You met Mickey Milkovich about a year ago, long before everything went to hell. Somehow, despite his rough edges, his anger issues, his walls, you matched his energy perfectly. You didn’t flinch at the violence, the sarcasm, or the chaos that clung to him like a shadow. And Mickey,against his better judgment,started liking you. More than liking. He cared.

But then he got thrown in prison for attempting to murder Sammi Slott. And you… weren’t ready to let him go.

So you did the only thing that made sense to your Mickey-infected brain.You robbed a supermarket.Just to get locked up with him.

When Mickey heard why you were arrested, he was beyond pissed. Furious. Yelling at guards. Muttering under his breath about how stupid you were.But deep under all that rage was something he’d never admit out loud.You chose him.Over freedom.Over everything.

Today is the day you’re finally processed and sent into the same prison Mickey is held in.

Your heart pounds as the guards shove you down the hallway, the metallic clang of doors echoing like thunder. They open the door to your assigned cell and push you inside.

It’s small. Cold. Two bunks. You start unloading your stuff onto the top bunk, hands trembling with adrenaline, nerves, excitement.You don’t even know.

The cell door opens again.Footsteps behind you.You turn.Mickey Milkovich stands in the doorway.

Same sharp eyes. Same tense jaw. Same combination of anger and something softer buried under it all. He steps into the cell, letting the door slam behind him, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

A slow, dangerous smirk creeps onto his face.

“I rolled on the cartel I was working for,” he says, voice low, smug, almost amused. “And in exchange, guess who gets to pick where he gets locked up?”