𝓐𝓻𝓲𝓪 💋

"You sure I will be welcome there?" You asked for what must have been the hundredth time as you smoothed down your jedi robes. Your boys from the 501st had invited you to go 79s together so you could 'drop the stoic jedi act' in their words and finally relax away from orders and rules.

Not that you were particularly rule-abiding and the most tame jedi anyway; that was impossible while working so close with the 501st who thrived on chaos. But leading men into their deaths definitely didn't leave your particularly relaxed on most days.

Maybe they had a point.

"Of course, General," Jesse threw an arm around your shoulder. "Why else would we invite you?"

"If you say so." You let your gaze travel over the bustling crowd already spilling out of the bar. "And stop calling me general when we're off duty."

"Sure thing… General," Jesse replied with a self-satisfied smirk .

"There's usually a bunch of natborns in there anyway," Echo remarked, bumping into Jesse with a knowing look in his eyes as he walked past the two of you and quickly disappeared in the crowd.

Jesse stumbled slightly, whatever silent message had passed between them making the back of his neck flush with heat he desperately tried to ignore.

"Besides, why would we ever make fun of you, General?" Fives piped up and you shot him a glare that did nothing but make him smile innocently. They played their fair share of pranks on you all the time.

You stopped counting the amount of latrine duty they all had raked up a long time ago.

Finally, you entered 79s and the smell of alcohol and the blast of music hit you right away. The Force around you seemed to brighten, the shadows of the war lifting as clones let loose in various ways.

Booths around the place were filled with clones trading stories and drinks, others were on the dance floor mingling with civilians. Some small groups were at the bar, challenging each other loudly about who could drink more, and you recognized some men from the 212th among them.

A hand on your lower back snapped you back to the present.

"All good there, General?" Jesse asked, eyes looking like a puppy's and so cute.

"Yeah… yeah, just a lot," you admitted. It wasn't that you had never been at a bar but the happiness was bordering on the edge of overwhelming.

"Alright, just let me know when you need to step outside." He smiled, steering you towards a booth were Hardcase, Echo and Kix were already engrossed in a conversation with multiple colourful drinks in front of them. They looked up once you came closer, greeting you with smiles.

Jesse slid into the booth first, right next to Kix, and you sat down next to him. A few moments later, Fives arrived with a tray of shots (how he got them so fast was a myth to you) and he sat across from you next to Echo.

"Well, General, how well can you hold your alcohol?" Hardcase asked with a grin, already reaching for one of the shot glasses.

You didn't reply, instead also reaching for a glass and downing it in one go, barely scrunching your face as the cool, burning liquid ran down your throat, leaving a familiar aftertaste. "I've been drinking for much longer than you boys, I think I can handle myself."

"Ohhh, someone's up for a challenge," Fives teased, downing his own shot and already getting up to get more rounds. "Any preferences?"

"Make it strong," you said. The loud noise around you was already giving you a headache and maybe Jesse had been right and you desperately needed to relax.

You were never admitting to that thought, the teasing would be relentless.

"Don't get in over your head, General," Jesse leaned against you, plucking another shot glass from between your fingers to drink it himself.

You only rolled your eyes, deciding in that moment that yes, you would out-drink them all just to prove them wrong and because you wanted another reason to tease them. They had been a bit too cocky recently.

——————————

"Okay, I'm out too," Echo placed his glass on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Guess the General won," Jesse frowned, nursing a glass of water for some time now and leaning most of his weight against your side. He had tapped out earlier, a little after Kix, who had shot him a glare that always meant he was supposed to stop.

"So, what do I get as my prize?" You leaned back, arms crossed. You looked pleasantly buzzed at this point and any tension had melted from your body, making you a comfortable cushion for his head.

"What about a kiss from your favourite clone?" Fives suggested, puckering his lips and making kissing noises.

Jesse could feel the eyes of most of his brothers landing on him, all of them way too aware of his crush on their general. He kicked Fives under the table.

"How about you behaving for a week?" You proposed, shaking your head at Fives' idea.

"We always behave, General," Jesse sat up straight again, putting on his most innocent face and he was — predictably — met with a blank face.

"If you're innocent, I'm the leader of the separatists."

