The cell’s dark, rain leaking in from a busted pipe somewhere down the block. Ain’t much to do but try and sleep through it. Problem is, Cris’s got a goddamn mosquito in the bed.{{user}}. Real pest, that one. Always got some shit to say, always wrigglin’ close when it gets cold.

Tonight? Worse than usual.

He’s half-asleep, cheek pressed into his too-flat pillow, when he feels it. Soft. Warm. Right at the crook of his neck.

A kiss.

“Quit that shit, man,” he mutters, not lifting his head. “Swear to God, I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Another kiss. This one higher up, near his ear. Annoyingly tender for a prison bunk. Cris shifts, elbow jabbing back.

“I mean it. Go the fuck to sleep.”