27
Izz storms back to his own cell after leaving his job early. He doesn’t attempt to find Sinn'ous. With the mood he’s in he’s liable to complain to Sinn'ous to get the asshole killed. So, instead, he throws himself on his bunk and seethes at the ceiling.
Frustrated at how he’s stuck in here—circumstances which were of his own making. And hatred at everyone he is trapped with—not a result of his own choices.
It took him way too long to pass out. And when sleep wants to claim him, he doesn’t resist it and is grateful for the distraction from his own mind.
His sleep sucks. Restless, tossing and turning. Waking constantly.
Halfway through the night his stomach growls him awake, furious at him for missing two meals.
He finds food waiting for him on his cupboard. The moonlight seeping through the baby window allowing him to see the wrapped sandwich. Sinn'ous had clearly stopped by to check on him sometime before the nightly lockup. He must have been out cold.
~~~
The morning sun couldn’t rise fast enough. Pacing the floor in front of his cell’s bars waiting to be sprung free. His mood hasn’t improved much. Reni is sitting on his own bunk, thankfully keeping quiet and not pestering him.
At long last, the doors begin clanking open, running along the lines of cells. Izz’s out as soon as the lock clicks, shoving free —free of the cell, but screaming internally at the thought of the years before he’s free from this cage.
Thankfully, Sinn'ous is waiting for him. Leaning against the stairs’ railing, blocking the only way off this side of the upstairs cells. It’s amusing how the other inmates hang back, no one daring to pass Sinn'ous to get to the exit.
Izz feels immortal, the only one to set foot near the Satanic male and live to walk away from the encounter.
He grins, his mood instantly shifting as he approaches Sinn'ous, yesterday’s anger and frustration gone—shoved behind him without a second glance. It’s a fresh day. And he can choose to spend the entirety of it with whomever he wants.
He squares his shoulders, strutting his ass closer to the stairs, and the male awaiting his arrival. The one everyone else is desperately trying to avoid. He can feel their judgemental looks boring into his back. He. Could. Not. Care. Less.
Izz stops in front of Sinn'ous.
“Morning,” the male greets—pushing off the rails to stand at his full height.
“Good morning.” Izz boldly leans into Sinn'ous’s space, chest to chest with the taller male. “Thank you for the sandwich.”
He can get used to being treated like a special someone. Being greeted in the early mornings. Sinn'ous waiting for him to come out of his cell. Walking him down to the cafeteria for breakfast. Which is what the male is doing, why else would Sinn'ous be waiting?
“You left the laundry room early. Made quite the scene,” Sinn'ous tilts his head, scanning Izz’s body.
Izz’s brows furrow. Unease settling over him. How does Sinn'ous know?
Is he spying on me? Had he watched the entire scene unfold?
“You heard about that?” or did you watch it? Izz keeps the last bit to himself, he doesn’t want to accuse Sinn'ous of anything. He can’t risk pushing away the only person in here who genuinely cares about him—who takes care of him.
With his anger subsiding, he feels stupid and embarrassed about how he acted. Like a tantrum-throwing child, not a fully-grown man capable of regulating his emotions. In the laundry room, he had not been thinking rationally, instead he allowed his emotions to run rampant.
“Your storm-out is the talk of the prison. You showed a guard my mark to get out of work.”
Izz sighs, relief washing over him at the realisation Sinn'ous isn’t annoyed with him. The male is amused, Izz can hear it in his voice. Izz’s beginning to see the little cracks in the cold demeanour he portrays to the rest of the prison. Izz’s sure it’s an act, to prevent people from getting too close to him.
“I suppose I did. I hadn’t thought about it at the time. I just didn’t want the guard in my business. I was pissed,” Izz shrugs, rocking nervously.
An understatement. He’d been seething, ripe-shit furious. Guess he knows how much he can handle before he snaps. And he had snapped, a rubber band let loose, uncaring what it hit, or took out, in the process. It was everyone else’s issue to get out of the way in time.
Sinn'ous raises a brow in question. Reluctantly, he fills Sinn'ous in—on all the bets being taken to do with his lifespan and a recap on everything else said about him. There is a lot, and the recap is threatening to spoil his refreshed mood.
