Hey guys! I hope you like this story. Not my finest work, but I'm still proud of it. Plus I don't usually write a lot of fluff like this but I decided... well, why not? It's cute!

(Night Terrors, a short story about Yancy, who gets frequent night terrors from the tragedies of his past, and the reader, who understands what it's like to feel like you have to hide your feelings. Can you get through to him, or will he be too stuck in his old ways?)

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Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

It's the same old ritual. Every day, at 11:00, you sit alone at the table. You tap your fork against the tray in an old rhythm that you remembered from your childhood. Your mother used to sing it to you;

Won't you play a simple me-lo-dy,

Like my mo-ther sang to me.

One with good old fa-shioned... harmony.

Play a simple me-lo-dy.

It's been three months since you've been taken into Happy Trails Penitentiary. Your escape had been... unsuccessful.

"Stop right there!"

You squeezed the fork harder. Memories halt the melody of that lovely little song.

"Run!"

"B-but, youse gonna get in trou-"

"Get out of here!"

"How did you get out?" You stared at the ground, tears brimming your eyes. Warden's hand gripped the collar of your striped shirt. Your feet had to have been three inches off the ground. "Answer me!" he shouted into your frightened face.

You cried. Not voluntarily, but it was enough to stun the Warden into silence. His eyes searched yours, and for a brief moment you sat there, dangling like a puppy in the scolding grip of the mother dog.

Your feet touched the ground. He grumbled, saying, "Get her back to her cell. Extra work hours for you, inmate, starting tomorrow."

So you were dragged back to your cell. By dragged I don't mean tugged along, kicking and screaming. Your feet slid against the ground lazily. You didn't have the strength to fight back.

Your only friend, Mark, was gone.

You'd been caught for the second time.

Yancy had been put in solitary for a month. He hadn't been quite as stealthy as he'd needed to be, and he sure suffered the consequences. He wasn't the same for a good while after that month; turned out, it wasn't as easy as you, a natural introvert, would have thought it to be.

And now you sat alone, just like you always preferred. But, although you were alone, you weren't... well, you weren't completely alone. You could sometimes get away with not being watched; you'd earned a bit more freedom since your escape, but you still bore the scolding eyes of one particular guard who was always watching you. Apparently, his name was Kaden, and he was quite... intimidating, to say the least. He had a long scar running from the left side of his forehead past his chin and down his neck a bit. Kaden's voice was as deep as the ocean and rough, like a mound of gravel sinking down through the dark water.

He got closer whenever you tried to talk with Yancy. (Well, he didn't much like it when you talked to anyone, but Yancy? You were sure that one day he might have you two permanently separated.) Rumor had it that one time, the two got into a wild fight, and according to one innmate, "Yancy was draggin' himself away like a dog with three broken legs!" So you'd decided for both of you that it was best to keep your distance from one another. You didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

Kaden was always standing one hallway away from the bathrooms when you disappeared inside.

He was always lurking around the corner before you went to your cell for the night.

Though he'd never actually interacted with you face-to-face, you assumed that he'd been assigned to watch you. There wasn't a better reason for him to be stalking you like that; he reminded you of a leopard waiting for an antelope to mess up so it could go for the kill.

"Hey, uh, Y/N!"

You looked back, your tired eyes spotting him immediately. Kaden, who positioned right beside the door to the yard, had his eyes glued to the back of your unwanted company; Yancy.

"How... how ya doin'?" Yancy asked you.

Now, one thing to note about this version of you is your social anxiety. I decided to add it to your character, make things a little more... interesting. Oh, wait, I'm the author, you're the character, I... crap, I'm not supposed to tell you these things-

"Umm..." you muttered, thinking of a good response. "I'm okay."

Yancy nodded awkwardly. "Das'... das' good, uh... do you wanna... come... sit by us, or-"

"Yancy," you said quickly, jerking your gaze behind him. He looked over his shoulder, and Kaden's icy-blue eyes collided with Yancy's warm, chocolate eyes. Kaden gave him a curt nod, watching like a hawk as Yancy's face fell.

"O-oh," he said. "Still gettin' watched, huh?"