"Oh, come on, we're not that bad!"

The conversation spiralled further from there. Scenarios were made up and various stories shared while the alcohol was more and more replaced with water and other non-alcoholic drinks.

It was a good night.

——————————

"I'm gonna call it a night," you muttered after looking at the time. A stack of reports was waiting for you and you could not afford to nurse a too bad hangover tomorrow.

"Don't get lost on the way back!" Echo called after you, eliciting multiple laughs around the table as you rolled your eyes.

As you tried to make your way through the crowd, you heard some arguing and then some final grumbling from the table behind you, which you pointedly ignored.

The result of the discussion caught up with you at the door of the bar, as Jesse caught up with you.

"I thought you didn't want to leave yet?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Ah," he flushed slightly, "Well… the others thought it would be best if you weren't alone."

"The others? So not you?"

"I— I… well… I guess I'd feel safer too?" It was dark outside but you didn't need to see his face to know he was most likely blushing again. The Force told you enough about his nervousness.

"Seems I'm not getting rid of you then." You smiled a little to yourself. You had always enjoyed the presence of the ARC and having some time with just you two was rare, especially outside a battlefield.

But the atmosphere between the two of you didn't stay entirely relaxed as the two of you walked through the cramped alleys of Coruscant in a charged silence.

Sometimes, one of you would brush against the other but always pull back before it could be seen as anything other than accidental and yet —

And yet you couldn't stop thinking about how nice it would be to hold his hand or to have him lean against you again. It left you desiring things in a way you had never considered and the jedi order would not look favourably on it but… was it so wrong to search for these pieces of happiness in times like these?

"Jesse."

"General."

You both talked at the same time, stopping just inside an empty alleyway.

"You first, Jesse," you said, turning to look at him. The clone was even more nervous than before, fidgeting and glancing around as if to make sure you really were alone.

"I— okay, yeah fine. IlikeyoumorethanIshouldgeneral." He rushed before rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, I know this is—"

"I like you too, Jesse," you admitted, placing a hand on his shoulder and in that moment, all tension seemed to fall from him.

"Really?" His eyes lit up and his smirk returned.

"Yes, really." Now it was your turn to be nervous as you ducked your head and felt the back of your neck heat up.

A hand on your chin made you look back up and you were faced with Jesse's face hovering closer than you expected.

"May I?" He asked and you could only nod before he captured your lips in a kiss. It was barely more than a press of lips against each other — careful and sweet, with none of the heat you would have expected from him but you didn't mind.

When you parted, you stared at each other for a moment, just taking it all in until—

"Finally!!"

"It was about time!"

"Did they do it?!"

You both turned around, blushing furiously as you were met with Fives, Echo, Kix, and Hardcase standing on the other side of the valley.

"You followed us?" Jesse asked mortified.

"Of course we did. Wouldn't miss this for the world," Fives replied and you shook your head, tugging Jesse away from them.

the reminder makes him clutch you tighter. it's true, him and the turbulent relationship between him and sleep. but you make it easier. better. slumber feels a touch more conceivable after pinning you with an arm and slurping you his chin is all slick and drippy.

"c'mon, baby." jack's hands snake down to grab at your ass. kneading a silent plea. "stay, okay? just for a little bit..."

just a little bit. long enough to stuff him inside you and make you do that thing where you forget how to do anything except hug the guy and sob in his ear.

god, he likes that.

loves it.

lives for it, plus getting to kiss up on you like this after feeding you dinner and wine.

jack's victory comes in the stripping of your jack and your palms reaching to grab at his cheeks. hands scratching the stubble along his jaw, he feels you push yourself into his front. growing just as needy as him.

"...okay."

jack tugs your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls enough for you to feel it. he keeps the plus there as a tiny sound pushes out of him.

"yeah? okay?"

Hunter uses “baby” or “sweetheart”, likes the way it makes you react, how much quicker it catches your attention. But if you have a title, he likes to use them to subtly show off your accomplishments. Yeah, you’re his partner, but there’s so much more to you than that, and he’s beyond proud of who you are. 

