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Imagine: you visit FP when he's in jail.
"I'm here to see FP," I whisper, slightly shaken by the tone of the prison.
"FP what?" a muscly lady behind the desk asks.
"Pardon?"
"Last name, imbecile," she says harshly.
"Oh, sorry. FP Jones, please". The lady nods after telling me to follow her and walks me past inmates in their cells who reach out to grab me and call out dirty things to me.
"Don't mind them. They just wanna have a good time is all," she chuckles before leading me to a room with glass between the inmates and visitors. "You got FP babyface here?" she asks one of the guards who points to booth C.
"In there. You have... six minutes," the guard tells me sternly.
"Thank you," I reply.
When I walk into the booth I'm face to face with FP. He stares at me for a moment before looking away. "I don't want you to see me like this, Y/N".
"I had to see you. I miss you. How much longer do you have?" I question and he smiles.
"Six months. But as soon as I get out, you'll never have a chance to miss me".
"I look forward to that," I say and press my hand up to the glass.
"You're so cheesy, Y/N," he jokes, pressing his hand to line up with mine, "I love it". He soon slides his hand away. "Jailer is tellin' me times' up, baby. Don't come bak here, the guys here'll try to get at you and you're mine only".
"Me and Mr. Jones," I tease before leaving the booth, my heart aching at the thought of not seeing him again for six months.
