Chapter Text
A storm brewed on the horizon.
It was obvious in the foggy gray of the sky, the dense, dark clouds that floated like phantoms overhead. Oikawa smelled the impending rain, felt the humidity in the air that blew across his face from the cracked bus window. He barely heard the first rumble of thunder in the distance over the crunch of gravel beneath the tires.
The storm would be vicious, but Oikawa would have gladly braved the elements if it meant avoiding his destination.
He shifted on the knobby bus seat and chains rattled around his ankles. His wrists were cuffed too, attached to his shackles in a way that left him unable to raise his arms higher than his shoulders.
Oikawa felt that was excessive. They were in the middle of nowhere. Even if he tried to run, they would catch him before he made it fifty yards. There was nowhere to go.
He sighed and leaned his forehead against the window, closing his eyes against the rush of cool wind. He should appreciate this moment before it ended, before he was locked behind a concrete wall and four layers of barbed wire fencing.
Two years; that was how much of his life had been forfeited. He was going to be in a cage for two solid years.
Not for the first time, Oikawa considered how badly he’d fucked up.
“Stop moping.”
Oikawa glanced to the side, at his fellow passenger. They were the only two on the bus, aside from the driver. The stranger hadn’t spoken since they’d boarded, and Oikawa hadn’t minded. Something about him was intimidating. It may have been the sharpness of his eyes, or the scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his face.
Oikawa shuffled his feet with another clank. “I’m not moping. Just not exactly looking forward to prison.”
“Don’t be a little bitch,” the man scoffed. He folded his arms as best he could with the cuffs cinched around his wrists. “It’s not so bad. ‘Specially not this one. If you were headed to max security you’d have a reason to worry.”
“Wait, have you… you’ve been here before?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, ‘bout a year ago.”
Oikawa gawked at him. “And you’re back already?”
The man smiled. It was sharp and lethal, much worse than his scowl.
The bus rolled to a stop. Oikawa put his hands out to steady himself, but the chains pulled them short. His forehead smacked the seat in front of him and he reeled back with a mumble of protest.
“Let’s go, inmates,” said the bus driver, pulling the lever to open the door. “Get off so I can get back before the rain starts.”
Oikawa peered out the window one last time before climbing to his feet. The sky looked fit to burst at any moment. He thought the driver was out of luck.
His fellow passenger disembarked first, hopping down the stairs as if he wasn’t bothered by the shackles. Oikawa followed at a more careful pace, easing his way to the ground. The instant his shoes touched the asphalt, the doors squeaked shut and the bus rumbled away.
They were in a fenced-in yard, just wide enough for the bus to drop them off and turn around. A larger area was visible through the barbed fence, ringed by a narrow paved path. There was a square of asphalt in the middle of the grass and a pair of rickety basketball hoops at either end. There was no one in sight, and Oikawa wondered if the weather had scared them inside or if anyone was even allowed to go outside at all.
His new colleague would know, since this wasn’t a new experience for him.
“C’mon,” the man said, gesturing Oikawa forward with a toss of his head. “The guards will book us in and give us our shit. They’ll take these off, too.” He rattled the chains for emphasis, as if Oikawa could mistake what he meant.
He scuffed along behind the stranger, approaching the single door built into the wall. There were cameras posted on each side, and the lenses felt like intent eyes.
Oikawa hesitated, but his companion had no such reservations. He jammed an elbow into the buzzer by the door and said, “Hey, it’s about to fucking downpour out here. Let us in.”
There was no answer, and Oikawa wondered if someone would respond or if they would be left to fend for themselves until morning.
A minute later the door opened, and Oikawa felt a small flicker of relief.
Then he realized exactly what he was relieved about, and his dread returned in full force.
The guard in the doorway glanced at Oikawa, but his attention idled elsewhere. “Semi,” he said, his voice deep and unimpressed. “I heard you were coming back. Did you miss it that much?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Semi. He thrust his hands forward. “Give me a hand here?”
“Where’s the bus driver?” said the guard, looking around as if he may have missed him. “He’s supposed to wait with you until we take you in.”