Crosshair doesn’t really use pet names, and will make fun of people who do use them. However, he also doesn’t like PDA, so in public situations where he needs people to know you’re together without explicitly stating it, he’ll call you “Cyar’ika” the Mando’a for “Beloved”.  He doesn’t think it counts but it totally does. 

Wrecker calls you “baby”. And he isn’t casual about it, he uses it every chance he gets. Sometimes he’ll start talking about nothing, or ask you stupid questions just so he can call you that. 

Tech prefers “love” or “dear”. As you got older, he leaned towards “dear” more. Saying things like “Yes, dear?” in the mornings, and moments when you’re alone (or there are few people around). He will primarily use your first name, or a nickname if you insist, but that slowly shifts as you grow older, turning to a rise in use of pet names. You’ll never catch him calling you “babe”. 

Echo calls you “babe” or “honey” depending on how long you’ve been together. In the beginning, when you were dating, it was “babe”. But once you were married, or later when you were more committed with more years under your belt, it became “honey”. 

Jesse will, in unserious moments, call you “dude”. He does it so much it’s a pet name at this point. But when he’s trying to be romantic or just a little more serious, then he’ll use “babe”, also if he’s trying to show you off to friends or his brothers. 

Kix isn’t a big user of pet names, he thinks your name is just fine. But he likes when you use pet names on him. His heart skips a beat every time you call him “babe”, and you tease him about how he might have to check himself for complications on how red his cheeks get. 

Fives is a big user of “babe”. He uses it more than your actual name. Although he once went on a spree of using dumb pet names that you hated like “Sugarplum” and “Honey Bun” just to bother you, and because it was funny. He uses babe so much that when he uses your actual name it feels intimate, like he’s saying “I love you” without uttering the words. 

Rex doesn’t really use pet names, but he’ll use whatever your title is. This differs depending on what your job is, but an example would be “general” “commander” “senator” “captain” “chef” whatever it may be, he’ll use it. He’ll also call you by your last name more than your first, a kind of teasing formality. 

Cody likes calling you “love” or “baby”, but more times the latter. He somehow makes them sound formidable when it’s just a pet name, and you hear the warmth in his voice every time he says it. Around friends or family, he hardly uses pet names, thinking they’re informal. But that doesn’t mean they don’t creep up on him when he least expects it, and you watch as he realizes what he said. He quickly shrugs it off, like it was intentional, and that makes it even more meaningful. 

Wolffe is possessive, and doesn’t need to use pet names for people to understand that you’re off limits. He’s also said on multiple occasions that pet names are immature and childish, you’ve caught on to the embarrassment and the fact that he just doesn’t want anyone to catch him using them. But in those quiet moments, in the morning when he’s just waking up, you’ll hear a quiet whisper of “babe” “love” or “honey” so quiet that you think you misheard him. He won’t repeat himself, and deny that he even said anything to begin with.

Fox likes to, at work or in public, call you by your last name, and drop the “Mr/Ms/Mx” or whatever your title is. It feels intimate, like a secret only the two of you know, even if your relationship isn’t unknown. But in private, he hates bringing work home, and will use your first name like a fresh breath of air, like he’s been waiting all day to say it.

Mayday will call you “Lovely” “Gorgeous” “Beautiful” etc, things with syllables. He wants you to feel like every time he talks to you, he’s completely present, and it’s entirely meaningful to him. He’s holding onto everything you say, and articulate. He shows this by the pet names he calls you, which aren’t quick or throw-away terms by any means. He wants you to know how much you mean to him. 

Gregor called you “Mr/Mrs/Mx Captain Traitor” once, and now it’s become an inside joke, one that confused everyone around you. But the two of you find it funny, and it’s something just for the two of you to have. He’ll also call you “babe” or “baby” if he’s in the mood, or isn’t using your name or the first pet name. 

Emerie likes nicknames more than pet names. After you started calling her “Em” she decided to give one to you too. She isn’t a big user of pet names, some of them she finds to sound too casual, and that’s the last thing she feels for you. So a nickname, that she created for you, is her favourite.

Deran and Baz were getting the bank tellers to fill up bags with cash. The Cody brothers had been robbing banks for years and they had mastered bank robberies down to a science. It was supposed to be a simple job, in and out within ninety seconds. 

