The arrest happened during one of his invasions. The final kill, and he was left to the balcony, sticky Miami heat comforting him as the air grew tense. There was no hiding anymore. He knew they were coming.

So he lit a cigarette. Easing his nerves as the sirens grew louder.

The cell they kept him confined in reminded him much of his apartment. Shut in. Keeping out of trouble. Keeping his head down in attempt to shorten his sentence by good behavior. Jacket only ever really came out for his attorney. And it was always to make one simple request.

To ask if they could come see him.

A sociopathic killer, supposedly, keeping to himself. He heard it from the guards who escorted him. From those who dared to walk past his cell.

"I ain't never seen him come out." An inmate spoke. "The hell do you think he's thinking in there?"

Truth be told, it was rather innocent. He'd daydream about the one he left behind. Mindlessly playing with that neon green ball as he fantasized about having his hair being played with again. Gentle hands running over his skin as they patched him up. Things that made him feel...human.

Jacket was way in over his head. More often than not he found himself flustered at all the scenarios. A murderer, blushing and longing for the company of his friend.

That would humor someone.

Months had passed before the call was made, and he was escorted back to the visitation room. He didn't think much of it, assuming it was his attorney again. But the moment he saw their figure smirking at him, payphone in hand, his smile returned.