to say Happy Valentine’s day,” he answered. “Asked for a slot for today a coupla weeks ago, jus’ to make sure I’d get it.”

Your laughter was sweet and surprised on the other end of the line. “You planned to call me on Valentine’s day?”

He’d really done it this time, hadn’t he - he’d shown his cards a little too soon. “W-well, yeah - is that bad?” he finished shyly.

“No, no, of course it's not bad,” you assured. “I’m just surprised - in a really nice way,” you said fondly, and Yancy wanted to lean into it, wanted to let your voice comfort him and whisk him away, past these walls just for a second.

The feeling emboldened him. “Good. I’m glad I was able to give youse a nice little surprise. I hope I can keep it up, as long as you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you for as long as you’ll have me,” you answered back, without missing a beat, not even letting Yancy scold himself for being so open with his feelings.

“Can’t see when that’ll end then, or if it’ll even end at all,” Yancy returned, sounding much more suave and charming than he felt as his face burned from blushing.

“I sure do like the sound of that,” you said, your voice taking on the carefully constructed quality that betrayed that you were fighting back a smile.

Just imagining it made Yancy swoon.

“I read all of it, by the way,” you added when Yancy made no effort to fill the comfortable silence of your breaths.

“All of…?” Yancy asked, unsure what exactly you were talking about.

“All of your musical!” You exclaimed. “It was so so so so so good. I can’t wait to get it back to you, and I mean, now that we’re on this call, I can ask you right now about it instead of waiting until Sunday or until you get my next letter, but God, Yancy, that part where they just hold each other under the moon and fall into an old tune, it was just -”

The rest of the call consisted of that, of you gushing and asking and loving every moment of Yancy’s play while Yancy tried to keep up with you and answer all your questions and comments while simultaneously falling harder for you by the second.

It was all too soon that 15 minutes had gone by, and since many other inmates had loved ones too call, it was with reluctant “see you soon”s that you both got off the phone.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Yancy,” you said, soft and quiet, just for him.

Yancy felt his heart swell, and he briefly wondered what it would feel like to hear you whisper that as he held you. “Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N.” And then they hung up.

As he walked back to his cell, thinking about the call, rolling the stem between his fingers, trying to see if there was anything else he could do to make it absolutely perfect, Yancy froze. He remembered it, the feeling of being away, of being out of this place, out of Happy Trails Penitentiary - the feeling he got when he was talking to you. He thought of that feeling, holding onto it, feeling as something fundamental shifted in his chest.

He closed his eyes. It’d been so long since he thought about being free - so long since he’d actually wanted it, and here he was, wanting it, yearning for it, thanks to you.

Chapter Text

Walking into Happy Trails this time around, you were unsure whether you would be led to the secluded room from last time or to the regular visitation room of visits prior, so when you were shown the way to the visitation room you let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. While the letters and the phone call Friday had calmed your worries, knowing that Yancy would be out and not behind glass made you feel much better about how he was doing. He had assured you he was fine now, and this showed that he was thankfully telling the truth.

You sat at the table you were taken to, nodding your greetings to other inmates and waving at the few you knew a little better. They all smiled warmly, seemingly equal parts glad to see you and glad to know that you were still coming around for Yancy. You tucked the small gift bag you’d brought under your seat, hopefully keeping it out of view so you could surprise Yancy.

The gift was honestly a last minute decision. You had talked yourself out of getting him anything - you hadn’t wanted your feelings to be that obvious - but he had already had such a rough time in solitary and you knew he’d appreciate the gift, so you were torn. It wasn’t until he called you to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day that you decided on the gift. Most importantly though, it wasn’t until he told you he’d been planning on calling you that day for a while now that you decided on the gift. The way he had been planning that...it made you have hope that maybe he felt the same.

It was hard not to fidget as you waited for him, your excitement and slight nervousness making you restless. You resisted the urge to peek into the gift bag, just to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything in your car. It was good that you didn’t, since right at that second Yancy was ushered in.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, a bright smile on his face as he waltzed forward, almost half a dozen steps ahead of the guard who was escorting him as he eagerly rushed up to you.

“Yancy!” you smiled back, getting up from your seat and moving towards him. You were so happy, so so so glad that he was here, right here, that you acted without thinking. You closed the distance between the two of you and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug.

He tensed up instantly, right at the same second that your brain caught up with your actions and you were about to dart back, throwing out apologies when suddenly he relaxed in your embrace, his arms slowly coming up to wrap around you too.

The first thing you noticed was that Yancy was maybe three inches taller than you, something you hadn’t really paid attention to until now. The second thing you noticed was how warm the hug was. You don’t think Yancy and you had ever shared a hug like this before. You guys had hugged before - at least you think you had. Now that you thought more about it though, within the infinity of Yancy’s arms, you realized that you had only shared a friendly side hug, something rushed and full of laughter after you had said something particularly funny, and that had happened maybe twice throughout your entire stint in Happy Trails.

This - this was different. This was a proper hug, but unlike any hug you’d ever had before. This was a hug that felt like it was cranked up to eleven. Your arms were wrapped around Yancy’s torso, your fingers splayed against the lean muscles of his back that you could easily feel through his shirt. His arms were wrapped around you too, but one hand had come to hold the back of your head, and the other was holding you around the waist. His touch was gentle, as if you were made of glass, and he was handling you with such care that it made your heart ache. Your face buried into the crook of his neck, and he smelled like wood and ink and the cheap prison detergent and just so like Yancy that it made your head spin. His breath was tickling the top of your head, and you could have sworn he held you tighter.

The hug couldn’t have lasted more than 15 seconds before the guard was loudly clearing their throat. “C’mon, Yancy, you know the rules.”

He gave you one last squeeze before he stepped away. “Y-yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” He was still in front of you, one of his hands grazing your arm as he pulled away completely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

You could see the most adorable blush dusting his cheeks, and you were sure that you were just as pink.

“I, uh, I made this for youse,” he blurted out pushing something into your hands.

“Oh, Yancy, you didn’t have -” The rest of your sentence was lost as you stared down at the beautifully carved wooden rose that he’d given you. “This is for me?” you asked, voice an almost inaudible whisper.