“Is that all the cash?” Baz asked. His voice was muffled slightly by the ski mask covering his face. 

“Y-y-yes,” the shaking bank teller nodded. 

“We got it. Let’s go!” Deran called out to Pope. 

The boys rushed past the counter, heading towards the back doors where Craig was waiting in the getaway car. They only had twenty seconds left before the police would get to the bank and surround the entire building. Deran was first to exit through the back door, followed closely behind by Baz and then Pope. As Baz ran past the teller counter, he tripped on the waste basket. 

“Shit,” Baz groaned as he stumbled into the counter. 

From there, everything happened in slow motion. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Pope saw the security guard reaching for his gun and pointing it at Baz. 

“Fuck,” Pope cursed under his breath. He looked ahead at Baz who was trying to get to the exit. Pope was sixteen seconds behind Baz, there wouldn’t be enough time for him to get out of the bank without risking both of them getting shot. 

“Baz and Pope, get the fuck out of there!” Craig’s voice crackled in his earpiece. 

It was against Pope’s nature to let someone he loved get hurt and in that moment, there was only one thing he could do. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the security guard, shooting him in the leg. The guard went down with a thud, clutching his right leg as he cried out in pain. At that same moment, he could hear the thud of the backdoor closing and the roar of the getaway car’s engine as it sped away; Baz had made it out. Then the unmistakable sound of sirens surrounding the bank rang in Pope’s ears, the familiar blue and red lights reflecting onto his face as police charged into the bank with guns drawn. 

“Drop your gun, put your hands on your head, and get on the fucking ground! Now!”

Andrew replayed that day nearly every second of the past few weeks since he arrived at Folsom State Prison. Although he didn’t regret sacrificing himself for Baz, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards his family. It had been just over three weeks and they had only visited him a few times. When they did visit him, conversations were limited, he could feel a distance between him and his family that only grew larger with each visit. They were moving on with their lives while he was suffering alone in prison. 

“Inmates line up against the wall!” Hilty, one of the brutal corrections officers yelled out. “Inside that library are volunteers from the California Prison Library Program. These are unpaid volunteers, so don’t give them any shit. You are expected to behave, shut your fucking mouths, and listen to them. If anyone falls out of line, that's an immediate loss of privileges. And if anyone really wants to fuck with me, you’ll be thrown into solitary. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” some of the inmates grumbled. 

“I know most of you can’t even fucking read, let alone care about books but you’ll suffer through it. The volunteers will be coming every Wednesday for the next month before they move on to a different prison. Get in there and sit down at the tables,” another corrections officer said as he handed out pamphlets about the library program. 

Before Andrew could step inside the library, Hilty stopped him. Placing an imposing hand on his shoulder, grip so tight it was intended to leave marks. “I’m keeping my eye on you. If you act up, I’m gonna throw you back into solitary. You remember what happens there, don’t you?” he asked, a sinister smile forming on his scarred face. . 

“Yes, sir,” Andrew nodded in a monotone voice. His eyes stared blankly into the library ahead, unable to meet Hilty’s beady eyes. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to punch Hilty square in the jaw but Andrew knew better. After beating up a prison guard in his first week at Folsom, the other guards retaliated by throwing Andrew into solitary, stripping him naked and blaring loud music for hours on end. The torture was relentless, seemingly endless attempts to break Andrew’s already broken spirit and Hilty was the ringleader behind the abuse. 

After Hilty let go of him, Andrew stuffed the library pamphlet into his breast pocket- the only pocket his orange jumpsuit had before he walked into the library and stood beside his cellmate, Vin. While Andrew wasn’t particularly fond of Vin- he talked too much and was too intrusive, Vin had been his only cellmate that lasted longer than a week. All of his previous cellmates had wound up in the infirmary after starting fights with Andrew. 

The prison warden was standing at the front of the library, calling up each volunteer before letting them introduce themselves. While Vin was whispering about how useless the library program was, Andrew found himself getting distracted by thoughts of his family. He wondered what jobs Smurf was planning, if Deran and Craig were out doing stupid shit, and whether Baz was taking care of Lena. The thought of Lena instantly sent a rush of melancholy through Andrew’s body, his perfect little niece who he was just starting to get to know before he was arrested. Lena was only three years old, just a baby in Andrew’s eyes and he hoped she wouldn’t forget him. 

