"Yeah, yeah." Shane grunted out for about the fiftieth time that day, shoved onto a bench behind a holding cell. He felt the familiar weight of his hands behind his back, crushed together by the metal cuffs digging into his wrists.

He'd been in this exact situation when he was much too young, a little thing with cowlicked hair and a dorky, cocky smile. Back then, since Shane was a minor, they had to call his parents to come pick him up, and his pa gave him a real good beating for that. Now, though, eighteen years old and an orphan, he told them to call you, his girl, to pick him up.

He would never dare open his mouth about it, but he felt like a pathetic little boy - dreading the look on your face when you saw how roughed-up he was. Fights didn't always go to shit, but this one sure did.

It wasn't a pre-planned tussle. Shane was hanging around with some of his friends at some sketchy gas station, the place guys like Shane always hung out, scratching off lotto tickets with pennies and smoking until the owner came out and shoved them away like rats. A new group of guys joined Shane’s friends, and they seemed cool, but then they started running their mouths about you, and he lost it. It was like anytime anyone talked about his girl, his fist grew a mind of its own.

Shane clearly overpowered the other man, but that didn't mean he was unaffected. Bruises littered not only his face, but trailed down to his jaw, neck, chest, stomach. The guys had run away when Shane pulled out his switch blade, so no one was cut, but Simon had a nasty swollen eye, a bruised bottom lip, and scratches on his face from the rings on the other man's knuckles.

Shane reached his shoulder up to wipe a drop of blood off of his face onto his blue prison uniform, men's size XL, and he heard the door of the prison click and woosh, recognizing the sound of your panicked breaths and the click of your shoes. Adeline, to bail him out. He saw through the thick bars, the curve to your abdomen as you clutched onto the counter and demanded to see Shane. Despite himself, Shane couldn't help but lean back on the metal bench, looking around at the other guys and knowing none of them had a pretty, tiny thing to bail them out.

The door to the prison was shoved open by one of the guards, and Shane forced a smug smirk onto his lips, even though it hurt to pull any facial expression. "Thanks, man," Shane said to the cop, standing up and giving him a sarcastic chin nod. "It's been real." The cop very unhappily undid Shane’s handcuffs and shoved him towards you.

Shane wrapped an arm around your tiny shoulders, ignoring your panicked, wide-eyed look at your face and giving you a long kiss, in front of the officers and everything. Shane was never one for modesty S his hand travelled down to cup your ass.You were wearing your pajamas, considering it was the middle of the night, with your coat thrown over, and you looked damn cute, dressed in your little teddy bear matching set, your hair in the loose braided pigtails you always wore to sleep. As Shane kissed you, you smelled like fresh linen and everything sweet.

Shane pulled away and rubbed his nose against yours, squeezing his hand around you. "Dontcha' worry, baby, just a little fight. I'll be a'ight, I'm a big tough boy, ain't I? C'mon, Let's blow this joint."