“D’youse like it?” Yancy asked shyly.

“Yancy, it’s beautiful, I - I love it!” you exclaimed, looking up at him again. Before you let yourself fall for him any harder and forget your wits, you grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the table. “I made you something, too.”

He followed without another word, his fingers easily threading with yours. While still holding the rose tightly in your hand, you reached beneath the table, pulling out the pink gift bag and setting it on the table.

“I really hope you like them,” you said as you both sat down - Yancy taking a seat right next to you rather than across from you, setting a hurricane of butterflies off in your stomach as you realized you were still holding hands. With his free hand he pulled out a book, glancing at the title and giving you a smile.

“ Gatsby - I think I might have read this in high school,” he told you, setting it down on the counter.

“So did I, but I promise you, it gets better every time you read it,” you grinned. You’d written an upper division college paper on the book when you were off getting your degree a couple of years ago and had told him about it, and, judging from the smile he gave you, he remembered and knew how special it was to you.

He reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a small cardboard box decorated with music notes and hearts and other Valentine’s Day-esque motifs. He gave you a curious look before he opened the box, his eyes going wide.

“Are these -?”

“Snickerdoodles,” you confirmed. “It took a couple of tries, but I think I might have made a pretty good batch if I do say so myself.”

Yancy picked one up in disbelief, taking a tentative bite. He let out a happy sigh, closing his eyes as he finished the cookie, savoring every bite. “‘S sooo good,” he hummed, opening his eyes and looking right at you. His eyes were glassy, unshed tears clinging to his lower lashes.

“You said they were your favorite,” you said as an explanation, leaning a little closer to him. Not close enough to get told to separate by the guards, but close enough that your elbow brushed against his.

He was still holding your hand.

“Reminded me of when I was a kid,” Yancy quietly told you, looking down at the cookies before he shut the box, turning back to you with a soft smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Anytime, Yancy,” you answered, a soft smile of your own on your face. “And guess what - I’ll be dropping these off every other week now that I live a little closer the Happy Trails.”

“Youse - youse what?” he asked, surprised but clearly delighted, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You shrugged again, holding the rose up in front of your face as if you were going to smell it, letting it cover the smile that was turning into a wide grin. You realized that the smell of wood on Yancy must have come from the rose, but it only made you love the rose even more. “You know how I told you I moved to my own place…?”

Yancy raised an eyebrow, his smile still delighted and giddy. “Yeah…?”

“Well, it's about an hour and half away now, from here,” you told him. “A small commute to bring you a book or some snacks every now and then.”

“Y/N - youse -” he leaned towards you, his arms moving to pull you into another hug before he dropped them, seemingly also worried about getting in trouble. He squeezed your hand again, and beneath the table he hooked his ankle with yours. “Y/N, youse an absolute marvel, youse know that?”

“Hearing it doesn’t hurt, you know,” you smirked back, teasing and playful and fond. After a few beats of just looking at each other, you pulled out the last item in the gift bag, his musical, kept in a nice plastic sleeve to keep it safe. “And now we get to talk about this in person,” you grinned, letting him take the lead this time as he explained with gestures and sang snippets of songs to you, acting out some of the solo pieces as you stayed close together at the table, his ankle still hooked with yours.

You didn’t stop holding hands the whole time, and when it was finally time to go, the hug was a few seconds longer than the first one, but just as sweet and tight and tender as the first.

Chapter Text

Yancy stared down at the letter he was halfway through writing. He’d been meaning to be open and honest with you for so long - especially now, when he felt that you both were getting so close to each other. Yancy liked that, he liked caring about you and feeling you care about him too. It was new and warm and soft, feelings Yancy had almost forgotten in the years he’d spent at Happy Trails.

However...it was for that same reason that he hesitated to tell you. He wasn’t sure how you would take it - if you would hate him, condemn him for his actions. You were completely justified if you did, completely in your full right to immediately rescind your friendship and closeness and then disappear from his life. He just really, really didn’t want that to happen.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, willing himself to get a grip. You already knew about the incidence...s. You knew about them even before you both had become friends, which means that you still gave him that chance. You had trusted him.

Now it was Yancy’s turn to prove that he trusted you too. Even if talking about it was painful. Letting out a shaky exhale, he picked up his pencil again.

His letter already contained his usual questions and banter, asking you everything from how you were doing to how your parents were taking it now that you moved out again. It felt so oddly domestic to ask about your parents, and for a second he considered scrapping the entire letter if only to get rid of that question, but he found that he actually cared. He cared about what you cared about. That was new too.

Steeling himself, he began to write again.

Do you remember how when you came to visit in January I was behind glass? he started. Well, I’d like to tell you what happened. If you’d be willing to listen .

Closing his eyes, he thought about the nightmares he’d had, ever since what happened years ago, but coming back with an insistence now that you were getting closer. It hadn’t gotten as bad as New Year’s, nothing that had landed him in solitary again, but he kept having nightmares of being locked in his childhood home, in the dark, with the cold, sharp laughter of his once trusted friend ringing out all around him. His parents always lay beyond view, at the end of the hallway, save for his mother’s delicate hand that fell past the threshold, as if beckoning him forward from beyond the grave.

Thinking about it made Yancy skin crawl as much as it made him want to dissolve into tears.

I had a friend - a good friend, that I made back in college. He was real nice, real charming. But there always something a little dark about him.

You remembered that day well into your second year at Ohio state. It’d been a crummy day, your professor had been harsh with his criticism of your work, and it had sent your spirits plummeting to the ground. You were angry and frustrated and all you wanted to do was just blow off some steam.

It was almost as if he’d summoned him.

He was such a cool talker, he could convince anyone of anything - and when he’d crank up the charm to 11, well, it worked on me, didn’t it? That’s what got me into this place.

Yancy remembered that it started with something small - petty theft and vandalism, the thrill of getting away with those kinds of things by having him talk their way out of it. His eyes though - they’d always been following Yancy, as if sizing him up, measuring him out.

And Yancy had always wanted to live up to what he saw in him.

There was just something about him. He was an enigma, always along the edges and drawing people. Drawing me in deeper and deeper.