Just as Andrew’s thoughts started drifting off to a darker place, as they often did when his mind went off on tangents, he heard your voice. The second you spoke, everything went quiet, which was more than rare for him. It was a miracle, divine intervention and you were that divinity. Your voice, so soft and sweet, was like that of a siren, your call luring him in. 

“Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” you took a step forward and introduced yourself to the inmates. You moved your hands around as you spoke about what you studied in university and how excited you were to be at Folsom. 

For the first time since Andrew arrived at Folsom a few months ago, he was happy to be there, because in the depraved cruelty and coldness of the prison, there you were, standing with his fellow inmates, an angel amongst demons. You were far too beautiful to be in such an ugly place but he was eternally grateful that you were here. He was sure that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“Reading has always been an outlet I use to escape-” you paused as you nervously glanced at the warden who met your gaze with a stern look and a subtle shake of his head at your word choice, “Sorry, that’s probably not the right word…but it’s just a great way to get away from your thoughts or whatever’s going on in your life. When I was younger, whenever things weren’t great at home, which to be honest was often, I would stay up all night with a blanket over my head and a flashlight in my mouth as I read books. For me, reading was an immersive experience that allowed me to take a break from all the thoughts in my mind and follow characters through their journeys of self discovery. I look forward to helping you guys do the same.” 

“Let’s give a round of applause to our volunteers,” the warden ordered. 

There was a scattered round of applause coming from the inmates but Andrew’s clapping, while fairly quiet so as not to draw attention to himself, was genuine. He admired the way you spoke about reading, you sounded so passionate and inspired. Your mention of reading at night to escape when things weren’t good at home resonated with him. He was all too familiar with trouble at home, Smurf was always pitting his siblings against each other, always vying to be in control of every situation. You didn’t have to share that part of your life, all the other volunteers had very surface level reasons for why they were volunteering- required community service hours, bullshit about helping the less fortunate, or a pretentious ramble on the pedagogical value of reading. But not you, you were real, honest, and vulnerable to people you didn’t even know, and not just people, convicts, men who had committed crimes the court deemed bad enough to be thrown into a six by eight feet cell. 

“You’ll be split into reading groups and assigned a volunteer to help you find something to read. Fifty inmates per group, each group will have three volunteers and six corrections officers,” the warden continued. 

Andrew held his breath while the groups were called out, hoping that he would be assigned to you. 

“Cody, group six.” 

“Group six over here by the window!” you called out. 

“I’m group eighteen. Tell me if someone gives you shit,” Vin said, patting Andrew on the back before heading over to join his volunteer. 

Before walking over to you, Andrew took a deep breath to compose himself. By the time he joined the group, you had already started speaking to some inmates, some of whom were shamelessly flirting with you. Although he had absolutely no reason to be, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy. He didn’t like the way the other guys were looking at you with hungry eyes like they wanted to eat you. 

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

“Ever been with a gangster?” 

You answered each flirtatious question with a pleasant smile, totally unfrazzled by the attention you were receiving. “No. I already answered that. And no. Now, let’s get started. I’m gonna get each of you to fill out a reading comprehension booklet. It has some standard reading comprehension questions- multiple choice along with some true and false that will help me gauge your literacy levels. Once you’ve finished those questions, make sure to fill out the ones about the genres or topics you’re interested in so I can help you find the right books.” 

The inmates each took a booklet and began answering the questions. Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he gripped the dull pencil tightly in his hand, trying his absolute best to answer the questions correctly. For some unknown reason, he wanted to impress you. As he answered the questions, his eyes kept gravitating towards you, as if there was a magnetic pull, willing his body towards you. 

With the other volunteers, it was clear that most of them were there for some ulterior motive. College students who were just there because it looked good on their resume and some older volunteers who probably just wanted to brag about volunteering; they didn’t really care about helping inmates read. But not you. You were there out of the kindness of your heart, although you seemed a little scared at first, you poured all your energy into helping people. You stood right beside each inmate, closer than anyone else would’ve stood, and helped them pick out books according to their literacy levels. You didn’t flinch or subtly move away from inmates if they got closer to you, instead, you leaned in, treated them like real people. 

