i'd make a deal with god, and i'd get him to swap our places

There'd been something in Milo that always assumed Vince was impossible to catch for long, or ever land in juvie. If it hadn't already happened, with the time he'd been in Manta Carlos and the shit he pulled on a daily, even hourly basis, the immunity seemed indisputable. It'd been one of the reasons why Milo had tried to kill him in the first place. The Executioner went after criminals the cops were too incompetent or by the books to do anything about.

But things with Vince were always shaky. It had never been part of Milo's plan to end up in love with him, for example, and it'd always seemed like Vince would never be shoved in the correctional facility. Now, against all odds, they were both here.

Locked up with the rapid fucking wolves. Milo couldn't care less about it. He could only think about Vince. The only reason Milo was here in the first place was because he'd tried to beat the shit out of multiple cops when they'd come for his future husband. It hadn't been gentle or calm in the slightest. When Milo saw red, that was it, any concept of live and let live was over and done. He hadn't killed anyone, but what he remembered of the injuries... wasn't pretty, and the intent had been there. After that, being taken away from their home, and off island, was a blur.

He and Vince had been separated once they arrived. Milo was scared. No, no, he was livid. There was more anger than fear. He didn't doubt himself. He'd get to Vince if he had to kill everyone here to do it, and they'd be okay. They'd be alive. They'd get married, and live happily ever after. He pitied any poor, stupid bastards who tried to get in the way of that-- because they wouldn't be recognizable past being a bloody pulp, once he was through with them.


Milo's room was on the bare side, thanks to his violence levels. At some point, his efforts to trash things or fight guards had faded into a wistful sadness. He sat on his floor and imagined having Vince in his arms, held tight, close, safe. His scent. Not the Eldritch. Just Vince.

Milo looked at the bracelet on his wrist. No rats here. No fiance. He hadn't been lonely in a while. He also knew full berserker wasn't the tactic to use here. Milo might have been fucking pissed, but he was smart.

When he appeared to be calmer, he was allowed to go out, treated like… a normal prisoner. He didn't have a lot to worry about from the staff, at the moment. The people he was locked in with, however, were a different case entirely. Milo's first problem was being an intimidating, hostile leaning man when placed in situations like this. His second was the fact that he'd personally gotten a great deal of people thrown in here, often after kicking their asses. Fighting fire with fire wasn't the right answer, most said. Milo agreed. He fought fire with much bigger, scarier fire. And currently, he felt like a supernova.

On his next day there, he got into a huge fight in the cafeteria, several guys against him. He didn't start it, but he sure as hell finished it, having to be restrained by guards in the end-- for his attacker's protection, rather than the other way around. He thought it was hilarious that they thought ganging up on him here would change anything. He hadn't used powers for what he did. They had, and now those were gone. The implications were straightforward, in his opinion.


He was stuck back in his room for the third day, to let his fellow inmates cool off after being exposed to his aggravating presence. One of them had a shiv, Milo noticed, after it was nearly used on him. He kept that in mind, focused on it while he waited. On the fourth day, he learned about security camera placements and guard routes. On the fifth day, he went to find the man with the knife. It was makeshift, but it would do. It would be beautiful, in this place. He watched red flood across white tiles, and kept the shiv for himself, a trophy and a precaution.

Sixth day, and he was going to be brought to a new room, a perfectly normal, comfortable dorm room. The woman he already knew as Crow, both an islets and police employee, told him he was going to be with Vince again. See Vince again. Touch Vince again. It was in his instincts to seethe at this woman, let her see that feral look in his eyes, but he couldn't, not here and now. He wasn't going to let this chance slip through his fingers, and he was too rattled to show the burning that'd been in his chest anyway. Mouth dry, eyes near tearing up, he just wanted Vince. None of this mattered. None of these people mattered. Vince. He needed Vince.

Eyebags heavier than ever, Milo stared at Vince once ushered in. His Vince. He really should slaughter everyone in here, for this, for keeping them apart this long. What the fuck had they been thinking? It was beyond Milo. Over less than a minute, his face flashed with strong emotions. Shock, sadness, outrage. It finally settled on a very familiar mother hen look, and he wasted no time, crossing the room in long strides. Milo wrapped his arms around his fiance's trembling form before he'd even fully sitting down, causing the both of them to flop backward onto the bed.

Milo had a lot to say, but he was actions over words, at heart. He couldn't manage anything until he'd squeezed Vince snug against him, rubbing his back, petting his hair, nuzzling his face and the crook of his neck. He cupped Vince's cheeks and stroked them, searching his eyes. He wasn't all gone. He wasn't.

Milo pressed their foreheads together, gentle, and whispered, "I'm here. We're together. I love you."

Milo was nothing but patience and sympathy for Vince, as he'd always been. His chest felt thick and sticky with adoration, too much emotion, messy and heavy, as he held him. He loved him so much. He'd never met a person this important and worth his entire capacity to care. There was a lot here, in his thoughts and in his heart, and it made it hard for him to ever know where to begin. "It's okay, it's okay," he said, tone hushed. They were being monitored, and he wanted to at least pretend they had privacy. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere, and I can help you."

He swallowed, letting out a shuddering sigh. Vince was like a wounded baby bird, right now, as far as Milo was concerned. He wasn't distressed or hurt when Vince didn't recognize him. It wasn't about him. He was just glad he wasn't being pushed away, that Vince still wanted him close, even if he lacked the full picture as to why.

