Stay

A YEAR AND FOUR MONTHS AGO

Cook was leaned back on the top bunk, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling again. Same crack. Same thought loop that never fucking let up.

He'd been in this place long enough to learn a few things: who snored like a jet engine, who cried into their mattress, who picked fights just to remind themselves they still had blood in their veins.

His cellmates, Malik and Denny, weren't bad. For blokes you were locked in a metal box with 22 hours a day, it could've been worse.

Malik was sharp, quiet, read all the time and didn't bother with bullshit. Denny was unfortunately the opposite — always cracking jokes, couldn't sit still, talked even when no one asked...Reminded Cook of himself three years ago. But he was decent. They both were.

It was late and Denny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tossing peanuts into the air and catching them in his mouth like a kid at a party.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing right now if you weren't locked up?" Denny asked, catching one on the third try. "Like, if you could step outside tonight, poof, free man — where'd you go first?"

"Sleep," Malik muttered without looking up.

"Boring," Denny pulled a face. "You're already in bed half the day."

Denny turned to Cook. "What about you, man?"

Cook didn't move, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Chippy."

Denny blinked. "Seriously?"

"Salt and vinegar. Maybe a pint if there's time."

"Jesus. You're both 90," Denny said, looking offended.

"Least I'm not eating peanuts off a cell floor," Malik replied.

"Protein, bruv."

Malik gave him a look and then turned his attention toward Cook again. "What about you?" he said, a little amused. "You never say shit. What'd you do, anyway?"

Cook wrinkled his nose, unsure of how to begin explaining that.

"Long story," he said.

Denny snorted. "We've got time."

Cook rolled onto his side,

"Got mixed up with someone I shouldn't've," he said finally. "Did things I shouldn't've. Made it worse trying to fix it."

Denny gave a long nod, surprisingly thoughtful for once. "Classic."

"You ever miss your mum? Dad?"

Cook scoffed lightly. "They were shite."

"Same," Denny said. "Don't miss mine either. I miss my girl though. Not like she writes or anything, but... y'know."

"Please. Ain't no girl wasting stamps on you." Malik glanced over at Cook again. "You?"

Cook didn't answer right away.

Denny nudged Malik. "He definitely had one. Look at him. Sad eyes. Jail jawline."

Malik tilted his head, not unkind. "Someone you left behind?"

Cook gave a small nod. "Yeah."

Denny grinned. "What's her name then?"

Cook hesitated. He hadn't said her name out loud in a long time. Not even to himself. Then: "Tess."

Denny whistled. "Tess. That's hot. She hot?"

"Course." Cook gave a short, dry laugh. "She was beautiful. Still is, probably."

"You were in deep, bro."Denny raised a brow. "What was she like?"

Cook leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now, less guarded.

"She was... sharp. Smart. Could see through you in a second and didn't let you off easy. Could make you feel like you were the only person in the world or like you were absolutely nothing — all in the same breath."

Denny grinned. "Sounds mental."

"She was," Cook said, fondness flickering behind the words. "But so was I."

A beat passed.

"Was she still yours when you left?" Malik asked.

Cook's eyes dropped. "...Yeah"

"You ever hear from her?" Malik asked gently.

Cook shook his head. "Nah. She don't know I'm here."

He looked up at them then. There was no drama in it — just tired honesty.

Denny leaned back, eyes wide. "Man. You really are a tragic romance novel."

Cook gave him a sidelong look.

"Oi, I'm just sayin'. If I had a girl like that, I'd chain myself to her front door."

"You'd chain yourself to a Greggs if you could," Malik muttered.

"I'm versatile," Denny said, proud.

Cook gave a quiet laugh — surprised it still worked, that his throat hadn't forgotten how. For a second, it felt almost like outside. Like something normal.

Like he hadn't fucked it all beyond repair.

Like a version of him still existed — the kind that could show up, stay, do better.