Once he finished answering the questions, he stood up and walked towards the table you were sitting at with the other volunteers. He wanted to hand his booklet to one of the other volunteers. There was something about you, your overall presence that made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t because you were intimidating or seemed untrustworthy, it was the opposite. You had a warm, welcoming, and trustworthy presence. He wanted to be close to you, protect you, and let you disarm him. 

But you were the first one that looked up as he approached the table. 

His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would explode. He wasn’t someone who was easily rattled, he could crush someone’s carotid artery without breaking a sweat but with you, his hands were fidgeting by his sides and for someone whose stare was so intense that people were constantly avoiding his eyes, he struggled to meet your eyes. It felt sacrilegious for him to even look at you, someone as pure, sacred, and beautiful as you. Your eyes were full of love and kindness, he felt guilty whenever your perfect eyes met his dark, troubled eyes, the eyes that some people had looked into before dying. 

A kind smile formed on your face that had Andrew’s heart pounding even harder and his pupils dilating. “Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and sweet like honey as you took the booklet from him. 

You didn’t even know it but in that moment, Andrew pledged his devotion to you All it took was a smile and you become the centre of his universe. The light that radiated off of you reflected onto him, overpowering the darkness that had seemed to plague him his entire life before meeting you. 

“Inmates, take a seat at the desk and the volunteers will come by with books for each of you,” a corrections guard ordered. 

Andrew sat down at the desk and eagerly waited to see what books he would get. Unlike his sister Julia, he had never liked school. The teachers didn’t care, the subjects were useless, and the homework was too hard. Smurf never cared about his grades, she focused on the things she deemed more important like how to steal, lie, and cheat. But you made him excited about learning and reading because in his eyes, it was a way to get closer to you and understand you. 

One of the other volunteers handed him a reading sheet and three books. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed your name beside his assigned list of books. These were the books you had chosen specifically for him and he would treasure the books. 

As the first session of the library program was wrapping up, Andrew overheard two of the inmates talking. The second he heard your name in their conversation, he stood up straighter, his body rigid and alert. 

“Did you see the way that pretty one kept looking at me? She wants me, I could see it in her smile.”

“Wasn’t she smiling at everyone?”

“Nah, she gave me a look. Fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve seen fine shit like that walk through here. I can’t let her go without giving her some special lovin.”

Andrew’s jaw muscle twitched and his fists clenched at hearing those words. Solitary be damned, there was no way he would ever let anything happen to you. Within seconds, Andrew’s fist was pummeling into the inmate's face. The inmate was knocked to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a thud but Andrew didn’t stop. With his biceps flexing against the fabric of his orange jumpsuit, he grabbed the inmate’s hand, pressing it against the wooden leg of the table and kicked it as hard as he could. The sound of bone cracking echoed in his ears as the inmate cried out in pain, trying to clutch his limp wrist. 

“Cody, on the ground now!” the warden yelled as three guards restrained him. 

“I’m taking you straight to solitary,” Hilty sneered as he cuffed Andrew and led him towards the dreaded room. 

Even while Andrew sat in solitary, naked and strapped to a metal chair with heavy metal music blaring from the speakers, he was unbothered. As cold as the room was and as much as his body ached from the beating he had gotten from Hilty, he was at peace because now he had you. The thought of you pulled him out of the darkness, you had become his escape. 

Later that night when Hilty finally let him out of solitary, Andrew lay on his cot and pulled out the pamphlet of the library program from earlier. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of you, judging from the slightly shorter length of your hair, it was taken a few months ago. You were sitting in the library beside an inmate at another prison pointing at a section of books. Andrew held the picture close to his face and stared at the picture of you until the sun came up.

For the next month, Andrew watched you from afar, diligently taking note of all the books you talked about and mentally cataloguing every detail of you. He wanted to remember it all so that when the time came for his release, he would find you. Each night, he went to sleep with the photo of you from the pamphlet. He had torn out your picture as neatly as he could and stared at it all night. Sometimes he would play out conversations with you in his head, pretending that you were really there with him. He held the photo to his chest, wanting you to be as close as possible with the distant yet sure hope that someday, he would get to actually hold you in his arms. 

