#third sunday

The doors close and it’s just you and Yancy in silence for a moment before you fully look at him. “Hey, Yanc.” You smile, unable to contain yourself as you reach your arms out to him. He doesn’t hesitate to hug you, holding you close to him with all of his might, lips pressed against your head. 

He pulls back a bit, hands still on your waist. “Hey yous.” He laughs a bit, unable to really grasp onto the concept that you’re there with him, outside the prison walls. Yancy leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s go home, yeah?” You nod, pulling away from him and opening the door to the car. Yancy gets in the passenger seat and you drive the two of you home. To your home. 

-><-

You got the two of you home just in the nick of time. The moment that you parked December started to show off its true colours in the form of clouds that allow for snow to fall. Yancy was so in love with the look on your face when the two of you got out of the car. “Yancy it’s snowing!” You spun around in the light flurry before fully facing the Ohian with a smile. 

A few flakes got stuck in your hair, soon enough melting into your h/c hair. To Yancy you looked like an angel, smiling like an idiot as you held your arms out. Yancy nods, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Hows about wes get inside huh?” He shivers a bit, making you laugh before you agree. 

Yancy wasn’t too surprised when you two walked in to see the house decorated for the Christmas season. From the last time you’d gone to see him you remember talking to him about how excited you were to deck out the house. And deck out is exactly what you did. What got him, even more, was the banner that you had hung up above the doorway to the kitchen. “Welcome home Yancy!” Was written in marker, making him smile. 

You stand anxiously to the side, worried about what he was thinking about the banner you’d made for him. “So? What do you think?” You rub your arm, looking at him as he turns to look at you. “You like it?” He nods, looking back at the banner. 

“I do, I do. But could it have less antlers?” 

You gasp, hitting his shoulder. “No no, the antlers are essential!” You insist, leaning your head on his shoulder as you look at the banner. 

“Yous did good. I loves it.” He kisses the top of your head. 

-><-

A week passes since you picked up Yancy from the prison. In that week the two of you have adapted to the life that you were now going to be living for the rest of your life. Now was one of those times, Christmas day, cuddled up on the couch with hot chocolate on the table. “I love you.” You press a kiss against the tattoo on his neck. 

The arm around you tightens a bit as he kisses your forehead. “I love yous too.” Everything in his life was perfect, as perfect as can be. A smile pulls at his face as he looks down at you, snuggled into his side. “Want to roast some chestnuts?” You look up at him and smile. 

"Youse came..." are the words that come out of his mouth, and you smile at him, because yes, of course you came. Why wouldn't you come? Mark was dead and well, you didn't have anyone else but this charming, cute man you met in prison, that pretends he's tough and hardcore but in reality is just some soft room temperature butter. You love him for it. "I can'ts believe... why?"

You tell him why. Because you missed him. A lot. He sits in front of you and you reach out to touch him, to hold his hands, and you see the faint blush coming over his cheeks. He is adorable, you decide, and tell him that you will be coming every third Sunday, no exceptions. He looks at you, surprised, because he wasn't expecting it at all, and he tells you this with a quiet laugh, looking down at the table because he can't quite meet your eyes. He's too shy for that.

"I never even thoughts I could... have someones care about me..." he whispers, and you hold his hand tighter because of course you care. Those few hours you two spent together back two weeks ago were the best few hours of your life. You can't just erase that from your head. So you tell him you will be coming back to visit. You tell him that you will be waiting outside for whenever he feels like he can come out, you tell them that whenever parole comes and he senses its time, that you will be there to pick him up.

And Yancy gives you a smile and teary eyes that stay with you for the rest of the month, while you wait for your second visit.

 In the second time, you bring him a gift. Because of course you do, you know him, he deserves it. It's nothing he can use to break out of prison because you know he will think you're pushing him to get out, and you don't want this carefully crafted friendship to be thrown out of the window because of a simple, stupid mistake. So you bring him a comfy blanket, a few snacks that he can share with his friends and a teddy bear that smells like you.