It all happened so fast he didn’t even realize when he’d started drowning. He remembers the night of the incidences, before they happened - remembered how they’d been outside, smoking cigarettes he’d picked up in the months after meeting him.

“You know, you’ve really got something dark in you Yancy,” he’d said, giving him a long look as he pulled a drag from his cigarette. “A little like me.” The smoke began to fall from his mouth, making him look like a cruel dragon - or like a devil, made flesh. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Yancy - prove your loyalty to me.”

I was stupid, I was naive and stupid, but I. I don’t know. I felt like I wasn’t myself. I felt like he’d charmed me into being someone I didn’t even recognize.

Things at home with his parents had gotten tense - after meeting him, Yancy realized, looking back in hindsight - and when he’d merely looked over at Yancy’s house lazily, Yancy felt himself moving of his own accord, feeling him whisper in his head, You don’t need them. Not when you’ve got me.

After that - Yancy couldn’t remember after that, only that he’d come to kneeling outside the dining room, staring at his mother’s vacant face, her cheek stained with her own blood.

“Good job, Yancy,” he’d crooned, walking down the hallway carefully, his steady footfalls ringing out in the suffocating silence as Yancy felt his eyes widen, realizing what he’d done.

“You - you have to help me - we need to call an ambulance, get a doctor -” Yancy pleaded, scrambling to his feet.

He’d given Yancy a searching look, then shook his head with disappointment. Then he turned around, heading for the front door.

Yancy followed in a hurry, tripping over himself and falling to his knees before the door. “Please, you have to help,” he begged. “You said I had you.”

Giving Yancy a cold, apologetic smile, he’d crouched down, enough to get eye level with Yancy. “Oh, Yancy,” he’d breathed, reaching out and stroking Yancy’s cheek - smearing the blood that was there across his skin. “I never said that out loud.”

Then he’d disappeared into the night, locking the door behind him. Leaving Yancy alone with his all consuming guilt and a darkness festering inside of him.

I told you. I’ve done some bad, horrible things, he finished shakily. He couldn’t write more.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he willing the memories away, hunching over his small writing desk and taking shaking breaths to steady himself. He trusted you with this. He really truly did.

“ Always such a romantic. I’m impressed you managed to hold tight to that part of yourself after what I did to you,” the voice crooned, and out of the corner of Yancy’s eye he could see him - he could see his freshly tailored suit, the stark white against the metal bars of his cell, just leaning casually.

Yancy ignored him, as he’d been doing for a while. He reached for the box of snickerdoodles you’d brought just a few days ago, taking a cookie out and giving it a bite. The sweetness that burst in his mouth was grounding, steadying - it reminded him of you, and his parents, and all the good things in his life.

When he glanced over to the bars of his cell, he was gone.

Chapter Text

Your fingers drummed nervously against the tabletop, your anxious energy needing to go somewhere. You’d gone through this before - the short wait in the visitation room as the guards gathered Yancy and brought him over. It was just like normal - except, now you knew everything.

Yancy had opened up to you completely, telling you everything, trusting you with his darkest secret and his biggest regret and his inner demons - or, well, demon in his case. Because it was just the one.

That was the one thing he hadn’t told you, the man’s name. You didn’t want to ask though. It felt taboo, like too much, like giving that specter of memory more substance in the presence. Right now, Yancy was safe and free from him. Yancy just had to believe it.

It didn’t take long for Yancy to reappear with the guard, coming from the far door in the back. All the other visitors and prisoners alike turned and gave him a small nod, the curious acknowledgement given when someone walks into a room and briefly disrupts the chatter that has fallen amongst everyone.

As soon as you see him though, you stand. He gives you a sheepish wave, immediately averting his gaze. He was nervous - probably even more nervous than you were. You were scared that he might turn you away and want to be alone after he allowed himself to be so raw and vulnerable with you, but he was scared too - of what, you had some kind of idea.

When he gets close enough, you allow yourself what you’d only done since the last visit, pulling him into a tight hug. The stiffness is there as soon as you wrap your arms around him, and so you quietly say, “I’m here, Yance. Not going anywhere.”

And that’s all it takes for him to relax against you, his arms coming to loosely rest against your hips as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He takes a shaky breath, one you can feel against your skin and in the stutter of his chest against yours. He’s not hugging you exactly, as if he’s afraid to still, but all the tension drains out of him leaving him exhausted.

“I’s thought youse were never gonna talk to me again,” he whispered. “I’s didn’ even let myself hope youse were comin’ today.” His words formed and ghosted against the tender skin of your neck, and it only made you tighten your hold on him.

“Of course I was coming,” you said, letting go and looking up at him, putting a gentle hand to his cheek. He looked so unbearably sad. “Visitation’s every third sunday.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, a slow bloom across his face. “Youse right.” He held your gaze for a beat before turning his face, brushing his lips against your palm softly, all the while still looking at you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

It felt like all the air had been pulled out of your lungs. There was such a tenderness in his eyes, something that hinted at more as Yancy gauged your reaction. You smiled back, even as you felt your face begin to warm up. “Anytime, Yancy.”

The guard very loudly cleared her throat behind him. He gave her an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout that - I’s know we gotta keep some distance.”

She only gave him a nod, but she wasn’t reprimanding. “Just glad to see you closer to your old self.” She peeked around him to look at you. “Kid’s been like a kicked puppy for the last few days, just absolutely love sick.”

Yancy’s face turned a bright red as you felt your similarly grow hotter. “I - I’s haven’t been -” he began.

“I’m sure he’s just - just been,” you started.

“Oh fiddlesticks, you too?” she asked, letting out a long sigh. She shook her head, giving them a small salute and walking away. “You kids have so much to work out.”

“Well, I mean - she’s not wrong,” you got out after a few beats of silence. Yancy turned to you sharply, and that emotion you were sure about glittered in his eyes. “We do have a lot to work out, like your trust that I’m not leaving, for starters.”

“Yeah - yeah, youse right,” Yancy nodded quickly, looking away. You weren’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved or a curious mixture of both - but that could have also been you feeling all of that as you both avoided the inevitable conversation of your feelings for him. With everything so delicate right now, that was the last thing you needed to add to it all.

