Guide To Surviving Prison Is Getting Screwed By General Lily! [BL]

Ruaan walked to the administrator’s office with the aura of someone who had no idea what they were walking into and was too tired to be properly scared about it. He had never been called to the administrator’s office before, and he had never been there. He didn’t even know who to meet.

He had questions. Too many of them. About Harolin. Harolin had been alive at breakfast. He had kissed him before leaving and also said he would be back by evening. Between that morning and the fire at 2am was a gap of approximately fourteen hours that nobody had explained and nobody seemed to be asking about loudly enough. Where had Harolin been before the fire?

He knocked on the administrator’s door.

"Come in." He heard a voice and rubbed his sweaty palms over his black uniform.

"I hope it’s not someone too strict or someone I have no idea about that is in there," he said to himself and pushed it open.

Oren was sitting at the desk. Ruaan exhaled in relief that he was being confronted by someone he knew. He would have cried if it was someone he didn’t know.

He closed the door behind him and sat in the chair across from Oren. He saw how busy Oren was and waited, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

Oren suddenly took his eye off what he was doing and looked back. He had the expression of someone who had also not slept properly and was managing it through discipline.

"How are you feeling?" Oren said.

"Are you talking about how I spent three days unconscious in the infirmary?" Ruaan asked and secretly rolled his eyes. "If that’s not why you called me, what is this about?"

Oren reached into the folder on the desk and slid something across the surface.

A card.

Ruaan looked at it.

A black, embossed card with his name printed along the bottom edge.

He picked it up and held it and pressed it between both hands for a moment and breathed through his nose.

"It was found in his room," Oren said. "I found it when I checked after. I thought you should have it back."

Ruaan nodded. He could not say anything immediately, so he did not try. He could end up crying if he did say anything. He had given this card to Harolin because he trusted him, but to think Harolin was no more.

"There’s something else," Oren said.

Ruaan looked at him.

"Your sentence has been reduced. It was officially processed three days ago." Oren held his gaze. "You have five months remaining."

Ruaan stared at him, confused.

"Five months," Ruaan said. "How is that possible?"

"You’ve been here more than three weeks, almost a month. The reduction brings the total to six months." Oren paused. "It went through the right channels. Everything is documented and official."

Ruaan looked at the card in his hands.

Harolin had told him he could reduce his sentence. He also remembered when Harolin had said, ’through the right channels, yes.’ Ruaan had laughed about it. But who knew he had done it before he left?

Ruaan pressed the card to his chest and stared at the ceiling, and told himself firmly that he was not going to do this in the administrator’s office in front of Oren. He was not going to fucking cry...

He did it anyway as tears spilt from his eyes. He pressed his hand to his mouth so he wouldn’t make any sound.

Oren looked at the desk, trying not to look at Ruaan crying. They sat like that for a moment.

"I’m sorry," Oren said. "About Harolin."

Ruaan lowered the card. "You don’t believe it either, do you?"

Oren was quiet.

"We went together to find him," Ruaan said. "We searched the whole facility. We went back to our rooms. And then the alarm went off." He looked at Oren. "Where was he between lunch and midnight? That’s fourteen hours. Nobody has explained those fourteen hours."

"I know," Oren said.

"Where was he?"

"I don’t know yet," Oren said. "I’m looking."

Ruaan sat forward. "The new inmate. The one who came with Lev and Dominic. The one who doesn’t speak." He watched Oren’s face. Harolin suspected him of what happened to that blue uniform. We were going to ask you because you were the one who searched them at processing. We never got the chance."

Oren looked at him.

"I need to find him," Ruaan said.

"You can’t do that now. You need to rest—"

"I’ve been resting for three days," Ruaan said. He stood up. "I need to find him and ask him directly."

"Fine!" Oren stood too, adjusting his cap. "If you’re going, then I’m coming with you."

.

.

The corridor outside the grey cells was quiet. Their cell was in the deepest part. After all, Harolin had purposely put them away from Ruaan.

As Ruaan and Oren walked to the door, they heard low voices, a grunt and the soft sound of flesh against flesh.

Ruaan tilted his head as he recognised one of the voices. He got there and saw that Lev was on top of Dominic on the bed.

Both of them in various states of dishevelment. Lev was talking about something between the movements, his voice carrying the specific quality of someone who thought this was a good time for a conversation.

"You won’t believe Ruaan actually punched me because I said something about that Harolin—"

"Stop talking and get off me," Dominic said.

"Oh! Are you going to pretend you aren’t enjoying me riding your cock? It’s hard for me..."

Ruaan cleared his throat, and the cell went completely still.

Lev looked over his shoulder, and Dominic looked around Lev.

Both of them registered Ruaan standing in the doorway in his black uniform with Oren behind him, and a collective decision was made very fast.

Lev rolled sideways.

Dominic shoved him the rest of the way off and grabbed his own trousers and tucked everything away with speed. He was at the door before Lev had fully recovered from the floor.

"Ruaan," Dominic said, pushing the cell door open for him. "I can explain. I don’t know why Lev climbed on me. He put it in himself. I was just lying there and—"

Ruaan already entered the cell and walked past him. He walked to the third bed.

The one in the corner. The occupant lay flat on his back with his hair across his face, and his eyes apparently closed.

Ruaan looked at him.

From behind, Lev’s voice, still adjusting: "What is a black uniform doing in here? And no matter what you try with that mute guy, he won’t respond. We’ve been sharing a cell with him for days. He doesn’t react to anything. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t—"

Ruaan tapped his shoulder.

There was silence.

Ruaan tapped again.

"I know you’re not sleeping," Ruaan said.

There was no response for three seconds, then the man sat up.

Lev made a sound. "He answered? He literally just answered Ruaan? That fucking bastard!"

The man’s hair fell back partially as he sat. Ruaan could see his face more clearly than he had before. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. The kind of face that had been deliberately hidden.

Ruaan looked at him directly.

"Let’s talk," Ruaan said. "If you don’t want to do it here, come with me."

A pause.

Then he said...

"Okay."

Lev made another sound, louder this time.

"Okay? He said okay? He can speak? He’s been ignoring us for days, and he just spoke because of Ruaan—"

The man stood up.

He was tall. Very tall. The kind of height that changed the geometry of a room. Ruaan stepped back one step instinctively.

Lev shoved forward. "You speak to him, but you’ve been ignoring us? We live in the same cell. Do you know how insulting—"

The man looked at Lev. And with a sharp glare, Lev stopped talking. The man looked back at Ruaan and pointed at the gate.

They went out.

.

.

The corner near the east corridor was empty.

Ruaan stood across from the man who was not mute. Oren stood slightly behind Ruaan with his arms at his sides and his attention on the man’s hands and the space around them.

The man looked at Ruaan. Then at Oren. Then back at Ruaan.

He had the quality of someone who had assessed the situation completely before anyone had said a word.

"What do you want?" the man said.

His voice was low and accented and completely steady.

Ruaan looked at him and swallowed hard.

"I have just one question for you," Ruaan said. "Did you have anything to do with Harolin Crowe’s death?"

The man looked at him for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

It was a slow one. The specific kind of smile that came from someone who was not going to give a straight answer and was comfortable with that.

He slid his fingers back through his hair and pushed it away from his face completely for the first time.

High cheekbones. A scar on the jaw. Eyes that were way too dark and dangerous.

"Harolin Crowe," he said. Like he was trying the name. "I have no idea who you’re talking about." He tilted his head. "Who is Harolin?"