As the library program at Folsom was coming to a close, Andrew felt a sense of impending doom. You had been such a light in the darkness that consumed him, temporarily soothing his chaotic mind. He had grown attached to you and Wednesdays had become his favourite day of the week, solely because those were the days he got to see you. Each library session, he silently watched your every move and memorized every observable trait. He knew that the remaining five years and 10 months of his prison sentence would pass agonizingly slow so he wanted his memory of you to stay sharp. The thought of you would carry him through the rest of his sentence. 

On the final day of the prison library program, the urge he had to approach you and be close to you was stronger than ever but he held himself back. He didn’t want your first time meeting him to be in prison, that just wouldn’t be right. You deserved a real love story and that was exactly what Andrew would give you. 

Chapter 2: Obsession (coming soon)

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Then the evening breeze picks up. You shiver.

He picks up on it in an instant, shedding his suit jacket. Without it, the crisp, white dress shirt underneath fits snug over his rugged frame. He faces the river for half a second, and you swear you spy more muscle than Calvin Klein intended on accentuating.

"I'm okay, Jack, really," you insist, but Jack doesn't budge.

"I'm not having you catch a cold, angel," he pauses by a lamppost, holding his jacket by the lapel. He shakes it by way of encouragement.

You roll your eyes, then slip your arms through the sleeves. Jack sneaks a kiss to your cheek as he helps you in. It's oversized, but not so baggy you look like a little girl playing dress-up.

When you secure one of the buttons, the smell of his cologne wafts through to your nose. Sea salt, pine, and a light hint of musk.

The scent follows you all the way back to his home. It's a townhouse in Allegheny, with bones that must be over a hundred years old, made modern by a a semi-recent facelift.

Jack opens your door and offers a hand to help you out of the car. He hoists your overnight bag over his shoulder, then nods towards the front door.

He's been quiet since you left the riverfront, something you weren't expecting but aren't surprised by. As far as you know, he's never brought a woman back here, to the home he shared with his wife.

Warm, earth tones embrace you as you step inside. Accents of blues and greys invoke the feeling of a warm, summertime meadow under a clear sky.

You can tell almost immediately what tchotchkes are Jack's —utilitarian, sleek, and slim— and which belonged to his wife. The homemade quilt on the back of the armchair, for example. The painting of sunflowers above the fireplace. She was a welcoming spirit, and it lingers in between these walls.

Her presence —or lack thereof— is made clear by the obvious gaps along the wall by the staircase, little voids between family photos and ones of Jack with his friends. There's even one from about twenty-five years ago, if you had to guess, of Jack and Robby with their arms around each other. Stethoscopes dangle from their necks, and drunken, happy smiles stretch along their much younger faces.

But not a single one with his wife.

The primary bedroom is on the bottom floor, so you follow Jack's lead to the back of the house. He points out the kitchen, explains you're welcome to anything at any moment, then guides you into the bedroom.

A king-sized bed sits comfortably in the middle of the room. Two matching nightstands and two matching dressers make for a symmetrical spot-the-difference game.

Jack's side —the closest to the en-suite bathroom— is lived-in. A stack of books on the floor by the nightstand, a pair of reading glasses and a bottle of Advil on top. Folded pajama pants on the dresser.

The other side is barren. Spotlessly clean, to an almost clinical degree. If you had to guess, the drawers are all empty. The pillow on that side of the bed sits stiffly upright, as though it was recently purchased.

You feel her in here, too. It isn't a haunting, dramatic sort of feeling, but seeing this room —her room— carries a significant weight.

"You can use the bathroom first, angel," he says in a low rumble, pointing you towards the door.

You wash your face and moisturize, run a comb through your hair, and brush your teeth. The evening's romantic haze still swirls around your head like little cartoon cherubs as you slip into your pajamas.

You love Jack. You haven't quite garnered to bravery to tell him yet, but the feeling has made its home in your chest.

Your tummy is full, but not overly so, and your bones are heavy in the way that indicates a day well-lived. The bed is all too inviting when you emerge from the bathroom, even more so when you spy Jack resting against the headboard.