You guys finally sat down, right next to each other again. You lapsed into silence for a few minutes, just taking each other in, hesitance and fondness settling around the both of you.

“We don’t have to talk about what you told me, you know,” you assured him. “But I will listen, whether it's today or tomorrow or any other day, I’ll listen.”

He sighed, and that last bit of tension finally left the curve of his shoulders. “Maybe - just not today. ‘S too soon.”

“Okay,” you told him, expecting that. He needed time after laying himself bare. You patted on the small sweets box you’d brought with you. “I brought some more cookies - some are chocolate chip this time.”

“Chocolate chip?” he asked, raising a playful eyebrow. “Tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Well, yeeeaaah,” you answered, giving a shrug. “Thought I might shake things up to give you something new.”

“Youse know I’m jus’ happy with anything youse give me,” he said, giving you an easy smile. “I know I’s already said it, but thanks, Y/N. I - I’s don’ know what I’s woulda done without youse.”

Hearing that made you a little bold as you reached out, taking his hand in yours. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you either.”

“Found someone else with that sweet face ‘a youses,” he grinned, rubbing his thumb softly along yours. “Woulda become the ruler of the penitentiary, given time.”

“Pft, okay,” you laughed. “I would’ve had Tiny and Shithole Hank as my enforcers.”

“And what else?” Yancy asks, watching you with bright, curious eyes as you tell him about how life beneath you would’ve been at the penitentiary, this wild, colorful alternate reality that you’re so glad you don’t live in, because here, in this reality, you got to meet Yancy instead - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Chapter Text

Even though it was a Sunday - and Easter, to top it all off - you still felt much more comfortable setting out with the cover of night. You figured the office that held the prisoners’ records would be closed for the day, but you still didn’t want to risk it. You parked off in a tiny little diner off the highway about an hour’s walk from the prison, taking the trek over leaving your car somewhere closer. All your years of training kicked in, making you as stealthy as a shadow as you made your way through the woods, finally seeing the prison lights after about 45 minutes. You hadn’t made bad time at all.

The office you were looking for was separate from the prison proper, and so you headed straight over, the key burning a hole in your pocket more than it ever had. It would be so easy to follow the light and just crack open the gate, sneaking in and convincing Yancy to go with you.

You couldn’t though. You had to do it right.

Sighing, you doubled down on your decision. You were going to check those records.

Skirting around the small parking lot, you easily found the small side door. The camera was clear in view - as much a deterrent by it's obvious placement as by it's possibility of recording anyone there. You pulled out one of the bugs you had gotten from Mark earlier that day, after hanging up with Yancy.

“I thought you were going straight?” he’d asked, handing off the bugs to you at the Easter barbecue your parents were hosting.

“And I am,” you assured. You pocketed the small pieces of equipment, just a half dozen of them, all the size of an earring. “I just gotta get some information first.”

Creeping up from behind the camera, you softly stuck one of the bugs onto it. The red light of the bug whirred to life before switching to green - the camera had been disabled. Pulling out your key, you unlocked the side door, slipping inside.

As you had suspected, there were only 3 more cameras within the small building, with one pointing at the front door, one at the secretaries’ desks, and a third angled to take in both the hallway and back storage space. Taking those cameras out was a piece of cake too.

With that taken care of, you hesitated in the hallway. You weren’t sure if you should just look up the information on the computer’s database, or if you should just look for it among the filing cabinets. Logging into the database held more of a risk to being caught - the agency had drilled it into your head to go old school whenever possible - but there was the chance that what you were looking for wouldn’t be among the dusty boxes in the back.

Still, old habits die hard, you reasoned, turning away from the computers and heading into the back room.

Pulling out your flashlight, you flicked it on, holding it up with your mouth as you began rummaging through. It was monotonous work, sifting through dates that ranged from weeks to months to years - monotony that let you lull yourself into your own thoughts.

“Happy Easter,” Yancy had greeted as soon as you accepted the call from Happy Trails.

You couldn’t fight off the smile that spread across your face as you rolled over in your bed. “Happy Easter,” you answered. “You’re up early.”

“S’only eight,” he commented. You could pretty much hear the smile on his face from the sound of his voice. “Aww, did I wake youse up, Y/N?”

“No,” you huffed. A half lie - you’d been in an in between sleep and awake state after you’d forgotten to turn off your alarm and it’d rung to wake you up about a half hour earlier. “But I am still in bed,” you admitted.

He hummed happily at that. “Any plans for the day?”

You told him about your family’s yearly tradition - tacos in the backyard, getting guilted by the family dogs to sneak them pieces of meat when your mom wasn’t looking.

“Sounds like fun,” he told you. Then, almost wistfully, he added, “Can’t wait to be out there, with youse.”

That made your heart stop. “With me?” you asked, voice a whisper.

“Yeah - I’s mean, if-if youse want,” he immediately rushed out. “But it's - yeah, it's nothin’ just forget about it.”

But you hadn’t forgotten about it - it had stuck with you all day, and when Mark had texted that he was about to head over to your parents’ place, you had asked him to bring the equipment you needed as the plan began to take form in your mind.

Yancy had always been adamant that he was a bad person - a terrible person, who had done terrible things. He’d told you what happened, in vague terms, but you weren’t going to press him for the traumatizing details. You had seen and read his remorse in his words, and you believed him.

Now, though, you were going to do some digging to find the evidence you needed to back up your beliefs.

You picked up another file, about to set it to the side when you saw the name Yancy written in looping script, the last name rubbed off from how often it’d been handled. The manila folder was old and weathered, ancient in comparison to some of the other folders you’d set aside, but when you cracked it open you could see the papers inside were from various dates - with the oldest being about 8 years old.

Taking a deep breath, you sifted through the papers until you found exactly the ones you were looking for - the court records. You skimmed through it, feeling your throat close up when you saw the neatly penciled in Found guilty on two counts of homicide but stopping short when you reached something new - something Yancy had never told you about.

