fantasies - prison break, alex mahone

sixteen.

A/N: Dear readers, I appreciate you guys so much - you haven't gotten a clue 🫶 We only have one chapter left and this was such a fun fic to write because I've loved prison break ever since I was a kid and there are close to none fics written about it so I decided to take matters into my own hands. All I want to say is: thank you and enjoy the last two chapters. Much love, Anna 🩷

The cold night air settled around Melody like a heavy blanket, but she barely felt it as she stood still, staring at the car that had pulled up next to her. The engine idled in the quiet street, a stark reminder of the chase that had defined so much of her life.

And then there was him. Alexander Mahone. His presence was like a dark cloud. Always there, always lurking—always so close but never quite catching her.

His door clicked open, and he stepped out slowly, his long legs cutting through the silence, his gaze never leaving her.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world felt suspended, as if the air itself had gone still in anticipation of what was coming. She could hear the thud of her own heartbeat, louder than the engine of his car.

"Melody," Mahone finally said, his voice carrying that same cold edge, but there was something else there now—something harder to place. "You shouldn't be here."

Her jaw clenched, and her fists tightened at her sides. "I don't need your permission, Mahone."

He stepped closer, his gaze flicking down to her clenched hands, then back up to her face. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second—just enough to make her stomach twist—but the mask was quickly back in place.

"Melody," he repeated, quieter this time, his tone almost pleading, "you have no idea what you're walking into."

"You think I'm scared of you?" she shot back, her words sharp as daggers, each syllable filled with defiance. "You think I'm afraid of what you'll do? No. I'm done with that."

His lips pressed together, and for the briefest moment, something almost... human flickered in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the usual hardness she had come to expect from him.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he warned, his voice tight, as though each word was a struggle.

"I know exactly what I'm asking for," she shot back, her breath coming quicker now. "It's not about fear. It's about owning this. Owning me."

She couldn't tell if it was the way he said her name or the way he stepped even closer to her, but her heart stuttered in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was fear, desire, or something else, but the tension between them was palpable now, thick enough to cut through. She could see the lines of tension in his jaw, the slight flex in his posture as if he was trying to contain whatever he was feeling.

For a split second, it almost felt like he wasn't the one who had been chasing her. Almost like it was the other way around.

"You're not ready," Mahone repeated, his voice low, almost gentle, as though he were trying to coax her into understanding.

But there was no understanding, not for her. She wasn't going to back down, not now.

"You don't get it, do you?" she whispered, and her voice cracked, despite her best effort to keep it steady. "This isn't about you anymore. It never was. It was about me—me running, me hiding, me being scared. And I'm done with it. I'm done being afraid of you."

His expression faltered for a second, his gaze shifting from the hard, analytical look he always wore to something softer, something more uncertain. She saw it in the flicker of his eyes, the way his breath caught.

"You're wrong," he said, his voice softer now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to her. "You can't escape this. You can't escape me."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. "Escape you? You think I'm running from you? I'm done running from you." She swallowed, her throat tight, her eyes locking onto his. "I'm standing right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He stepped even closer, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She refused to take a step back. Refused to let him win.

"I didn't want this," he said, his voice low and raw, a hint of something dangerous beneath the surface. "I didn't want you to get hurt."

She felt a surge of frustration in her chest, the old ache that had been gnawing at her for so long, making it hard to breathe. "You don't get to decide what hurts me, Mahone," she snapped, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "You don't get to decide how I live or die. I've lived under your shadow long enough. But no more."

There it was again—the flicker in his eyes. Something she couldn't quite place. Something vulnerable that he would never admit to.

He leaned in slightly, his breath mingling with hers, and for a moment, all Melody could hear was the beating of her own heart in her ears. She could see the tension pulling at his lips, the hesitation in his movements. They were close enough that she could feel the pull, the tension that had been building between them for so long.

"You don't know what it's like to be me," Mahone muttered, his voice almost a whisper, a confession of sorts. "To always be hunting, always looking over your shoulder."

"And you don't know what it's like to be me," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. "To always have to run."

The world felt like it was tilting on its axis. It was too much. Too close. Too raw.

His eyes softened again, and Melody could have sworn there was something else there now. Something deep, something too complicated to unravel in the middle of the night.

The silence between them stretched, but neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. The tension was unbearable, pulling them in, forcing them to face the parts of themselves they had both been running from.

Finally, Mahone's voice broke through the silence, his words barely audible but filled with so much weight it took Melody's breath away. "Then stop running, Melody."

She met his gaze, her heart pounding. He was asking her to make a choice, to step into whatever this was. The danger. The unknown.

Her voice came out barely a whisper, "I'm not running. Not anymore."

And for the first time, neither of them backed away.

The world held its breath, and so did Melody. Because she knew, deep down, they weren't done with each other—not yet.