Chapter Text
***
Gary, you wouldn’t believe the change in him over this last little while.
He’s rather quiet still, but we talk in the evenings, and he plays basketball and such with some of the other young fellows here in E. And he smiles, Gary. Even laughs a bit, from time to time. He has his own little job now, and is finally filling out some (I’ve been feeding him) and while I stand by my earlier statement that someone like him oughtn’t be caged this way, it’s still good to see him getting along all right. To put aside a bit of that wild animal wariness.
Slowly, but surely.
-P
***
Ajay Ghale runs the track, and does his work, and keeps his head down…and slowly does his time.
Inmates serving time on felony charges involving violence are flat-out barred from a lot of prison jobs. From just about all of them, in fact, except for the lousy scutwork shit like laundry and janitorial and stuff, the dirtiest jobs that pay the least. Although it’s not like anybody in these fucking places makes much over a dollar an hour. Not even Pagan’s cushy-ass job. With his convictions, Pagan shouldn’t even be able to shelve the fucking books, let alone practically run the place…but since when did any rule or regulation ever apply to that prick? He doesn’t even seem to mind being locked up, just goes right on being his extravagantly lunatic self.
Ajay thinks about this stuff while he pushes his big dustbroom down the corridors, just to keep his mind occupied. Making his slow way through the Admin section, trying to look busy without working too hard at it.
But in any case, whoever’s in charge of that shit finally got around to stamping a piece of paper or whatever, and got him assigned somewhere. Which happened to be Janitorial, and he’d sighed inwardly in relief. Hell and away better than fucking laundry, which some guys prefer but he has no idea why. Always like a sauna in there, sorting through massive piles of crusty sheets and stiff, jizzed-in socks and what seems like an endless stream of skid-marked underroos. No fuckin’ thanks. Personally, he’d rather clean ten-thousand filthy bathrooms than pull one laundry shift. At least on scrub duty you get plenty of bleach and brushes and big rubber gloves and shit, you don’t have to actually touch it.
These thoughts are interrupted by voices from somewhere down the corridor, and Ajay frowns. Nobody should be up here in any of the meeting rooms right now, one of which he had sat in for what seemed like days during his orientation. They only let inmates with no trustee privileges like him up on this level after day staff have headed home and the new fish are safely locked back in their bowl…
And then Ajay stops in his tracks, because one of those voices is Pagan’s. Faint with distance, but unmistakable. Somebody else starts yelling. While he can’t make any words out, the screamer definitely sounds like a CO. Same rude-as-fuck authoritarian pig voice that they all use.
He really should turn his ass around and find some other hall to sweep, because whatever’s happening in one of those rooms is none of his goddamn business. All he’s likely to be buying is trouble, as he wavers there. But because one of his hallmark faults is always doing shit that’s not in his own self-interest, he creeps quietly down the hallway, harshly telling himself that it’s only curiosity that pulls him down that fucking corridor, not concern.
He might be suicidally impulsive, but he makes sure to bring the broom with him. He can use it as a prop to bolster a story if he needs to, can say that he accidentally got turned around in all of these hallways. Often, the best defense is to be found in playing dumb: he’s new and they all look kind of the same, sorry if he made trouble for anybody, didn’t mean to. Channel his inner Hurk a little if need be; that guy’s a master at being disarming. Way sharper than he lets on.
But the best acting job in the world isn’t going to be worth a heap of dogshit if his stupid ass manages to stumble onto something that he’s really not supposed to see.
More indecipherable bellowing, and Ajay shivers.
On soundless, rubber-soled feet, he slides his head around the door frame just enough to glance inside the room…and relaxes with a sigh.
It’s not trouble: only that Scared Straight thing Stockard does. They always announced when they were going to have a group of kids in, slouching along in their too-big jumpsuits as the COs led them around on a tour of how much jail sucks, but he had forgotten all about it.
Just Pagan talking to a bunch of teenagers; something else they’re not supposed to let people convicted of brutal, premeditated murder do is work with kids, and yet. But maybe it’s because Pagan’s actually good at it. There’s something about that asshole that kind of makes you hate him and be drawn to his strange, rough-edged charm at the same time. He just has one of those personalities, like a magnet or something. One that’s fucking weird as shit, but magnetic all the same.
Unlike a lot of the other cons, Pagan doesn’t scream in their faces, or try to scare them into better behavior or anything. He doesn’t even raise his voice. No, what he says just confuses them, which is probably the best tack to take.