Despite conclusive evidence that there was another culprit that had a significant role in the crime, the defendant’s confession has led the jury to this verdict. Per the written report of the psychiatric evaluation, it was found that -

You set that paper aside, quickly finding the psychiatric evaluation and the flipping to the last page of the court proceedings, the appendix that held all the pieces of evidence that were used in the trial. There were fingerprints and blood splatters that didn’t match Yancy’s or either of the victims’ - clothing fibers and hair samples that also matched neither of the three. There was a second person involved.

Tearing your eyes away from the damning new evidence, you read through the report, seeing the words trauma and shock and repressed come up over and over and over again, the report painting a picture of a Yancy that was so tormented by what had happened to his parents, by the part that he played in it all, that he took sole responsibility of it all out of guilt. He never brought up an accomplice or a leader, no matter what the evidence said.

However, whenever the possibility of someone else being involved is brought up, a dark cloud crosses over his face that disappears in the blink of an eye. He is repressing whatever truly happened that night heavily.

Although it is not my place to theorize about the crime, I do believe that whoever the second person was was the true criminal here. They were not an accomplice of the defendant, but instead seemed to have orchestrated it and left Yancy with the consequences.

Your heart pounded loudly in your chest and your hands shook. Here Yancy was, years later, believing he was a monster when it seemed like everything pointed at someone else. You thought about the letter he had sent you, the one talking about his friend - the charming, mysterious man that had lured him in before disappearing.

Before disappearing that very same night.

Maybe - maybe, definitely it wasn’t a coincidence.

Even though it felt like an insane revelation, you shoved it to the back of your mind. This was much more than you bargained for when you came down the Happy Trails for breaking and entering.

There was a second page to the psych eval, one dated a year after the first one.

It is my sincerest recommendation to send him to a rehabilitation penitentiary rather than a prison proper. It would serve him best to be under those conditions, with other prisoners that are not high risk and may help him regain his mental and emotional balance.

So that’s why he had been brought to Happy Trails. You’d always found it strange that he’d been the only one imprisoned on double homicide when all the rest were petty theft or nonviolent drug offenses - the most dangerous crime aside from Yancy’s was a case of arson gone off the rails that had ended in millions in property damage.

You sifted through to newer forms, finding one dated three years ago, and a handful of months ago. The first one was a Formal Notice of Potential for Release on Parole . Reading through it, you found that he was set to be released on parole for good behavior. At the very bottom, a bright red DENIED was stamped in, with a small penned in reason: violent altercation with a prisoner. No outstanding injuries, but enough to cancel the chance of release.

Reading through the second page, you found something similar. A form announcing that he could be released on parole, and then the bright red DENIED stamped across. The reason was the same: Violent altercation with a prisoner. No outstanding injuries, sent to solitary while the other offending prisoner, still relatively new to the penitentiary, was escorted back to their cell.

Something rang familiar about that, and checking the date you realized that the other offending prisoner had been you. You had thought that his resorting to fight you had been some typical prison hazing, but the more you’d gotten to know him, the less like him it seemed - and now you were seeing it for what it was. He was ruining his chances for parole.

And from the way he talked about it, it seemed like it was because he didn’t feel like he was worthy of being released.

Checking the papers one last time, you saw the date for when he would be up for parole again. In three years.

You put the papers back into the folder, putting it away and arranging all the others exactly the way you had found them.

“Can’t wait to be out there, with youse.”

Flicking off your flashlight and stuffing it into your pocket, you pulled off your black beanie, running a shaky hand through your hair.

Three years was a long time. Too long.

You snuck out of the office building, carefully removing all the bugs you had used, looking at the prison as you began to weave your way back to where you had parked your car. You’d found out everything you needed to know, you thought to yourself. He was finally thinking about being out, of the world beyond the walls of Happy Trails.

He was finally letting himself consider it - and he wasn’t the monster that he believed he was. The evidence spoke for itself.

And you sure as hell weren’t going to let him stay in there, especially when he couldn’t wait to be outside with you, and with the key a lead weight in your pocket that you wished you could use already.

Chapter Text

The guard inspected the box carefully, like they inspected all the previous gifts you had brought along. This time you brought a couple of brownies that sat snuggly beside the snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies - all homemade, even though it was still tricky business for you every time. You hoped Yancy liked them again.

“You’re good to go,” the guard told you, putting the box back on the counter and giving you a smile.

“Thank you very much,” you started, picking up the box before frowning. “Oh, no,” you got out, putting it down again. “I-I forgot to add my letter to it - is it okay if I run back to my car and grab it?” you asked.

“Yes, of course, dear,” the guard nodded, opening up the drawer where they had stashed your keys with your phone and pulling out your keys.

“Is it okay if I leave this here?” you gestured to the box.

“Of course,” the guard assured you, and so you stepped away, heading for the exit. You breathed a sigh of relief as soon as you were outside. That was just the first part of your plan.

Quickly grabbing the letter - and making sure that if held up to light it would look as merely that, just a letter - you locked the door to your car again, putting your keys in your pocket and heading back. You gave the guard a warm smile as you waved the letter at them before tucking it into the side of the box when they made no motion to stop you.

The buzzer above the door that would lead towards the visitation room went off, letting you know that you were able to go through. You quickly went in, taking your sweet, sweet time before you heard the door you came through open and shut again.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” the guard called out, and you stopped, turning to them. They came to a stop right in front of you. “The metal detector went off,” they explained.

“Oh, shit - I’m sorry,” you said, fishing your keys out of your pocket and giving the guard a sheepish smile. “I really am forgetting everything today.”

Giving you a small sigh, the guard took the keys back from you. “It’s really nothing - just glad it's just your keys.” They motioned for the door that would lead to the visitation room. “Now head on over and have a nice time during your visit.”

Smiling, you nodded. “Thank you very much - and sorry, again.”

“It's perfectly alright, dear,” the guard reassured you, waving you off.

Turning around, you almost felt a little bad that you were pulling this off at their expense. Still, you reasoned, once the plan was pulled off, no one would ever even find out - there was no risk that that guard was going to get in trouble.

And, so, as you stepped into the visitation room you left part two behind you.

You found an empty table, setting the box down gently as you took a seat, waiting with bated breath until Yancy came out.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long as a guard brought him out shortly after. He waved happily at you, and you instantly got up, reaching out for him before you pulled your hand back, sitting down again and patting the seat beside you.