Sinn'ous opens his mouth to say something, but Izz cuts him off, remembering the talk about two inmates going down for the guard’s murder. The murder Izz had committed. And isn’t that a happy memory—Not. This morning is turning sour real fast.
“You framed those guys for the guard’s . . . murder?” Izz squeaks softly, in a voice barely loud enough to carry to Sinn'ous’s ears. Hoping no other inmates on the periphery will catch what he said—not that they’re standing close by, he could scream and they wouldn’t hear him with how much distance they’re keeping between themselves and Sinn'ous.
“A guard’s death is always investigated thoroughly. Best not to leave them an open case,” is the only explanation Sinn'ous gives.
Not much else to say on the matter. It was Izz’s fault. Those inmates are dead to cover up a death Izz caused. He may as well have done the deed himself.
Trailing Sinn'ous down the stairs, he can’t help but think about the deed . Had it really been a suicide . . . He doesn’t want to know . . . At the same time, he needs to know, “did you only frame them? or did you . . .”
Do you truly want him to answer . . . ?
It sucks either way. And the outcome is the same. The inmates are both dead. Knowing or not knowing isn’t going to change anything.
Wouldn’t it be better to not know? To assume . . . Yet not truly know . . .
The brief moment of eye contact between them tells Izz what he needs to know. Sinn'ous doesn’t need to answer. He can already see it. His gut telling him Sinn'ous killed those two creeps.
He can’t say he’s upset about it. He is sure they were going to have another go at him one of these days. Now they will never have the opportunity.
Izz can’t control where his thoughts drift. All the inmates who had threatened him or hurt him in any way are dead. Killed, or dying under strange circumstances. Including those bald gang members who had attacked him. Who had died in The Hole and in Med-Wing.
Is Sinn'ous responsible for killing all of them?
That many people dying can’t be a coincidence.
You need to tread carefully, you have a serial killer obsessing over you. Izz’s inner voice warns.
Sinn'ous will never kill him. Will he? How far does this possessive behaviour go? Will it turn into an if-I-can’t-have-you-NO-ONE-CAN.
Please, God, don’t let it turn into that. I don’t want to die because of a killer who won’t take a break-up well.
What’s going to happen when the time comes for Izz to leave prison? Will Sinn'ous kill him to prevent him from leaving—
He knows you killed that guard, he could turn you in for it, have you locked up in here with him forever—
No, Izz dismisses. That’s ridiculous. Besides, he doesn’t even know how long Sinn'ous has left in this cage. He could stress over it . . . Or he can—
“How long do you have left on your sentence?”
“Ten months.”
Oh, so Sinn'ous will be out before him. Great. Now Izz has more to fear. Like what will happen to him when the other leaves. He never should have asked. His stupid paranoia getting the best of him. Now he’s on a ticking time crunch before Sinn'ous is gone, and he’s stuck in here alone. Without protection . . .
Or perhaps not alone. Not fully. Glancing subtly over his shoulder, Izz confirms his instincts that he is being watched. Reni is behind them—at a safe distance, but nevertheless, right behind them. And his cellmate’s scrutinising gaze is burning holes into their backs. Shooting daggers at Sinn'ous, no doubt.
If looks could kill . . .
Smothering a grin at his friend’s antics, Izz jogs to catch up to Sinn'ous. Turning to join the end of the queue—
Sinn'ous takes hold of Izz’s upper arm, redirecting him to the front of the line. Dragging him straight to the trays—he’d forgotten Sinn'ous never stands in line. Kind of has him feeling like a famous person. Some famous VIP, holding royal privileges, with none of the peasants daring to mock or slander him.
Collecting his meal goes the same as it always does, and completely different. He participates in the same pick-what-you-want game. Only difference being his portion sizes are extra. His food is carefully selected and placed on his tray with delicate precision. Given the choice of extra items, extra drinks. Extra anything. He’s even offered salt. He hadn’t a clue you could get salt on your hash-browns.
Having everyone think you’re the serial killer’s prison bitch comes with some nice perks.
He is planning on sitting with Sinn'ous at the . . . Sacred Table. Where no other inmates dare touch, let alone sit on. Instead, he gets lightly nudged towards The Gang’s table by Sinn'ous’s body.