“Do you really want to end up in this hellhole for such petty offenses as weed and truancy? If you’re going to serve time, serve it for something worthwhile, like clawing your way to the top of your local crime syndicate! And stay in school, because you need to have good math and communication skills to make it as a drug czar nowadays. Never accept second fiddle, children. Have some ambition! Work hard and work your way up in the world. You don’t want to stay a mule or an enforcer for the rest of your lives, do you? No, of course not!”
Predictably, the kids look at each other like what is this guy on? But he’s seen young wannabe gangbangers who’ve never shown respect to an adult in their lives refer to him as ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Min’ without prompting, having fallen under his weirdly charismatic spell.
Ajay just stands there in the doorway leaning on his broom and watches him in action, and none on the COs present seem to care or even really notice that he’s not working and isn’t authorized. Or like out in the yard and the bathroom thing in the evenings, they’ve all been informed by Pagan that his presence is to be tolerated, but ignored.
One of the other kids standing at attention has his ass parked against the wall next to the same doorway, and when the pigs aren’t looking, dares a glance over at Ajay. He’s way smaller than the rest, like a kid-kid, whereas all the others have at least hit puberty. He barely comes to his elbow.
“Hey,” Short Kid mutters under the guard’s bellowing.
“Hey,” Ajay responds quietly. They both stand there and watch the proceedings, like everyone else in the meeting room is. That asshole Simmons is currently screaming in some kid’s face down at the other end of the line of teenagers in orange jumpsuits, over on the other side of the big room.
“I don’t like him,” he whispers. “He shoved my head into a wall like, first thing.”
“Yeah, we all hate that motherfucker. He’s probably the worst one,” Ajay whispers back. “What’re you in here for?”
“I got caught with some weed at school, and…I don’t listen to my grandma, get mad and yell at her sometimes and stuff. What about you?”
“Murder one. I shot a guy.”
There’s a long silence after that.
“…oh,” Shorty finally says, and looks away as if he’s a little scared of him now. And that...it kind of hurts, to have a little kid be afraid of him like that. Like now he thinks Ajay might just start going apeshit with his broom handle at any moment.
He rubs at the back of his head. “I doubt what I did to end up in here’s anything like what you’re thinking right now,” he finds himself confessing. “It’s like…I grew up with some real pieces of shit who I thought were my friends, and we ran together and one of ‘em stole this old revolver and we tried to hold up a fuckin’ gas station with it. It wasn’t supposed to be loaded or anything like that, just to scare the guy that was working into giving us the cash. Well, turns out it was, and I don’t know jack shit about guns or what the fuck I was doing with it…and…I shot him. And then I got real scared and ran, and he died later at the hospital. That’s why I’m in here now.”
“For how long though?”
“Rest of my life.”
The kid’s eyes get big as saucers. “But…but it was an accident, right?”
“Little man, it don’t matter to them. It was, but the whole system…it only takes getting in trouble one time, and then you got yourself a record, and that shit follows you wherever you go. Those cops didn’t care what actually happened, and that judge didn’t care that it was an accident. To them, all it looked like was that a brown guy with a rap sheet just walked in and murdered somebody. And it’s not like any of the guys that I was running with were willing to say any different.”
“But that’s not right, or fair, that’s…”
Ajay interrupts him with a poke at his pudgy chest. “No, it’s fuckin’ not. So that’s why you gotta straighten your shit out and quit disrespecting your grandma, because from where I’m standing it sounds like she cares enough about your sorry ass to try to set you straight. I didn’t have anybody like that, my mom died before I even made it to school, and you know what? I was about your age the first time I got arrested…and that was about it for me. I blew my one chance to have something. Some kind of a decent life. And I’m telling you now, little man, you do not want to be stupid and end up in a place like this. Don’t end up like me, it…this shit sucks. Living in here is like…like just trying to survive, because that’s your instinct, to survive…but you get to where you can’t really see the reason, you know what I’m saying?”
He leans more heavily on the broom, suddenly exhausted. He’s never told any of the details before, or really talked about it with someone who didn’t already have the big folder with the record of his convictions in front of them. How Pagan and the other guys that talk to the kids can do this shit all the time he has no idea. At least once a month, they get a whole new crop of little hoodlums coming through here and one chance to try and knock some goddamn sense into them before it’s too late.
For a lot of them, it probably already is. Already snared by drugs and broken homes and bad influences and shitty schools, by their own helpless rage and fear. So easily sucked into a system that makes a tidy profit off that. He leans his head against his hands and focuses on the pattern of the linoleum tiles at his feet and takes a deep, deep breath. None of that shit is his problem, he reminds himself. He’s got plenty of his own to deal with.
Although he has to admit, his life would currently be way shittier if Pagan hadn’t decided to wriggle his way into it. Still isn’t sure exactly how he feels about that whole thing, besides a slightly begrudging gratitude.