There was the briefest flash of disappointment that crossed his face, but his smile was still bright as he sat beside you.

“Did youse miss me?” he asked, teasing and light.

“Not as much as you missed me,” you answered, raising a brow and smiling at him.

“That’s - yeah, that’s probably true,” he shrugged. “Youse know I’m always lookin’ forward to seeing youse again.”

Hearing that makes you blush. Even though you should be used to him saying things like that - he’d started being more honest and open with his feelings - it still caught you off guard. It brought up your feelings for him in full force, feelings that you had been trying so hard to wrestle down. Besides, right now wasn’t the time. You needed to be focused on what was to come ahead, if Yancy was on board.

“This for me?” he motioned to the box on the table.

You nodded. “I hope you like brownies.”

He looked up at you, eyes glittering. “I’m sure I’ll love ‘em.” He opened up the box, pulling out the letter that had been tucked into the side. He grinned. “A visit and a letter? Today must be my lucky day -”

“Wait, stop -” you got out, scrambling to reach for the letter. You both froze, and you instantly pulled back again, dropping your hands into your lap and looking down at them, absolutely mortified. “I was just - you know, that letter’s for you to read after I leave. Later tonight.”

“Y-yeah, ‘course, Y/N,” he said, tucking the letter back into the box and instead picking up a brownie. He hummed happily. “Told youse I was gonna love ‘em,” he mumbled between bites.

You gave him a half hearted smile, still nervous that something would go wrong and everything would go down the drain. You felt a tentative hand seek yours beneath the table, and you opened up your hand, letting Yancy thread your fingers together.

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm,” you got out. You swallowed hard, squeezing his hand. “It’s nothing, really. Just, something that’s been on my mind for a bit.”

He gave you a worried look, his eyes searching your face. He leaned in a little closer. “Youse promise?”

You were going to nod, but instead you blurted out, “Do you trust me?”

His worried expression gave way to confusion. “‘Course I trust youse.”

“Okay,” you nodded. You leaned in closer, letting yourself press closer to his side. He seemed a little surprised, but didn’t comment on it. “I just - I just wanted to know,” you shrugged.

Yancy gently ran his thumb over the side of your hand. “Well, I do trust youse. With all my heart.”

You held his gaze, and it would be so, so easy to just close the distance, but instead you leaned your chin on your free hand. “So, what’s new around here?”

The rest of the visit was filled with short anecdotes that hadn’t made it into either of your letters, little things that had happened around the Penitentiary - Tiny had led a short workshop on decorating Easter eggs, and on actual Easter day Happy Trails was filled with confetti from broken eggs that everyone had thrown at each other.

It was strange to think that you were so close to where that had all happened mere hours before you’d gotten to the records office.

In turn, you told him about the baked goods that you had tried to create, the ones that had been failures but that he would be trying soon enough after you got the hang of them. It was an easy conversation, touching on nothing heavy - and you could tell that Yancy was trying extra hard to keep you distracted from what was on your mind.

All too soon though, like all your previous visits, it was time for you to go.

You both got up, with Yancy about to walk off after the guard when you abruptly pulled him into a tight hug.

“Trust me, please?” you whispered.

He only had one arm around you, with the other holding onto the box you’d brought him. “I do,” he promised, pressing his lips to your temple. Not a kiss, exactly, but he could feel that something was going on, and you knew it was his way of comforting you.

“Yancy,” the guard started, the warning clear in their voice.

You broke apart, your fingers trailing down his arm. “I’ll be waiting,” you told him. His brow furrowed again, but before he could say anything, you said, “Please, read it when you’re alone.” And then, for the first time in all of your visits, you turned around and left before Yancy had so much as stepped away from the spot.

Part three was over, and now the ball was in Yancy’s court - but like you said, you would be waiting, for him.

Chapter Text

The night after your visit, Yancy hadn’t hesitated to pull out your letter. There was an old key tucked into the paper, with the letter being short, much shorter than anything you’d ever written him before. It was just a simple set of instructions, with a date scrawled into the bottom.

This key can unlock absolutely anything. If you trust me, meet me outside, on April 25th. It’ll be the perfect date.

An escape, that’s what you had planned. And Yancy did trust you, truly, more than he’d ever trusted anyone before - but the key...well, that just sounded so outlandish.

So, for the rest of the week, he’d kept it tucked under his pillow, just stewing over that handful of words. He trusted you - he just didn’t trust himself.

He looked up at the grey brick of the ceiling in his cell. Lights out had been called only an hour ago, and with nothing to do Yancy knew going to bed would be for the best. It would be the 25th within hours, and he still had no idea what to do.

Rolling over, he grabbed a hold of the key beneath his pillow. Maybe - maybe after sleeping he’d figure out what to do. It was now or never, and he hoped that sleep would bring answers as he curled in on himself and waited to nod off.

Even though he had been through this countless times, as soon as he saw the familiar layout of his childhood home, he felt his blood run cold. He stumbled backwards, his back hitting the front door. His mother’s hand lay outside of the open doorway, coated in blood.

He blindly reached behind him, twisting the doorknob frantically, but, like always, it didn’t budge. He squeezed his hands into fists, closing his eyes to ward off the image he knew lay in the dining room, feeling something bite into the palm of his hand at the motion.

Looking down, he saw that he was holding the key from the letter.

This key can unlock absolutely anything.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around, shoving it into the keyhole before twisting it, and, to his life saving surprise, the lock clicked open, the door pushing out, swinging on its hinges.

Yancy didn’t even hesitate. He crossed the threshold quickly, tripping over himself in his haste, but to his utter disappointment, he found that he was back inside, at the end of the hallway.

The door to the dining room sat between him and the front door now, and he could hear voices - he heard himself, his voice desperate and pleading, and he heard that same silky soft voice that had haunted his dreams for so long.

“Just finish them, Yancy - that’s all it’ll take.”

“I-I - I didn’t want to hurt them! I just wanted them to-to - I just wanted to give them a little scare, to show them how strong I’ve gotten,” the other Yancy shouted.

His heart jumped to his throat. It was that night - this was how it happened.