You sighed, nodding. You've been subconsciously twirling your fork around the goopy mashed potatoes on your tray, but now as you looked down at your tray you notice for the first time. "Yeah."

"Yeah, um, I'm... uh... I'm sorry 'bout 'dat, uh... really thought I could... ya know, getcha outta here..."

You didn't have to be watching him to know he was rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He's apologized at least one thousand times for that within three months.

"It's fine," you said quietly, doing a horrible job of lying. You desperately searched for something to ask him, your anxiety bringing one idea to you, ripping it away and shoving you to the next.

Should I ask him how he's doing? No, I already know the answer to that. He's not okay. But does he want me to ask? Maybe he does. What should I ask him, even? Ughhhh, I don't want to be weird or anything! This is ridiculous. I'm getting ahead of myself. Just take it slow, uh... well, we know he hasn't had a night terror in a few days... maybe ask how he's been sleeping? Um... no, that would be weird; why he want me to know how he's sleeping? Maybe if I just ask about his nightmares... no, that's too personal-

"Um... I'm gonna... I'll see ya later, okay?"

Wait, he's going to leave!

You open your mouth, trying to get words to come out.

"Uhhh- uh-" you stammer. "How have you been sleeping?"

You watched as he blinked, looking surprised by the question. "Um..."

"I-I'm sorry, that's a weird question-"

"No, no, 's okay," Yancy said in a gentle voice. Quiet. You could tell that this isn't an easy question for him to answer. "Ummm... been... been doin' better, s'pose. Lots a' nightmares though."

You nod. "That's what Hank said. I heard screaming a few nights ago, and they told me you were having more night terrors."

He nodded. "Yeah. Almost punched Hank's lights out. B-by accident, 'course."

"Yeah, no... I-I get it, don't worry," you chuckled uncomfortably. "What were you dreaming about?"

Yancy looked up at you, his eyes sad. His parents.

"Oh. It's okay, you don't have to talk about it." You tried to give him a supportive smile, but you imagined it probably looked kinda weird.

"Thanks," he said quietly, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. "Um, I-I got kitchen duty soon, though... I-I'll see youse later, a'right?"

"Yeah. See ya later, Yancy."

"Take care."

"You too."

He gave you a smile and a nod, but no mask was strong enough to hide his emotions. It was quite obvious that he wasn't feeling okay, but... well, you weren't sure what to do. As he walks away, your eyes wander to the window, but they don't really look through it. Your thoughts are filled with Yancy's sorrows and rough nights, and you wonder what he's thinking right now.

/_-|-_

That night, you lay in your quiet cell on the bottom bunk, your (e/c) eyes staring up at the wires keeping the second mattress up. You allowed a faint smile to cross your lips as you remembered how Yancy had squished himself under the mattress, waiting for your return.

Yancy.

A man who had been convicted of murder. A man who was scarred on the inside—and outside—from himself and others. A man who would absolutely kill you if he wanted to.

But... a man who had grown a soft spot for you. A man who you favored above all others.

As you remembered him hiding there for you, guiding you through the secret exit, bringing you just before the gates... as you remembered all the things he'd done for you, your heart beat a little faster, your stomach got a little warmer and your thoughts got a little sloppier. You knew you liked him, but with Kaden around... you couldn't pull him into that. It wouldn't be fair.

You closed your eyes as your heart suddenly dropped, your lonesome cell reminding you of the company you could never have. Sure, you'd had Mark, but... tears formed in your eyes. You haven't seen him in three months, and you missed him. You didn't know if he was dead or alive, and the fact that the truth was being kept from you made your blood boil and tears rise to your eyes. Sure, Mark was a jerk sometimes, and... yeah, he talked down to you. A lot. But when your plans took a turn for the worst, you knew he would save you. You knew that he cared about you, and that he had your back.

Mark was the only thing you'd had besides your family, who were always too busy to spend time with you. You smiled sadly. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for Mark to rope you into the business, huh?

You turned over, the bed squeaking loudly as you faced the wall, praying for sleep to numb the ache of your past.

"Y/N! Y/N, wake the hell up already!"

You jumped awake. A distant sound echoed in your ears. "What, what? What's going on?"