Semi snorted. “Yeah, right. He’d have to give a fuck to do that.”
Oikawa was taken aback by the informality with which Semi spoke to the guard. He’d expected a different sort of atmosphere, and he wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.
The guard freed Semi’s hands, then knelt to unlock his shackles. For a fleeting second, Oikawa was certain Semi would take the opportunity to slam a knee into the man’s face and run away.
Except there was nowhere for him to run.
When Semi’s chains were in a pile, the guard approached Oikawa. The name stitched into his uniform was “Cpt Sawamura”.
He eyed Oikawa with a frown that was almost disapproval. “I’m guessing you’re Oikawa?”
“Yes.”
“You try anything and you’ll be thrown in solitary for a solid month. We don’t mess around here.”
“Don’t worry,” said Oikawa. He offered his hands with a clink of metal. “I’m not stupid.”
Sawamura studied him, as if trying to determine how true that was. He fiddled with Oikawa’s cuffs and they fell away with a clang. Oikawa rubbed his wrists as Sawamura crouched to unlatch his shackles. When he was finished, Sawamura tossed them over his shoulder and gestured toward the building. “Come on, then. We’ll get you settled in before lights out.”
He went inside, Semi only a step behind. Oikawa tilted his head back to look up at the sky, which had curdled into an ashy gray. Another wash of thunder rose in the distance, and a meager raindrop splashed against his cheek. It struck right below the corner of his eye, where a tear would have swelled if he’d allowed himself to cry.
Oikawa wiped it away with a wry grin and headed inside.
The booking process was not pleasant.
Oikawa had known it was coming, but that didn’t make it less miserable. They were fingerprinted and photographed, then separated as another guard pulled Semi into a different room. Oikawa was ordered to strip, and he did so with great reluctance.
The embarrassment of complete nudity was nothing compared to the very thorough search that followed.
It wasn’t the first time Oikawa had been subjected to a cavity search. He’d gotten a few in jail, before he’d been convicted and transferred.
Still, repetition didn’t ease the feeling of shame that left his face hot, even after he’d taken a quick shower and Sawamura had tossed him some clothes.
The pants were an ugly orange, paired with a plain white t-shirt. They weren’t a great fit, but Oikawa felt it wasn’t in his best interest to complain. He pulled them on, pretended to have preserved at least a small amount of modesty, and followed Sawamura into the next room.
Semi was there, half-dressed and wholly unhappy.
“I know this wasn’t your fault,” he said through gritted teeth, his sharp stare drilling into another guard, “but you’re gonna have to fix it.”
“What’s your problem now?” said Sawamura. He gestured for Oikawa to stand still as he stepped up to Semi, whose hair dripped down the back of his neck. He was fresh out of his own shower. Oikawa assumed he’d gotten the same invasive treatment.
Semi wielded an orange shirt at him. A number was stamped on the back, beneath bold kanji that read “SEMI”.
“Cellblock Two?” said Semi, incredulous. He pointed at the last digit. “You can’t put me in Block Two. I was in One for years. You have to put me back there, Sawamura.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” said Sawamura flatly. “Put your clothes on. I don’t have time for this.”
“Come on. You know I don’t get along with them. I’ll get shanked in my sleep. Just put me in Block One.”
“You’ll go where you’ve been assigned,” said Sawamura. He grabbed another orange shirt off a hook on the wall and tossed it at Oikawa, who caught it with a fumble. “Put that on. You’re required to have your name and number visible at all times. If you don’t, it’s a point. Or if the guard is having a bad day, it’s a night in solitary.”
Oikawa wasn’t about to argue with that logic. He yanked the shirt over his head and tugged it into place. It was slightly big, and extremely hideous. Orange was not his color.
“What the fuck?” said Semi, pointing. Oikawa looked down, where a number was stamped down the left side of his chest. He assumed it matched the one on his back. “You’re putting this guy in Block One?”