After a moment, Vince figured it out, in a state of anxiousness and overexcitement. Milo flushed in response, and scrubbed at the edges of his eyes, keeping back the waterworks. This made it all more real, shit, fuck. What were they doing here? Last week, he'd been at school, fussing over Student Council paperwork. Were they even going to still be on the Council, once they got out of here? He couldn't think about that, there was nothing to do about it, and the priority was, and always would be, his fiance.

Milo peppered Vince's face with kisses while he was lucid, breath caught in his throat, heartbeat loud. "Vincenzo," he said, practically a croak, voice weak and shaky with sentiment. "Angel, I…"

And he was gone again. Milo smiled slowly, sheepishly, and massaged his back softly until his breathing settled down. He let Vince cry on him, as he always did, combing his fingers through that pretty blond hair, kissing the top of his head. "I love you. You're going to be okay. I promise. It's fine if you can't remember it all right away, it's fine to be like this at first, I'll protect you and talk you through anything you want, and I'll stay. I'll stay however long it takes, and I'll stay even after that. My name is Milo Constantin. I'm your fiance. You're Vincenzo Maria Fontana, my special person. I'll never stop loving you and wanting you safe."

Milo didn't sleep easy like Vince did. He didn't really sleep at all, so much as he went into a state of zoning out for long stretches of time, then jolting into full consciousness and frantically checking to make sure his beloved was still with him. He was terrified he wouldn't be here anymore, if he slept, if he slipped. He needed to protect his heart, keep it closer. Keep him closer. This place was far too cold, otherwise. Vince, wrapped up in his arms, gave him warmth.

It was times like this. It was times like this that he knew, deep in his bones like an instinct, unquestionable, that he'd give up everything for this man. Everything he'd ever known, everyone he'd ever cared about and built up, it couldn't matter without this. When he had this person, he could bloom and flourish, but without him, there was no point to any of it, no pleasure or weight, it'd all wither and die. He'd become cold inside again. He wouldn't have his warmth, not even a flicker.

Nothing was more certain to Milo. It wasn't something he had much emotion on, simply a fact, and one that created that burning drive and stubbornness he was so infamous for. Before, perhaps he would've been okay without Vincenzo Maria Fontana. He could've lived a decent, if bitter, life, and that would be that. There was nothing about 'okay' that interested you once you had everything, and nothing you could ever return from and give up without outright trauma. If he lost Vince at this point, there would never even be an okay state of life, even in comparison to the intensity and significance he'd gotten accustomed to, ever again.

If given the chance, despite the danger of this dependance, relying on one person for his entire wellbeing and happiness, he'd never change his mind. He never would've gone back and chosen okay over everything. It wasn't up for debate. It was a fact. It was either Vince, in any state of being he had, or nothing. Anyone would feel the same in his position. Everything over nothing was a laughably easy choice.

Eventually, Vince woke up again. Milo wasn't sure how many hours had gone by or not, but he was alert now. His darling was crying, and he stroked his hair, concerned expression on his face. These mercurial tendencies didn't phase him much. They hadn't before, and they wouldn't now. He'd take the behavior and requests as they came, and react however he was needed to. He knew it confused and bothered Vince more than it did him, so he was just pleased his own stability and perseverance could be useful.

When Vince asked for water, Milo didn't say anything, he just nodded and got up to do it, giving his shoulder a rub, detangling regretfully, and heading to the bathroom. He turned on the sink, grabbing a cup from it and filling it up. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror. Most aspects suggested a roughness to him, a few bruises on his body, messy hair, sharp features, but his expression was only soft. He went back to Vince and helped him sit up, arranging the pillows right and supporting his back with an arm around him, and offered the water.

After taking a sip himself, Milo set the glass down on the bedside table, squinting at their surroundings again. Christ, this room looked far, far too normal. It was a little jarring. He knew this was a corrections facility, but after all the shit it felt like they'd been through, it didn't feel that way until you got one of the nice places to sleep. When you behaved properly, or, he supposed, had a situation like this.

When Vince touched his hand, Milo laced their fingers together, swallowing. The changeling, on the other hand, was almost shy. He wanted nothing but to cup his dearest's face and kiss him senseless until this all went away, but this delicate, less familiar state sent him back to his early crushing days. Except then, he'd been hated, not quite a stranger. He'd been hated, but of course, never wavered in his heart's fluttering.

"Hi," Milo greeted in turn, quiet, giving Vince's hand a squeeze. He tilted his head slightly. That voice wasn't exactly the one he recognized. Too much was topsy turvy. As the other went on, it only became more apparent that his head wasn't in the present. Dread sank in as Milo listened, the same sort he'd experienced back then, with their less than conventional first meeting, with the way pushy, violent, space violating movements had been responded to.

He cringed a little at the memory and stroked Vince's hand. "I know. I know. I know it wasn't your fault. It's okay, I understand. You're not being locked up, you're healing. I'll protect you now. I'm Milo, and--" he stopped. Repeating that wasn't a bother to him, but there might be a better way to go about this. He looked up. "Hold on."

Standing once more, he went and searched the room for a moment, then returned with what he'd wanted. A notebook and pencil. Milo sat cross legged on the bed and started writing little details. Who the two of them were, what Manta Carlos and Starlight Academy were. A little doodle of Vince smirking with the caption 'snarky wizard' next to it, and another with Milo picking him up, labeled 'naughty cat' with an arrow pointing to said naughty cat. It was dumb, silly, but a part of them.