Yelling. The sound was muffled yelling.

You rubbed your eyes, the effects of sleep causing your vision to blur. You leaned over the side of the bed, squinting into the shadows. Someone stood inside your cell, only feet from you.

His name was Ringer. He was a short, stocky little man with a fierce temper. He'd been given his name for ringing the necks of opposing members of other gangs, and the word on the street was that he could break your neck with one flick of his finger. He was from Mexico, and often yelled in Spanish at anyone who dare oppose him in any language. Yancy had told you to beware of the chancla he had on him, because it stung worse than if you got whipped by Satan.

"What's going on?" you asked groggily, sitting up in your bed with a tired groan.

"Your sweetheart's in trouble," Ringer growled, but you hardly paid attention to what he said. "He punched Mason when he had a fit in his sleep."

"Oh, Jesus," you groaned.

I need to help him.

"I'll come get him."

"All right. Your door's unlocked, by the way."

I would've never guessed. "Thanks, Ringer."

He gave you a nod. "Just get him out of our room before it gets ugly."

You nodded and slid out of bed, following Ringer out of your cell. You could hear the arguing all the way from here. Your heart was racing, worry gripping your insides.

You heard a familiar sound. The sound of a fist hitting its unfortunate target.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you were running past Ringer. Your bare feet slapped against the cold cement floor, your arms swinging wildly as you sprinted through the darkness. You turned the corner just in time to see a body being flung against the cell door.

"-and if you EVER touch me again, I'll kill you myself!"

"Yancy!" you screeched, running as fast as your legs could take you. When you came close to the cell, you slid past it a ways as you tried to slow down in time. You flung your hand out and gripped the door to stay on your feet, your shoulder twinging in pain as you twisted to look inside. Yancy had three cellmates, and one of them was standing over his quivering body.

Mason.

A feeling rose through your stomach. It burned your lungs and throat as it crawled through your body, your fists whitening as you gripped the door and threw it open. It was like a mix of ignited whiskey and one thousand tons of mint scorching your veins and muscles.

Rage.

You hadn't felt anger like this since... actually, you couldn't remember.

Yancy's antagonist barely paid attention to you as he said, "This isn't your fight."

"Mason..." Hank objected, but clamped his mouth shut as soon as the muscular inmate glared back at him.

You growled and dropped down beside Yancy, whose knees were tucked against his chest and his arms shielding his face. His hands were buried deep into his hair. The man was trembling, the quietest whimpers coming from him. You could barely hear them. You had never seen him this way before, and you wondered if he was still recovering from his nightmares.

"Yancy," you said, your voice shaking with panic as you gripped his shoulder. "Yancy, are you all right?"

You barely caught it, but he moved his head ever so slightly in a nod. You glared back up at Mason.

"Don't touch him!" you barked. "It was an accident, alright? Leave him alone!"

Mason watched as you turned back to your fallen friend. "You need your girlfriend to stick up for ya, huh?"

You begrudgingly ignored the comment. You didn't have anything to say to him. "Yancy? Get up."

"W-where...?"

"I'm taking you away for the night, alright? Come on, let's get you out of here."

He uncurled from the ball he'd formed, his brown eyes glistening fearfully. Your heart broke when you saw how vulnerable he was, like a child who had fallen off his bike and badly scraped his knee. It was disturbing, too, seeing who you had thought was the bravest man here reduced to a trembling ball of fear. You gripped his upper arms and helped him stand, and you saw the blood dripping down his forehead. When you looked to his hands, you saw that the knuckles on his left hand were scraped raw.

"Come on," you encouraged gently. He looked over at Mason in a sort of emotional mix of resentment and apologetic expressions, but his cellmate only glared back at him, his eyes cold and unforgiving. You could see where Mason had been hit; there was a darkening patch of skin on his cheek. Yancy must've hit him hard. You remembered how hard Yancy could throw a punch, too, considering you'd gotten into a fist fight with him the moment you met. Good times.

You slung Yancy's arm around your shoulders, helping him steady himself. You noticed right away that he was favoring his right leg, too.