“If you say one more word you won’t be going in any cellblocks,” snapped Sawamura. “I don’t care how much time you’ve served here. As of today you’re fresh meat again. Shut your mouth and do as you’re told.”
Semi looked like he was going to keep arguing. His scowl was knife-blade sharp and his grip on the shirt was a fist. He stared down Sawamura for a few tense seconds, then pulled the shirt on with a huff. “If you want me to make it through the night you might want to have one of your guys watch out for me.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Sawamura. “Asahi, you can go back to your post. I’ve got them.”
The other guard nodded and hustled away. He seemed relieved.
Semi folded his arms. His glare slid toward Oikawa, lingering on the numbers printed on his shirt.
Oikawa would have willingly handed it over.
Sawamura hefted a stack of uniforms and held them out to Semi, who accepted them with clear reluctance. “I won’t bother with the tour. You know where you’re going.”
“Fine,” mumbled Semi. He slammed the door open with his shoulder, but before he stepped into the hall, Sawamura spoke again.
“Tanaka is on Block Two tonight,” he said. “I’ll have him keep an eye out, just in case.”
Semi’s scowl didn’t abate, but he gave a small nod before slipping through the door.
Sawamura lifted another stack of uniforms and pushed them into Oikawa’s arms. “Here. You’re responsible for taking them to laundry before you run out of clean clothes. They’ll get sent back to you within a couple days of dropping them off. I’ll take you to your cellblock and one of the guys will show you where the cafeteria is in the morning. Breakfast is at seven-thirty sharp. If you miss it, you go hungry.”
“Okay,” said Oikawa. He shifted the uniforms into a more secure grip.
Sawamura considered him, frowning. “If you have any problems let one of us know. I mean real problems, not to complain about a lumpy mattress or your cellmate’s snoring. If something serious is going on we’ll take care of it.”
Some of the tension in Oikawa’s chest eased. “Right,” he said. “Thanks.”
Sawamura waved him off. “Come on, then. Time to see your new home.”
The vision floating in Oikawa’s mind was painted with iron bars, vicious eyes, and the danger of darkness.
That vision didn’t match up to reality.
His “new home”, as Sawamura called it, was a large room that housed several pair of beds, sectioned off by chest-high walls. There were no cell doors and no other barriers. It was more of a communal area than anything else, and Oikawa was confused.
“We missed lights out,” Sawamura said as he paced the aisle between the cells.
Oikawa looked up. The lights weren’t off.
“We can’t turn them off completely,” said Sawamura, guessing the direction of his thoughts. “Who knows what kind of bullshit would happen in the dark. We dim them at night. Hope you can sleep with the lights on.” He paused in front of a cell and waved Oikawa in. “This one’s yours. Get some rest. Your cellmate will take you to breakfast in the morning. Right, Shirabu?”
The man in the occupied bed looked to be asleep, but at the mention of his name he cracked open a single eyelid. He didn’t respond, but when he looked to Oikawa, his attention sharpened.
“Good luck,” said Sawamura, backing out of the room. “There’s always a guard on-duty in every cellblock in case of an emergency. But don’t get out of bed unless it’s a matter of life or death. Otherwise you’ll be spending the night somewhere much less comfortable.”
Oikawa had at least fifteen questions, all of them edged with anxiety, but Sawamura was gone before he could give voice to a single one. He stared at the vacant bed, cradling his spare uniforms close to his chest, and slid a glance at his cellmate.
Shirabu was staring at him through narrow eyes. “You’re not Semi.”
Oikawa wasn’t sure what to say to that.
A head popped over the adjoining wall, bright eyes beneath a fall of brighter hair. “Where’s Semi-Semi?”
Oikawa looked around, as if Semi would suddenly appear. “He’s, uh… he got assigned to Block Two.”
“Block Two?” The man’s eyes went even wider. “Block Two? Shit.” He dipped out of sight, but his voice was clear when he said, “Wakatoshi!”
“Tendou, shut up,” hissed Shirabu.
The warning was too late.
“It’s lights out!” The shout came from across the room, from the guard station. “That means keep your asses in bed and go to sleep. I’ll hand out points to every single one of you!”
