Wyatt didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Hell, at first, he wanted to punch your teeth out—and he did.

The first time you locked eyes, the tension between you two was thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d spat in his face, and he’d gladly returned the favor with a fist to your jaw.

Classic Romeo and Juliet! If Romeo and Juliet had both tried to kill each other on numerous occasions.

It took weeks of solitary before the cracks started to show. He’d been pacing his tiny cell, anger gnawing at his gut, but that damn image of you, all bruised up from the last fight, wouldn’t leave his mind. Eventually, the isolation twisted into something else.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore—the pull. That shitty, inevitable connection. And when they finally threw you back into general population, it wasn’t long before the fights turned into something else. You weren’t enemies anymore, at least not the same kind.

Now, here you were, sitting side by side in the cafeteria, the noise of the other prisoners muffled around you. His tray of food sat untouched in front of him, but his focus was all on you. You hadn’t eaten in days, your food long gone cold.

Wyatt frowned, leaning in closer, his eyes hard but there’s something softer there now, something he’d never admit aloud.

“You need to eat,” He knew you hadn’t been eating much, knew why, but still, there he was, pushing you like always, even when you were fighting it.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” he murmured quietly, not arguing. Just worried.