He's removed his prosthesis, changed into a pair of pajama pants and a loose grey t-shirt. The big light in the center of the ceiling has been flipped off, but both lamps on either side of the bed cast a calm, yellow glow over the room.

He doesn't look up when you round the bed. His eyes are locked on his left hand, where he twirls a familiar silver ring around his finger.

He doesn't say anything, either. In fact, the silence would be deafening, save for the low hum of the air vents.

Your climb into the bed is tentative, the creak and dip of the mattress finally tugging Jack from his trance. He schools his features into something less guilt-ridden, and pulls down the comforter for you.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, not quite looking at you.

"What for?"

"I should've…" his gaze passes over you, to the empty side of the room. "I wasn't thinking what it'd be like for you."

Hyper-empathetic old man.

"D'you miss her?" You ask, careful to sound curious, but not overtly sympathetic. You know he's gotten plenty of that.

Jack's gaze dips down at the silver ring on his left hand. Then he closes his eyes for a long moment, as though he's searching for the right thing to say.

"There's no wrong answer, honey," you add, reaching across the mattress to squeeze his thigh. "We can do whatever makes you most comfortable, but it feels disrespectful to pretend she never existed."

He nods, a slight quirk to his mouth as he meets your gaze. His brows furrow in that sad puppy sort of way, sending you reeling.

"I miss her every day," he admits, his voice low as he rubs the back of his neck. Self-soothing, you realize. Something he's had to do since she passed.

"I took the pictures down a few weeks ago," he explains, and when you incline your head to the side, he continues. "I felt guilty, coming home with my mind all full of you."

"What about now?" You ask, shoving your empathy for this sweet man down into the pits of your stomach so that you won't cry. Because if you cry, it becomes about you, and right now? Jack needs this to be about him, whether he's willing to admit it or not.

"Now?" Jack reaches out, tugs you by where the satin fabric loosens around your hips. You take the hint, and posture over his frame.

Knees dig into either side of his hips as you straddle him. Large hands graze over the plush of your sides, settling in their usual spot at the base of your spine.

"I think there's always going to be a part of me that feels guilty for moving on. But I talked to my therapist," he glances at the now-empty side of the bed. "And he asked me if falling for somebody new means I love her any less."

You nod, your palms sliding over his broad shoulders. You cap them and give a firm squeeze, encouraging him to continue.

“We decided that just because I hold a candle for you, doesn't mean the candle I hold for her is any dimmer," he says, digging his fingers into the small of your back.

You hum in response.

"The light I carry is infinite,” he adds, twisting his lips in the side of his mouth. The words come out practiced, a mantra, something he doesn't quite mean to say out loud.

“Wow,” your smile dances along your face in a delicate pirouette. “That was very poignant.”

A casual shrug despite the weight of the conversation. “Yeah, well, I contain multitudes.” 

“You sure do, Jack,” you agree, leaning forward to press your lips against his. It’s a soft kiss, mouths closed, bordering on chaste, because you have more to say. “I’m serious, though. I know it’s only been a couple months, and I swear it’s not just the wine talking.” 

You card your fingers through his soft, greying curls before you continue. “We can take this at your pace, and we can talk about her or not talk about her. The man you are today is because of the love you shared with her. I’m grateful to her for that. And I’m here as long as you’ll have me, honey.” 

A long silence passes between you and Jack. His lips quirk just slightly upward. A finger tucks a flyaway hair behind your ear. “That’s the kind of sappy thing I should be saying to you.” 

“The floor is yours, Dr. Abbot.” 

Jack slides one hand around your neck, and presses you forward just slightly. Your forehead anchors against his, and he breathes you in like someone inhaling fresh air after a long day inside.

“I’m here as long as you’ll have me, angel," he repeats your words back to you.

His fingers catch in your hair. He digs in to your scalp, as if his fingers are punctuating his words.

"And I'm so lucky you think I’m worth spending even a minute of your time with. I want to take care of you, and I want to let you take care of me.” A beat passes, then he raises his lips to kiss your temple. “How was that?” 

“Ridiculously sappy," you shake your head, incredulous that the man before you even exists.

He beams back at you, infinite light and all. “Good.” 

~ dm for removal -