The cell beside them fell silent. Oikawa dropped his clothes at the foot of his bed and curled up on the middle of the mattress.
He realized why Sawamura had told him not to complain about the quality of his sleeping arrangements. It wasn’t good.
He kicked off his shoes – slip-ons, the same tacky color as his uniform – and slipped beneath the single threadbare sheet. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least he felt somewhat safe. If everyone was confined to their bunks for the duration of the night, there was no danger of anyone ganging up on him.
His only current concern was Shirabu, who still glared at him from across the tiny cell.
Oikawa wanted to roll away from him, but was afraid he’d get a knife in the back.
“Why’d they put him in Two?” asked Shirabu. It was a whisper, but easy to hear in the silence of the cellblock.
Oikawa glanced at the door, to make sure there was no guard watching them.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back. “They didn’t say.”
Shirabu considered that, his stare unwavering. “He won’t be there long.” It was a statement of certainty. Shirabu hitched the sheets up and rolled over, presenting Oikawa with the back of his head.
Oikawa released a breath. He realized only when his muscles unknotted just how tense he’d been. He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling, where the dim lights glowed in curved alcoves.
It wasn’t daylight-bright, but it certainly wasn’t dark, either.
Faintly, he heard a drumming sound that may have been rain pelting against the roof. It could have also been the central heating system, or some other device that he would quickly get used to.
He supposed he would get used to the nighttime lights, too. He had a long while to get acclimated.
Oikawa pressed his back against the wall, nestled into the flat pillow, and tried to get some sleep.
It was a losing battle.
Oikawa dozed on and off through the night, but never fell into a solid sleep. Each time he was on the cusp he would startle back into full awareness, triggered by nothing more than his own anxiety. Each time his eyes shot open, Shirabu was still lying in the same position, only his back visible.
After the first couple of hours, Oikawa was convinced that Shirabu wasn’t going to kill him in his sleep.
Regardless, his mind wouldn’t settle.
There were no windows in the cellblock. Oikawa only knew morning had arrived when the lights flared more brightly, startling even behind his closed eyelids. There was no alarm, or other indication that it was time to rise. Nothing else was needed. All around him were the sounds of stirring inmates, mostly the creak of old mattresses paired with the occasional sleepy mumble.
Shirabu rolled out of bed briskly, not a trace of weariness on his face. He didn’t even look at Oikawa as he stretched upright and slipped into his shoes.
“Roll call,” said Shirabu, as he took the three steps to the door. “Move or you’ll get a point.”
That was a good motivator. Oikawa scrambled to his feet and followed. Shirabu stood in the hallway, his back against the wall. Oikawa followed his example and took up a post on the opposite side of the door. A guard had left the station on the far end of the room and was moving toward the aisle between the cells, his hair mussed and his eyes tired.
Oikawa kept his gaze toward the floor as the man passed by, eyeing each of them in turn. When he moved on Oikawa glanced after him, only to realize he was being watched by a different set of eyes.
The wild-eyed man from the night before observed him through a mess of red hair. Shirabu had called him Tendou, and that was the name printed on his uniform.
Tendou tilted his head at Oikawa and said, “Too bad we have to trade you in for Semi-Semi. You look like you’d be a lot of fun.”
Oikawa’s stomach twisted in dread. It must have shown on his face because Tendou cackled.
“Don’t torment him, Satori.”
The voice was deep, a rumble reminiscent of the thunder that had shaken the sky the night before. Oikawa looked past Tendou to the man that must have been his cellmate. He was tall; taller than Oikawa, which was a rarity. He was also broad, and his face was set into a mask of passivity. The name on his uniform was Ushijima.
“C’mon, Wakatoshi,” said Tendou, his grin unnerving. “We haven’t gotten any newbies since Kenjirou, and he was always a drag. Let me have a little fun.”
The look on Shirabu’s face suggested his given name was Kenjirou.
“Leave him be,” said Ushijima. He took one last look at Oikawa before stepping back into his cell.
