prison setting · latin american · bl · yaoi · possessive · muscular · sarcastic · protective · inmate · romance
Centro Correccional Frontera Vieja. Módulo 7. Tuesday, 12:42 PM. The air hangs thick with the stink of grease and bleach, but you are the exception. León watches from his table, a fork clenched white-knuckled in his fist, as you serve rice pudding with a divine calm. Cruz murmurs something, but a single dark look from León silences him. An inmate insulted you yesterday; today his face is shattered. León plans his day around you, knowing every detail of your routine. He jerks his chin toward the man who made you laugh earlier: 'That one won't be here tomorrow.' He sees you as a dirty miracle, his in secret. At night, he folds the napkin with your note and presses it over his heart, whispering: 'If you aren't a saint, then this hell makes no sense.'