"For me?" he asks quietly, and holds the items like a child holding their first stuffed animal. His eyes are teary again and you wipe them with your hand, because you care about him too much to see him cry. "Whise?"

You tell him it's because you care about him. A lot. Because you see him as your best friend (because you're afraid of saying he means more) and you want him to be comfy and remember you in prison. You don't talk about parole, you don't talk about your life outside the prison, because you want him to realize by himself that you can give him everything he needs.

He cries a little, he tells you he misses you, and you two share a hug that maybe lasted a little too long, but it was worth it. So worth it. Because when he holds you that familiar smell of cheap soap and whatever he uses as cologne comes through your nose and you feel at home. His arms are always warm around you and yours seem to ground him to reality.

"Thank youse..." he whispers against your ear and a shiver goes down your spine. He squeezes you tight before he moves away, and time is up, but you watch Yancy move back into the prison with his new gifts tight against his body.

You hope he will make the choice of leaving soon.

 On the fifth time you visit, you go to the warren's office to ask him some questions. He stares at you for too long and you remember you escaped his prison like six months ago, but as a miracle he seems not to remember you all that well. So he lets you inside and answers most of the questions you have.

"He can leave whenever he wants to, but he makes sure to always get in trouble when parole is coming" he tells you, shaking his head in disappointment as he sips on his coffee. "Yancy... he's like a son to me. He was able to bring all prisoners together and make sure they all behave, that they are all friends, but he doesn't want to get out of prison. That boy... he is a lost cause."

He sure looks like one, but you're sure you can convince him to leave and come have a normal life with you. Or as normal as one can considering you seem to attract the weirdest individuals around you. But that doesn't matter.

"He did kill his parents so I don't know if it wouldn't be best if he just... stayed in here" the warren concludes, and if he wasn't so intimidating you would laugh. You know people that killed way more. That killed people more important to them that their parents. Yancy's crimes are child play for you. But you can't tell that to the prison warren. So you just nod and make your way towards the waiting room to see Yancy again.

And when he comes, he is all smiles and hugs towards you and you feel complete once more.

 It takes another two years of constant visits, gifts, hugs and conversations for the moment to come. But it arrives.

You had already lost your hope when he comes to you, looking at the table shyly as he sits down, playing with his hands nervously. He is wearing the bandana you gave him around his neck, and the bracelet you made a few visits back. He likes your stuff, but something is weird about him this day.

"I'ves made my mind" he says, quietly, and his eyes shift up to meet yours in a shy glance. "I dids nothing wrong this lasts months... parole comes next weeks... I'm... coming out."

You hold back your excitement because you can see how scared and insecure he is, and you take his hand, tangling your fingers with his because you want to send him all the courage you have to him in this moment of need. And he seems to calm down a little bit at least.

You tell him you will be there for the court, you will be there to pick him up, and that he has a nice bed waiting for him at your house.

And he gives you that smile you can't take out of your head.

 He gets out in the next parole.

His jail friends are crying and you know why. You would be too. But they never tell him to stay.

You wait for him outside by your car, and give him a smile as he comes closer with his bags in hand.

"So... we..." he tries, but you give him no chance. You move close and hold his face, giving him a kiss that makes your world turn and spin, your stomach burn and twist, you feel tingles down your legs. And if for a moment you freak out because you think he will pull back, it all fades away when his bags go to the ground and his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, holding you tight.

It does feel like heaven, kissing him for the first time, smelling the cologne and the cheap soap, sliding your fingers through his gelled back hair. You love him, and by the way he is kissing you, he loves you too.

They'd left him behind, but he knew they didn't forget him. After all, they'd come to visit him every third Sunday of each month. And those brief talks they'd had (with the pane of glass between them, and ancient phone handsets poised at their ears) made him feel less lonely while he had been in the ol' hoosegow.

He wanted them to come over, maybe to stay, but it had to look more like home first.

After swiping the garbage that littered the floor into the trash, giving everything a proper dusting, sweeping and mopping the floor, making the bed, and setting the broken kitchenette by the curb, he went back to scrolling through the list of jobs.