Tendou quirked a brow at Oikawa and bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile before following. Shirabu slipped back into their room, and Oikawa stumbled over himself in his haste to follow.
Shirabu grabbed a toothbrush off of the table by his bed, tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, and headed for the door again.
“Hey, wait,” said Oikawa.
The glare he received made him regret speaking.
Nevertheless, he cleared his throat and said, “That guard last night… Sawamura, I think… he said you would show me where the cafeteria is.”
“It’s down the hallway,” said Shirabu.
“I don’t know where-”
“I don’t have time for this.” With no further explanation, Shirabu ducked out of the cell. Oikawa could still see his head past the low wall until he reached the end of the cellblock and passed through the door by the guard station.
Oikawa stared after him, then looked helplessly around the cell. His clothes had fallen into a rumpled pile on the floor, but he made no move to pick them up. It didn’t matter much if they got wrinkled. Nothing mattered much, overall.
“I’ll take you to breakfast, newbie.”
Oikawa knew who said it before he even looked up.
“Maybe I’ll just ask a guard instead,” said Oikawa.
Tendou snorted. “Sure. Ask a guard, see where that gets ya. They don’t like being bothered.” He leaned his elbows on the wall that separated their cells, chin propped on his arms. “Do you want to walk with me or not? I don’t bite.”
The way he peeled his lips back to flash his teeth suggested otherwise.
Oikawa badly wanted to decline, but he could think of no other option.
“Okay,” he said after a dragging pause.
“Great!” said Tendou brightly. He swaggered out of his cell and draped himself across the doorway of Oikawa’s. “Come along then, little sheep. I’ll herd you to the right field.”
Oikawa wanted nothing more than to plop down on his flat bed and lay there for the next two years. He didn’t want to deal with Tendou, or anyone else in this place.
But again, he had no other option.
He walked alongside Tendou, out of the cellblock and through a couple of adjoining hallways. Through the entire walk, Tendou watched him out of the corner of his eye, his smile unwavering. His presence itself was unnerving, and Oikawa was relieved when they reached the cafeteria.
“C’mon,” said Tendou, pointing him toward the far end of the large room. “We need to hurry and get in line before Block Four gets here. They always try to take extra.”
As much as Oikawa wanted to break away from Tendou, he supposed it was better to be with him than to wander around alone in a strange, dangerous place.
They filed into line behind a pair of men whose uniforms marked them as occupants of Cellblock Two. The shorter one, bleached-blond with “Kyoutani” printed across his back, glanced back at Tendou. His lip curled into a snarl.
“Bad dog,” chided Tendou, still grinning. “Didn’t your handler tell you to be nice to us?”
Kyoutani’s teeth flashed, but his companion – Yahaba, according to his uniform – nudged him with an elbow and hissed something sharp under his breath. Kyoutani turned to face the front, and Tendou chuckled.
“Got in a fight with him once,” said Tendou, leaning close to confide the information in a whisper. “We both got thrown into solitary for a week. It wasn’t so bad, though. Our tiny little cells were right beside each other. I talked all night every night and kept him awake.”
He grinned like it was something to be proud of, and Oikawa had an urge to put as much distance between himself and Tendou as physically possible.
“Oh, look, we’re getting closer,” said Tendou as the line shuffled forward. He took a deep breath. “Smells like waffles. Do you like waffles, Oikawa-kun?”
“They’re okay.”
Tendou hummed. “Prepare to be disappointed. Everything here sucks.”
Oikawa didn’t know if that was true or if Tendou was just messing with him.
When they reached the front of the line and a tray was pushed across the counter, Oikawa thought the statement had been true. The food did not look promising.
“Don’t forget your milk carton,” said Tendou, plopping one onto Oikawa’s tray. “It’s like elementary school all over again. Only with better company.”
That was arguable, but Oikawa said nothing.
“Come on, we always sit over here,” said Tendou, pointing with his chin. “You can hang out with our cellblock. At least for now, until you get booted.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Oikawa, trailing along after him. He glanced around at the other occupants of the cafeteria, expecting them to glare at the new arrival, but they paid no attention to him.