He creeped closer to the dining room door, moving as quietly as he could before he peeked inside. He could see himself cowering on the ground, coated in blood, his father’s face beaten in beyond recognition while his mother weakly tried to drag herself out of the room.

Towering over past-Yancy was him - immaculately tailored suit speckled in blood and gore, a hammer gripped loosely in his hands. He dropped it in front of past-Yancy.

“Finish her,” he ordered.

Past-Yancy shook his head slowly, eyes wide. “I won’t,” he choked out. He pushed the hammer away. “No.” He reached for it, picking it up and then throwing it across the room, sending it into the china display that sent all his mother’s dishes crashing to the ground to shatter on the hardwood tiles. “I won’t!”

The man shook his head, tutting disappointedly. “Oh, Yancy,” he crooned. He crouched down in front of him, taking his face in his hands. “I really expected more from you.” He stood up, walking across the room and picking up the hammer as if he were picking up a fallen pencil. “I should have known you didn’t have it in you.”

“What are you doing?” past-Yancy asked, but Yancy, this Yancy, the Yancy watching all of this, remembered what happened. He knew what was coming next.

“I’m finishing this,” the man said simply, coming to stand over his mother as she reached out of the dining room with one hand. He flashed past-Yancy a predatory grin. “I’ve always been the killer, after all.”

Yancy looked away, not wanting to see it again as past-Yancy screamed.

There was absolute silence after that as Yancy dropped the hammer on his mother’s unmoving chest, beginning to head for the door.

Past-Yancy just sat there, a puddle of tears surrounded by pools of blood, the sound of the front door opening and closing with a resounding thud the only thing that filled the silence. It felt like an eternity passed before past-Yancy crawled out of the room, past his parents, crawling over to the door where he tried to open it, dissolving into sobs when it didn’t budge.

Yancy watched it all unfold with tears in his eyes, knowing that this - this was what he had been hiding away from this whole time. He had convinced themselves he was their killer - it was easier to stomach, for him, than to admit that he’d let their murderer go free.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tearing his eyes away from his parents as he walked away. He had the key held tightly in his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly to himself, to the boy turned monster that could barely breathe from the force of his tears.

He fit the key in the lock, feeling it click again, and pushed the door open.

He sat up abruptly, looking around. He was in his cell, it was still dark out - he couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour or two. He pulled his hand out from beneath the pillow, his fingers still wrapped around the key.

If you trust me, meet me outside, on April 25th.

An hour or two - he’d been asleep for an hour or two. He stood up from his bed, rushing over to the bars of his cell and looking down the hall at the little digital clock that hung there. 11:11 , it read.

Not the 25th yet. He looked around his cell, at his meager belongings, at the box full of your letters and his manuscript and snippets of musical numbers, and the box full of the sweets you brought him, and the tiny toolbox for his woodcarving. On the small side table he had by his bed he had the few books you had lent him and the Christmas sweater you’d bought him, a neatly folded reminder of you. It would be easy to fashion some sort of little sack out of his blanket where he could put all of that into.

It’ll be the perfect date .

Yeah, Yancy thought, shoving the key into his pocket and looking back at the clock. 11:15 . He still had time to get ready for the perfect date - and he had someone on the outside waiting for him.

Chapter Text

You weren’t sure if it was overkill to show up at midnight on the 25th, but you wanted to be ready just in case Yancy was very, very punctual. You were hiding out in the woods, having left your car at the diner again. Whether he came out or not, you didn’t want to draw any suspicions - especially when you didn’t have the key anymore.

Letting out a breath, you shook the thought out of your head. You needed to stop thinking like that - you trusted that he would come out. You trusted that he trusted you. You rolled over onto your back, starting to count out stars and point out constellations, anything to keep your nerves at bay. He trusted you.

The minutes dragged on like hours, with your only company being the crickets that sang out in the underbrush. You considered pulling out your phone, at least to kill the time, but felt that even that was too risky at this distance.

Still, you snuck a peek. 12:37 . Not even an hour in.

Sighing, you let your head drop into your hands. Man were you impatient.

Just then, a quiet sound drew your attention to the penitentiary. You ducked down, keeping low to the ground, trying to make out the figure as they hauled out a white bag before softly shutting the door behind them. You squinted, willing your eyes to adjust to the darkness and the distance, and as they walked further away from Happy Trails - and closer to you - you began to recognize that walk, lazy and confident, but a little more hurried, a little more urgent, this time around. As they got closer, you recognized more than that - recognizing the slope of those shoulders, the curve of his neck. He had always had such a dynamic silhouette, you thought as you realized that even in the middle of the night you recognized him. 

“Y-yancy?” you blurted out, all caution thrown to the wind just like that.

He whipped his head in your direction, stopping in his tracks. “Y/N?” he whispered loudly, looking around.

You slowly stood up from where you were hiding, waving at him to get his attention.

Sure enough, he broke out into a giant smile when he finally saw you, starting to head in your direction, picking up the pace as you began to make your way over to him.

The both of you were only a half dozen feet away from each other when he let his bag drop to the ground, and suddenly he was hugging you tightly, his arms around your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he lifted you up, saying your name over and over and over again. And it felt so natural, to be pressed up against him, to feel his hands holding you against him, to feel the way his breath shuddered him his chest and his heart beat against yours.

“It’s me, buddy,” you assured him, holding on tight. You never wanted to let go, not now when you finally had the chance to keep him in your arms. “I’m here - you’re out and I’m here, and we’re going home.”

“Home?” he asked, setting you down gently. His expression was hopefully but careful, unsure in what he heard and hesitant in his eagerness.

Realizing what you said, you nodded. You weren’t going to take that back now. “Yeah, home - with me, if you want?” You felt so vulnerable getting that out, and even though you weren’t saying it outright, you felt that Yancy had gotten to know you through those visits and phone calls and letters in a way that let him read between the lines.

“Oh, Y/N, nothing sounds better than being with youse,” he grinned, ducking down before pausing. His eyes reflected everything you’d been trying to run away him, everything you wanted but you didn’t dream you could have. “I really want to kiss youse,” he breathed. “Is that alright?”