Some decent pay oughta help put things right around here.

* * *

He came home and dropped exhaustedly into the too-big bed. It had been a long day, but he knew it had to be worth it. These rich yahoos turned out to be absolute pigs, letting their garbage accumulate willy-nilly. All because they knew someone else would be there to pick it up rather than themselves cleaning up their own messes.

Huh. Guess money didn't buy common sense, after all.

* * *

A few more days of working on these jobs, and he had some money to spend. So he took the day off, dedicating it to rearranging his cabin. The bed -- which was still in fine-enough shape to be useful -- was given to another parolee who lacked a decent bed.

He bought a bunk bed to replace it. A simple, sturdy, steel affair that felt more homey to him, and a bed-side table tall enough to be reached from the top bunk. He also got himself a new computer chair, one that felt more comfortable to sit in.

That was more like it.

For now, he was happy to eat out -- hell, now that he was working, he could afford some nice, greasy burgers at the local diner -- but he planned to eventually add a new kitchenette. Learning to cook would make himself more useful 'round the house, and wouldn't that be impressive to his friend?

He missed them horribly. But it wasn't the third Sunday yet. They'd swing by then, he was sure. It was tradition now.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

Three more days of work and then, around sunset, there was a polite knock on the door. It startled him, as he really wasn't expecting anybody to come see him this early on in the month. He opened the door and a well-dressed man with a rather imposing sense of presence was revealed.

"Uh, hullo, Mr. Dark. Didn't expect youse to drop by."

"Of course not, Yancy, but I'll only be a moment. May I come in?"

"Sure, sure."

Yancy immediately moved out of the way as Dark entered. Dark stepped in, giving the single room cabin a once-over, and briefly wrinkling His nose at how bare and simplistic it was. Not unlike the prison Yancy had left behind. Mr. Dark, he knew, had much fancier tastes.

"I know it don't look like much, yet. But I'm working on it," Yancy said, somewhat defensively.

"That's quite alright. I'm sure it will be quite appropriate to your own tastes once you've completed whatever changes you intend," Dark replied soothingly. Deliberately changing the subject, He added, "I've heard good things about you, that you're working very hard. You've made quite a name for yourself already. I imagine more opportunities will be coming in for you very soon."

"Aww, I 'ppreciate that, Mr. Dark. I'm just trying to get things nice and homey, and do an honest day's work."

"I am glad to hear that. Not everyone has great ambitions. Some, like you, have small goals that are just as worthy."

Yancy scratched his head. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement, but it sounded like it was meant to be a compliment. Though, with Mr. Dark's often caustic and detached delivery, it was hard to tell.

"I came here to remind you of our agreement."

"Yeah, of course. I haven't forgotten, Mr. Dark. And I 'ppreciate that youse took a chance on me, with this whole, uh... work... parole... business."

"Of course. We're an equal-opportunity employer. Frankly, if we held our employees' past records against them, we'd have to fire half of our staff."

Yancy grinned at that in spite of himself. "Sounds like I'm in good company."

"Very good," Dark agreed, chuckling.

"I'm guessing youse don't often make house calls, though."

"No, indeed," Dark agreed. "But I do choose to keep an eye on My investments. I hope that you, as your former warden would say, do Me proud, Yancy. I have great plans for you."

Yancy grinned and gave a snappy salute, standing a little taller. "T'anks, Mr. Dark. I won't let youse down."

"Good to know," He rumbled calmly. "Now, I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. Sweet dreams."

And with that, Dark was gone. Not by the door, rather He simply disappeared. Huh. How'd he do that? But it didn't really matter that much, to figure that mystery out. Dark was an enigma, and Yancy had learned a long time ago that some questions were better left unanswered.

What really mattered was Yancy getting to see his friend on the third Sunday. He'd have plenty of time yet to straighten things out, make this place look real nice for them.

He turned out the light and stretched out on the bottom bunk, feeling more content than he had in a long time. Yeah, the third Sunday was always pretty good to him.