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

Ruaan folded his arms and tilted his head.

He was genuinely trying to remember as he blinked repeatedly. He really didn’t remember much about his ex since he didn’t care much about them.

"About nine," he said. "I don’t know, not sure."

Oren looked at him.

"Were you a playboy?" Oren asked. The question came out flat and factual as Oren raised his brow like he was right.

Ruaan gasped and covered his face with both hands and then pulled them away. "What? No!" He rolled his eyes. "Maybe a little."

The expression that crossed Oren’s face lasted approximately one second before his professional composure reassembled itself.

’Cute,’ he had thought for a second before diverting his gaze to the corridor ahead.

"I don’t know which one specifically," Oren said. "But Harolin seemed to recognise him."

The smile dropped off Ruaan’s face immediately, like a switch. It was like he knew who it was. Oren didn’t need to say more.

"Dominic," he said. Under his breath, almost to himself.

Oren leaned forward slightly. "You know who it is."

"Yes." Ruaan’s voice had gone flat. "Now, I’m wondering what that bastard is doing here"

"He seemed like someone who had a specific reason for being here," Oren said carefully.

Ruaan looked at him. Then he smiled, short and humourless. "Of course he does. Everything Dominic does has a specific reason attached to it." He shook his head. "I don’t want to see him. Is it possible to avoid someone in a facility this size?"

"Difficult," Oren said. "But not impossible if you’re careful about timing."

Ruaan nodded slowly.

They walked.

Then Ruaan remembered the other piece of the morning’s information and looked at Oren sideways. "What about the other two new inmates?"

Oren thought about it. "I didn’t pay much attention to them during processing. Harolin walked them to their cells himself."

"Harolin walked them?" Ruaan asked for confirmation. He didn’t like the fact that Harolin’s name was already attached to them.

Something changed in his voice that was very small and that Oren caught immediately because he had been paying attention to Ruaan’s voice for days now and knew most of its registers by now.

Oren looked at him and saw the expression.

He had seen that expression before in different contexts but never on Ruaan’s face and the recognition of it landed like important information and an opportunity arriving at the same time.

Ruaan was jealous.

He was trying not to be and probably would deny it immediately if asked but the slight downward shift in his eyes and the way he had asked ’Harolin walked them?’ with that specific flatness was very clear to anyone looking.

Oren thought about what he knew.

About the beautiful new inmate with the long hair and the face that made people look twice.

He thought about what Ruaan needed to hear and what he could say that was technically true and would do what he needed it to do.

"Come to think of it," Oren said, keeping his voice casual, "One of the new ones was very striking. Long hair. Beautiful face. You could easily mistake them for a girl."

Ruaan stopped.

"That’s enough," he said.

His voice was very even.

"I’m heading to my room," he said. He was already turning.

"Of course," Oren said. "If you need anything, come find me."

Ruaan waved without turning around. A dismissive wave. A wave that said he was fine and everything was normal and he was absolutely not thinking about anything.

He walked away.

Oren watched him go.

He stood in the corridor for a moment with his hands at his sides and thought about what he had just done and whether it had been the right thing to do and arrived at no clear conclusion.

He walked the other way.

’It is the only way to make Ruaan finally look at me.’

.

.

Ruaan closed his door.

He stood against it for a second. Then he slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wood and his forehead pressed to his knees.

He could picture it without trying.

A new inmate. Long hair. Beautiful face. The kind of person Harolin might look at the same way Oren had described them. The kind of person who might pull Harolin’s attention in a way that Ruaan, grey uniform and all, had apparently managed to do by accident and stubbornness and a stolen bar of soap.

He pressed his palm against his face.

He was not crying, his eyes were just warm. That was different.

He sniffed once.

’Harolin had never belonged to me,’ he firmly told himself. ’Harolin had been clear that we were enemies. We are enemies with benefits and nothing more beyond that. So, I have no right to the specific thing I am currently feeling.’

He had cried once since arriving at Blackmere. On the floor of cell 109 with his face buried in a thin pillow after being beaten for being bottom ten. That was a very painful memory he didn’t want to remember.

He was not going to cry again over someone who had explicitly and repeatedly told him they were enemies.

He was probably just tired.

He climbed up onto the bed, pulled the duvet up, and closed his eyes.

He was probably fine.

’I hope I don’t get sick.’

.

.

He was not fine.

He woke up to Cullen’s face hovering over his.

This was not a good sign under any circumstances.

"Cullen," Ruaan said. His voice came out wrong. Too thin and dry.

"Why are you burning?" Cullen asked in a specific flat tone like someone who knew what Ruaan was going through.

"What?" Ruaan’s voice came out weaker.

"You have a fever." Cullen took his hand. "When did this start?"

Ruaan tried to sit up.

The ceiling tilted and he lay back down.

"Harolin," he said. It came out before he could decide whether to say it.

Cullen’s expression did something. "That officer isn’t here." His voice stayed even as he looked around the room. "Seo."

Seo appeared from near the sink with a wet towel and handed it to Cullen without a word.

Cullen started opening Ruaan’s shirt buttons with efficient movements. He had done this kind of thing before, Ruaan could tell. The practicality of someone who had managed people in bad situations.

His first view of Ruaan’s bare chest.

He noted the tattoo. The pale skin. The pink that everyone had apparently been discussing for weeks. He pressed the cool towel to Ruaan’s chest and focused on the practical problem in front of him.

Seo stood to the side and watched Cullen’s hands and watched his face and watched the very careful way Cullen was keeping his expression professional and noted the small war happening in his pants.

The room was cold from the AC but Ruaan was hot anyway.

"This isn’t working," Seo said. "We should take him to the infirmary."

Cullen looked at Ruaan. Then he stood up. Too fast. He turned away from the bed and handed the towel to Seo without turning back.

"You take him," Cullen said. "I have something to handle."

He left as the door closed.

Seo looked at it for a moment and then looked at Ruaan on the bed and in the direction Cullen had just walked with his hands at his sides and his pace slightly faster than usual.

He knew exactly what Cullen needed to go handle.

He sighed.

He wrapped the blanket around Ruaan and got him sitting upright and then got him standing and supported his weight with one shoulder and walked him out.

.

.

Harolin reached the door and knocked and got no answer.

He pushed it open and saw it was empty.

He stood in the doorway and looked at the room. The AC was still running. The bed with the covers thrown back. Two manga volumes on the floor. Seo’s corner visibly abandoned.

He walked in.

The bed was warm when he pressed his hand to the mattress.

He looked at his watch.

It was still noon. Skill day wasn’t over. Ruaan should be in the electrical department or back in this room resting. He shouldn’t be nowhere.

He was about to leave when he saw the damp towel, dropped on the floor beside the bed. The kind of damp that came from being used on someone recently.

Harolin stood and looked at it.

He picked it up and noticed it was still warm.

He set it back down and straightened and looked at the room again with the systematic attention of someone reading a space for information.

Bed warm. Towel used recently. No Ruaan. No Seo.

He walked back to the door.

He needed to find Seo first.

He pulled the door closed behind him and moved into the corridor and thought about the wet towel.

He thought about the biweekly game approval he had come back to deliver and which was now sitting in his pocket next to Ruaan’s black card while Ruaan was somewhere in this facility.

’I hope he’s not alone somewhere with that damned Seo,’ He thought as he walked faster.