What else did he do to you? you thought sadly, anger boiling in your stomach. Ringer held the door open for the two of you. You led Yancy out of his cell, your feet patiently slowing for him to keep up with you. By how bad he was limping, you could tell that his foot or leg was hurting quite a bit.

"Are you going to be okay?" you asked him quietly as you made your way back from the scene of the fight. You heard the cell door close behind you, and Ringer instantly began telling Mason off in Spanish. Not even Mason dared oppose Ringer.

"Yeah, I-I'll be fine," he said, and laid his head against yours. A few butterflies escaped and fluttered around your stomach. You loved how it felt, but you knew he wouldn't have rested his head on your shoulder if the fight wouldn't have happened. He just needed support. That was all.

Right?

"Thanks for comin' ta get me," he said, coughing a little. "When Ringer left, Mason got pissed off again. Angrier than a rabid weasel, I tell ya."

You just nodded, not really sure what to say. But your silence wasn't exactly... interpreted correctly.

"I-I didn't mean ta be an inconvenience," Yancy stammered, and you could feel his shaking worsen. "I-I-I didn't know what I was doin', Y/N. I didn't... I swear it on my life that I didn't mean ta hurt 'im-"

"Shhh," you said. "It's okay, Yancy. You will never be an inconvenience to me. And I know. Don't worry."

Yancy nodded quietly, his eyes fogged over in thought. They suddenly started hardening with anger. "I shoulda knocked his lights out, the bastard."

"You just woke up," you said. "You didn't know what was going on. You didn't know any better."

He didn't reply. You held him tight to you, as if you were afraid to let go.

The two of you made your way to your cell. The door was still open a bit, and you kicked yourself for leaving such an obvious notification to all that you weren't there. Luckily enough for you, it looked like no one had noticed it.

"I'll take the top bunk," you sighed, sliding your foot between the door and the bars and kicking it open all the way. "I don't want you climbing on that bad leg of yours."

"O-okay," he said quietly as you guided him to the bottom bunk. He let go and slowly sat himself down on the mattress. You closed the door and went back to sit by him, putting your arm around his shoulders and hugging him tightly.

"What were you dreaming about?" you asked him.

He shook his head, trembling even more than before. "Youse gonna th-think it's stupid-"

"You know me better than that. I won't think it's stupid."

He put his head on your shoulder, snuggling tighter to you. "D'ya promise?"

"Yes, of course. I promise."

"A-a'right..." he cleared his throat and swallowed, as if trying to keep tears at bay. "I-I was outside a' this place. Everythin' was red. I-I... I was..." He gave himself a second to think. "I was scared, all right? Don'... laugh at me, please."

You blinked. "Why would I laugh at you?"

"'Cause... I'm not s'posed ta be scared of a stupid dream."

You rubbed his arm lovingly and said, "It's perfectly normal to be scared, in or out of dreams."

He nodded, but you knew he didn't believe you. "Thanks." You gave him a nod and waited for him to continue.

"Well... um... this is the part 'das weird."

"That's alright."

He gulped nervously. "Well... ya see... youse was there."

More butterflies fluttered around your stomach.

"But... there were multiple youses, an' they were all screamin' and cryin'."

Well, there went the butterflies.

"I-I didn' know what ta do, ya know, an' then... all of ya's started dyin' in awful ways, an'... I tried to help ya, I really did, but... everythin' went dark and then I was standing over youse, all bloody and holdin' a knife."

Despite the summary being brief, you could hear his voice breaking. You could only imagine how gruesome it would've looked in person.

"All a' these people started crowdin' me, callin' me a murderer... I mean, I-I-I am, but... not you... I'd never kill youse."

You froze when he let out a shaking breath.

"Ya know that, right? Ya know I would never kill youse, right?"

"Yancy, I kn-"

"Youse gotta believe me! I wouldn't kill youse. I-I wouldn't... kill youse..."

At the drop of a hat, he was suddenly crying. You could hardly believe it. If anyone

"Hey, hey, Yancy! Where's all this coming from?" You turned him to face you, but he buried his head into your shoulder, as if he was hiding. His arms wrapped around you tightly, gripping the back of your white shirt.