“It means your stay in Cellblock One is temporary,” said Tendou. He dropped his tray onto the table and perched on the round seat. Ushijima and Shirabu were there, along with a few other inmates that Oikawa didn’t recognize. The strangers spared him a glance, but otherwise didn’t react as he took the seat beside Tendou.
“What do you mean, temporary?” said Oikawa, lowering his voice.
“You ask a lot of questions,” said Tendou. He tapped his spork against the edge of his tray. “Are you a cat? Because the curiosity might kill you.” He grinned as he said it, the flash of his teeth sinister.
“I told you not to harass him, Satori,” said Ushijima from across the table. He eyed Tendou with disapproval.
“I’m doing no such thing,” said Tendou. “I’ve been nothing but helpful. Right, Oikawa-kun?”
Oikawa didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what the correct answer was.
Ushijima’s stare was heavy. “How long are you here, Oikawa?”
“Two years.” Oikawa tried not to cringe as he said it. “Determinate sentence, no parole.”
“That isn’t long,” said Ushijima. “You will be fine as long as you do not cause trouble.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Ushijima’s face didn’t change. “No one ever plans to, yet here we are.”
Oikawa stared down at his food. He couldn’t deny the truth in that statement.
“Don’t be so glum,” said Tendou brightly. “Things could be worse.”
“How?” mumbled Oikawa.
“You could be in max security,” said Tendou. “That’s somewhere you don’t want to be. Trust me.”
He said it with the conviction of experience, and Oikawa wanted to ask what Tendou had done to end up in prison.
But he didn’t think that was a good question to ask someone in their position, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Hey, guys. Can I sit?”
Oikawa glanced over his shoulder to find Semi, the man he’d met on the bus the day before. There was a half-smile on his face. The bitterness from the night before was gone, but in its place were dark circles that suggested he hadn’t slept.
“Semi-semi!” chirped Tendou, a grin splitting his face. He was clearly going to continue, but swallowed the words as Ushijima rose from his seat.
Ushijima circled the table, his steps slow and measured. He stopped directly in front of Semi, his face unreadable. “Put down your tray.”
The tentative smile fell away from Semi’s face. He did as he was told, placing the tray carefully beside Tendou’s, and faced Ushijima.
A few motionless seconds ticked by.
Finally Ushijima’s face changed. His brows tilted into a scowl, mouth slanting into a sharp frown. Without warning he backhanded Semi across the face.
The crack of skin against skin brought silence to the cafeteria.
Semi staggered back, clutching at his cheek and staring up at Ushijima with wide eyes. Fear flashed across his face, and when Ushijima took a step closer, Semi cowered back.
“You are a fool, Semi Eita,” said Ushijima, his voice low and harsh. “I told you not to come back here.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” said Semi. He glanced sideways at Tendou, who’d gone pale.
“Do not lie to me,” said Ushijima. “I know what you did. I know how you got here.”
Semi looked as if he wanted to protest, but the weight of Ushijima’s stare left him mute.
“Hey!” A prison guard approached, hand hovering over the taser on his belt. “What’s going on here?”
Oikawa wished he’d just stayed in bed after all.
Ushijima’s stare lingered on Semi, briefly, before he turned to address the guard. “Nothing. Everything here is fine.”
The guard, who had a mess of dark hair and a spray of freckles, looked between the two of them in clear speculation.
Semi dropped his hand away from his face and shook his head. “Nothing,” he repeated. “Nothing happened. We were just talking. Sorry for the disturbance.”
The guard – the nameplate above his right breast pocket read “Yamaguchi T.” – eyed the red mark on the side of Semi’s face and looked back to Ushijima.
“You heard him,” said Ushijima. “Nothing happened.”
Yamaguchi wavered, still glancing between them, clearly torn. At length he took a step back and said, “Okay then. But I’m watching you. If you cause a disturbance again, you’re both getting points.”