And just like that, everything you'd felt flooded your chest as you surged forward, closing the distance between you two. His lips were soft against yours, and he tasted like peppermint and honey and you never knew you’d love that combination, but you did as you felt him smile against your lips.

“Is that alright?” you repeated, pulling away with a shy smile. You knew that he would have kissed you had you just said yes, but knowing that he wanted to had made you jump at the chance.

Yancy looked at you as if you’d hung the stars in the night sky. “More than alright,” he got out, pulling you in for another kiss. “ Now I’m finally freeeee, ” he sang out, making you laugh and bury your face into the crook of his neck, because of course he would. “ You’re my only luxuryyy ,” he continued, picking you up and twirling your around.

“You’re such a dork,” you told him, fond as ever.

“But I’m your dork,” he finished, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You gave him another kiss as he set you down, and another, and another, letting your fingers tangle in his dark hair to keep him close. Now that you’d finally closed the distance, you felt like you couldn’t get enough. “Mhm,” you hummed. “My dork.” You nudged him with your hip. “Now grab your things and let’s go before they lock us both up again.”

“Hopefully we become cellmates,” he teased, reaching down to hold your hand before grabbing his things.

“Cellmates,” you laughed, rolling your eyes and ignoring the way your heart jumped at how close that sounded to soulmates . “You’re unbelievable.”

He shrugged, picking up his singing again. “ Now I’m finally freeeee, and now you’re here with meee, ” he continued, ad libbing the words as he went, and never missing a moment to press a quick kiss to your cheek as you began to lead the way back to your car, no longer afraid of getting scolded for being too close, and now having the chance to make up for all that lost time.

Chapter Text

You scooped out a dollop of batter into one of the muffin tin molds, making sure it was just the right amount that it wouldn’t spill out of the wrappers lining it. You brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, going back to the job at hand with meticulous precision.

It was only blueberry muffins though - you could handle it. You hoped.

The chocolate chip cookies in the oven were coming along wonderfully, and you had already whipped up the materials for snickerdoodles too, but this - these muffins were new, and that made you worried that you might mess them up.

Yancy will still appreciate them all the same , you reminded yourself. He’d help you make more if you messed them up anyway.

Speaking of, you could hear the sound of the shower shutting off, meaning that Yancy was on his way out.

“Shit,” you cursed, moving to scoop more batter into the molds, getting stray drops all over the muffin tin in the process. You didn’t slow down though, wanting to have them all ready to slip into the oven before Yancy was done with his shower.

Since getting Yancy out of Happy Trails, he had made himself completely at home in your studio. You weren’t complaining - if anything, you were ecstatic to have him there. You’d fallen into a routine with each other, sharing chores and living space - and, well, kisses now that that had developed between the two of you. He slept on the bed, despite how often you offered to share with him, but more often than not that just led to the two of you falling asleep on the couch together, waking up in a tangle of limbs and shy smiles the next morning.

You had even started to bring him around whenever you visited your family, with your parents finding him endearingly charming and your sister being briefly suspicious of him before he won her over with his theatricality. And as for Mark...well, it would take some time for Mark to get over the “protective brother” mode that Yancy had apparently activated.

Smiling at the memory of Mark stubbornly sitting between you and Yancy when you last had your sister and Mark over for movies, you finished filling up the last muffin mold when your phone began to ring, the timer for the chocolate chip cookies going off. You reached over across the counter, tapping it off and starting a new timer again before you grabbed a stray dish rag and opened up the oven, pulling them out and setting them on the stovetop before picking up the muffin tin and sliding it into the oven.

“Somethin’ smells absolutely delicious,” Yancy drawled - right on time.

“Oh, you know,” you said casually, leaving the dishrag beside the sink. “Just making cookies,” you finished, grabbing the spatula to begin to peel the cookies off to set them on the cooling rack.

“Fresh outta the oven?” he asked, and suddenly he was behind you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pretending like you didn’t notice him hugging you from behind.

“When will they be ready?”

“In a couple minutes,” you shrugged. You felt his fingers start to trace circles into your stomach.

“Wanna kill some time?” he volunteered. His voice was low, his breath ghosting over your shoulder.

You guys were always teasing each other - at first completely on accident, but now that you lived together and that you had both happily admitted your feelings for each other it had turned into a sort of game. A game that you were always trying to win.

“Do you have any ideas?” you asked, turning around to face him - and realizing very quickly that maybe he was going to win this round. His hair was still damp from the shower, falling into his eyes, a stray water drop or two falling onto his bare shoulders before rolling down his chest - showing you how very, very shirtless he was and how very, very in shape he’d always been. “Oh, ah -”

“Youse got a little bit of,” Yancy started, wiping something off your face with a finger. “Batter?” He licked it off, not breaking eye contact with you the whole time. “Delicious.”

“That is so not fair,” you whined, glad that you hadn’t stuttered with how flustered you were.

“I have no idea what youse talkin’ about,” he shrugged, his casual look turning into a full blow grin as you pouted. He ducked down to give you a kiss. “Youse know I can’t resist that look.”

You pressed up into him, giving him a peck. “And you know I can’t resist this,” you patted his arms, “look.”

“It's why I always forget to grab a shirt,” he admitted, giving you a kiss on the cheek, his hands moving to rest on your hips.

And, fuck, it would be so easy to just lean back up and give him another kiss -

You turned around, pulling over a fresh baking sheet and getting ready to start ladling out snickerdoodle batter. “Let me finish this up and then we can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You glanced at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Whatever you want.”

He hummed happily at that, letting you continue with your baking in comfortable silence - for a few minutes.

“ Wise men say ,” he began to sing. “Only fools rush in -”

You rolled your eyes fondly at him. It was only a matter of time before he started singing.

“ But I can't help falling in love with you.” Yancy poked your side, making you laugh as you got halfway through the batter. “ Shall I stay? Would it be a sin - ”

He began to gently sway you back and forth, letting the song hang in the air as you finished with the snickerdoodles and left the spoon in the mixing bowl.

“If I can't help ,” Yancy spun you around, leading you in an impromptu dance in your tiny kitchen.

“Falling in love with you? ” you finished with him, letting him pull you into a hug before you met him halfway, smiling against his lips as he kissed you.