“Sit with your friends, it will do you good to have a social circle. You thrive off social interactions,” Sinn'ous pulls the plug on Izz’s plans, and Izz doesn’t possess the strength to go against him.
How did Sinn'ous even know Izz was planning to sit with him and not The Gang? Is he such an open book he can’t hide anything from the male?
He wishes he could read people as well as Sinn'ous clearly can.
He isn’t thrilled about sitting with Zidie and the rest of The Gang because of David. He had been ignoring David throughout the previous weeks. He’s not sure why it’s different now, why he’s tense and sick to his stomach at the thought of being near the asshole. David has always been an asshole to him—nothing has changed on that front.
But he won’t protest and make a scene arguing with Sinn'ous. And he does like the rest of The Gang. Except maybe Isco . . . the man gives him bad vibes. As if Isco would be happy to kill someone in front of the entire cafeteria just for looking at him for too long.
And chances are high Sinn'ous prefers eating by himself. Izz will ask later, when they’re alone.
~~~
He hangs out with The Gang through the downtime before lunch. Playing card games in the Rec-Room, to Zidie’s evident delight. His best friend is all over him with questions, grilling him about Sinn'ous and the tattoo.
Izz gives little away. He doesn’t have much to give away on the subject in the first place. He isn’t sure what the two of them are either, so Zidie’s guesses are as good as any.
Are they a couple? Friends? Acquaintances?
He has little clue. Not sure what he wants. Though he is sure on one thing. He is only here with The Gang because David had left right after breakfast. So he doesn’t have to look at or be anywhere near the guy—
He may not be over his anger as much as he thought he is. Underneath, he is still seething.
~~~
Lunch had come and gone. Uneventful to say the least. He’d spent his time wondering why Sinn'ous was absent.
As everyone gathers their trays and heads to their jobs, Izz splits off from the group. He wants to stock up on candies and other treats to eat while in the laundry room. Hoping the sugary treats will help him live through the ordeal it is bound to be. And a small part of him wants to check on Sinn'ous.
Why? He doesn’t have a valid reason. Sinn'ous is more than capable of taking care of himself. Either way, it is part of his reasons to stop by his cell.
Scaling the steps two at a time, he lands at the top of the second-floor platform. Stopping short when his eyes lock on the male leaning back against the far wall.
Sinn'ous is smoking outside his Satanic cell.
Izz lets his grin shine, skipping over to the male like a love-struck idiot. He may be locked up in a cage with a bunch of criminals but he is happy. The first time in a long time, he is genuinely happy. The stresses of the outside world are non-existent, and the stresses in here had been cleared away due to the alliance he’s formed with Sinn'ous.
“Don’t you work?” Izz asks curiously, stopping just shy of colliding with Sinn'ous.
“No.”
To the point. No explanation. Izz wants to know. “How come you get away with it?”
He can visibly see Sinn'ous’s internal sigh. And he isn’t the least bit concerned he may be irritating the male. He lets his grin widen and his eyes puppy-dog at the black ones watching him.
“People are too scared to say anything against it.” Sinn'ous inhales half the joint pinched between his fingers. The orange tip eating through the end to race up towards his lips.
Izz had been on his way to his own cell to stock up, but . . .
Glancing into Sinn'ous’s cell, he scans the items taking up so much cell space . . .
It would be unjust to leave it like that, to not relieve Sinn'ous from the burdens.
Besides, the treats in Izz’s own cell are also Sinn'ous’s. It wouldn’t matter if he simply nicked the stuff in here, instead of having to walk all the way back to his own cell.
Izz enters the Satanic space and goes to the cupboard with its doors hanging open. The chocolates and other goodies are on full display, ripe for his picking.
Crouching down, he takes his time sifting through them and stuffing his pockets.
“By all means . . . help yourself,” Sinn'ous’s sarcastic tone fills the cell, Izz can hear his underlying amusement. So he’s not worried he might have gone too far.
“Don’t worry, I am,” Izz laughs as he stuffs more chocolates and bars into his prison pants.
He pecks Sinn'ous on the lips on his way out. Watching the small smirk pulling at the male’s lips.
“I’ll see you after work,” Izz throws over his shoulder, as he hits the top of the stairs.
Man, it’s good to be alive.