Ushijima inclined his head in acceptance and Yamaguchi walked away, returning to his post by the door.
Ushijima circled back to his side of the table and reclaimed his seat, dragging his tray closer. “Sit down, Semi. Your food will get cold.”
Semi closed his eyes, and for a second Oikawa thought he was on the verge of tears. When he opened them, it seemed he was just overwhelmed with relief.
“Yes,” said Semi, moving to do as he said. “Thank you, Ushijima-san.”
“I will speak to the captain about your cellblock placement,” said Ushijima without looking at him. “You will be back in One before lights out tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Oikawa fidgeted in his seat. He had a feeling he knew exactly how Ushijima planned to go about that.
“That’s for the best,” said Tendou. He still seemed uncomfortable, but the worst of the tension had left his stiff posture. “You look rough, Semi-Semi. Did you sleep?”
“Of course I didn’t sleep,” grumbled Semi, scowling down at his tray. “They put me in a fucking cell with Iwaizumi.”
Tendou winced. “Ouch. I wouldn’t have slept, either.”
“Iwaizumi would not have harmed you,” said Ushijima.
Semi glanced up at him. “When did that change?”
“We made an agreement,” said Ushijima, “several months ago. We will remain on good terms, as long as he keeps his side of the bargain.”
“And you actually trust him?”
Ushijima nodded. “I do.”
Tendou’s expression soured. “I still wouldn’t turn my back on him. Not unless I wanted a knife in it. He’s a scary guy.”
Semi started to answer, but looked past Tendou and noticed Oikawa. “What’s newbie doing here?”
“Where else am I supposed to be?” said Oikawa, poking at his food. “It’s not like I can get up and leave.”
Tendou laughed, so suddenly that Oikawa was startled.
“I like him,” said Tendou, flashing a smile at Ushijima across the table. “Can we keep him? Please?”
“Only if you’re willing to let Semi stay in Block Two,” said Ushijima.
Tendou sighed. “Fine. It’s a worthy sacrifice.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Semi drily.
“Why do you guys keep talking about this like you’re trading me in?” asked Oikawa. “Can you even do that?”
“Technically no,” said Ushijima. “Cellblock assignments are final.”
“Then why-”
“I am going to do it anyway,” said Ushijima, cutting him off. “I apologize that it is an inconvenience for you. Goshiki will be released soon. When he is gone, I can arrange to have you transferred back, if you’d like.”
“There won’t be any need for that,” said Tendou with a taunting smile. “If he gets switched with Semi, that means Iwaizumi will be his new cellmate. He’ll be done for by the time Tsutomu is gone.”
The pit of anxiety in Oikawa’s stomach, which had been birthed the moment he was arrested and had persisted up until now, dipped into black dread. “What?”
“Do not listen to him,” said Ushijima. “Tendou is only trying to scare you.”
Oikawa looked to Tendou, who silently mouthed the words, I’m serious. He drew a thumb across his long, pale throat.
“Hey, you going to eat that?” asked Semi, pointing at Tendou’s tray.
Tendou glanced over his shoulder, confirmed the guard wasn’t watching, and transferred the food to Semi’s tray. “It’s good to have you back, Semi-Semi.”
Semi paused, a bite of food suspended halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Tendou and then frowned down at the table. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Hang on,” said Oikawa. He gripped his spork too tightly. “What do you mean I’ll be ‘done for’? What’s wrong with this Iwaizumi person?”
“Nothing is wrong with him,” said Ushijima calmly.
It was a stark contrast to Tendou’s response, which was a wide-eyed, “He’s a fucking lunatic.”
“Tendou.”
“What? C’mon, Wakatoshi, the man needs to be prepared!” Tendou whirled back to face Oikawa. “I’m a little creepy. I know this, and I accept it. Iwaizumi isn’t creepy, he’s just downright scary. I’d rather be trapped in a dark alley with Jason than Iwaizumi.”
“Jason?”
“Serial killer,” said Tendou. He gestured at his face. “Hockey mask. You know, in the horror movies.”
Oikawa did not know, but he didn’t like the sound of that.
“Usually Tendou is being dramatic,” said Semi, “but I’ll give him this one. I’ve been on Iwaizumi’s bad side, and I don’t plan to be there again.” He hooked a finger into his bottom lip and yanked it down, exposing a row of teeth. One of his molars was missing. “He hit me so hard that it just fucking popped out. I spat blood and my tooth hit the pavement. He just looked at it and walked away, like it wasn’t a big deal.”
Oikawa’s stomach swooped lower, his skin prickling with dread.
“If I recall,” said Ushijima, unimpressed, “you were the one who started that fight.”
Semi opened his mouth to protest, but Tendou fluttered a hand in his face. “Doesn’t matter. The point still stands. Just make it through the next few weeks, Oikawa-kun. If you’re still alive, you can come back to One and hang out with the cool kids again.”
He said it as if the promise was supposed to be encouraging.
Oikawa just felt the urge to vomit.
“Sure,” he mumbled, staring down at his remaining breakfast with a distinct lack of appetite. “Great.”
The rest of the table dissolved into conversation. It strayed toward Semi, who spoke of his time on the outside. He was reluctant at first, throwing uncertain glances at Ushijima every couple of minutes. Once he got started, though, he plowed into his tales eagerly. Everything he’d done was average; dull, almost.
Oikawa supposed that after spending two years in this godforsaken prison, he would be just as excited to go to a movie theater, too.
“I went to visit your parents, Tsutomu,” said Semi, addressing the youngest man at their table who’d arrived only a few minutes before. “Just like I told you I would. They were happy to hear about you. They can’t wait for you to come home. Your mom said she’ll have your favorite flounder waiting for you.”
Tsutomu – Goshiki, according to his uniform – hadn’t said a word since he sat at the table. He didn’t speak now. He simply burst into tears.
“Shit,” mumbled Semi. “Sorry, Tsutomu, I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s fine,” said Goshiki, the words garbled by his tears. “Thank you, Semi-san.”
Semi still looked uneasy, even after Goshiki pulled himself together. He stopped telling stories, focusing on his food instead.
Meal time ended a few minutes later, and the inmates started trickling out of the cafeteria. Oikawa followed along after Tendou, because he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do.
They retraced their steps back to Cellblock One, and Oikawa felt confident he could find his way back to the cafeteria from there without further guidance.
That wouldn’t matter for long, though. Not if he was just going to be transferred to another block.
And possibly murdered in his sleep.
Tendou collected a spare uniform and draped it over his shoulders. “Shower time, Oikawa-kun. Grab some clothes and let’s go.”
Oikawa balked.
“I, umm… do I have to?”
Tendou’s eyebrows rose. “Oho? Are you shy?”
“Of course not,” said Oikawa, not quite looking at him. “I just… I showered right before I got in last night. I’m fine for now.”
Tendou’s suggestive smile didn’t fade. “Whatever you say.”
“Wait,” said Oikawa, stopping Tendou before he could walk away. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Tendou shrugged. “Whatever you want, I guess.”
“Is there somewhere I’m supposed to be?” asked Oikawa. “Are we supposed to stay here in our cells, or…?”
“Nah,” said Tendou. “Meal times, morning showers, and lights out are the only things on a strict schedule. Classes and stuff too, but you don’t have any of those yet. You seem smart enough, it’s not like you need GED classes or anything.”
That was good information, but it still didn’t answer Oikawa’s question. “So… I’m just supposed to sit in here until lunch?”
“If you want,” said Tendou. “Or you can wander around, or go outside. Neither of which I would recommend considering you’re fresh meat. Actually yeah, you should probably just sit here until lunch.”
“Great,” grumbled Oikawa.
“Don’t look so down,” said Tendou with a grin. “You’ve only got two years. I’ve been here for seven already. It’s not so bad.” He waggled his fingers in a wave before pacing off toward the door.
Oikawa watched him go. When he was alone, he dragged his feet into his cell, slouched onto his bed, and prepared himself for a long, uncomfortable two years.