“I hear you,” Short Kid says, real quiet beside him. “I hear you, dude.”
“That’s good,” he mutters tiredly. “That’s real good. Better not forget it either.”
“I won’t. I promise,” and Ajay wasn’t yet so old and jaded that he couldn’t feel a little cheered by the firm resolve in the kid’s voice.
After that, they stood there for a little while in silence.
Finally, the kid cleared his throat. “So what’s the deal with that other guy,” he says, changing the subject
“Which one?”
He pointed. “That blond-haired guy, with the earring. He’s barely shut up the whole time.”
“Oh, that’s my cellie. I mean, my roommate,” he amends himself at the kid’s blank look, obviously not familiar with the word.
“Dude, you gotta live with that guy? I’m so sorry…”
Ajay has to laugh at the face the kid’s making.
“Nah, it’s cool, he’s pretty okay,” he finds himself saying, the words seeming to pop out of his mouth on their own. And then has to stand there and blink a few times, because despite blurting it on impulse, it’s true. Pagan is…well, he really is pretty okay. Not like his best friend or anything, and still an absolute fuckin’ freaky weirdo…but despite that, actually a decent sort of guy.
As if right on cue, Pagan’s voice drifts over to where him and the kid are standing. Quiet, but still perfectly audible, which Ajay realizes is on account of the tense hush that’s suddenly fallen over the whole room.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Pagan says, with his voice held low and soft, dripping with quiet venom. A tone to make the hair on the back of your head try to ruck up, whether it’s directed at you or not. Which is exactly what his own does, in a shivery wave.
While what Pagan said was technically phrased as a question, it clearly isn’t a request for the lanky teenager in front of him to repeat himself. But the kid senses that he’s just hit unstable ground, and as the sand shifts to reveal the snake lying in wait just beneath…realizes he’s about to lose his footing. Not being a total idiot, he tries to back up in a stuttering hurry, but there’s nowhere to go. Not with his shoulders already against the wall behind him. Unable to beat a hasty retreat and rapidly wilting under crazy Pagan’s hard, crazed stare, he starts to panic and does end up answering him by repeating himself.
“I…I’m…”
The CO standing beside Pagan, the one that’s not Simmons, suddenly leans in and jams his face right into the kid’s.
“YOU WILL ADDRESS THIS INMATE AS MR. MIN, SIR!!” he bellows. “AM I MAKING MYSELF CLEAR TO YOU, SON??” Clearly, the officer senses a potential learning opportunity at hand, courtesy of Pagan.
Or maybe just blood in the water.
“Yessir! I meant Mr. Min, sir! I said that I get real mad sometimes and hit my mama and my baby sister! That’s why I’m here, so I don’t do that no more and learn to get myself under control! Uh…sir!
“Oh, I do hate it when things get out of control,” Pagan all but snarls.
“All right inmate, that’s enough,” the other guard says, but gently, as he rests a hand on Pagan’s shoulder and pulls him away.
Short Kid looks back at him with misgiving, as if all his suspicions got confirmed, and Ajay frowns.
Not like Pagan to lose his cool like that. Especially with the kids.
There’s no reason for him to stick around, since he’s technically not supposed to be in here anyway. He nods a bye to the kid and slips away before fucking hardass Simmons can write him up or something.
Later that evening, everything seems okay though. Maybe a little more quiet than usual, but not upset or anything.
But still...
Ajay interrupts him in the middle of telling him all about this article he was reading about some science…thing, he hadn’t really been following along too well, by hanging his head over the side of his bunk.
“Hey, I was upstairs earlier, don’t know if you saw or not…”
“Yes?” Suddenly a little tension there, maybe, though could just be his imagination.
“So, you…um, you doing okay?” Pagan stares back at him, his face half in shadow. Ajay swallows before going on, even more softly than before: “Not much like you, to get mad at the kids like that. Even when they’re being little punkasses.”
Silence for a few beats. He doesn’t look pissed, but just as Ajay is about to pull his head back up, he lets out a long sigh.
“I know,” he eventually says. “I’m fine. Every so often my temper gets the better of me, is all. It’s nothing.” Much like his expression, it doesn’t seem mad, exactly…but it also sounds kind of final. Not really a topic up for discussion.
“Okay. Just checking,” and having said his piece, Ajay beats the proverbial retreat.
But still.
He lay there in his bunk and stares up at the ceiling with his hands laced behind his head and thinks that over. Not entirely sure why he asked in the first place. It’s Pagan’s business, and therefore none of his. And if there was shit bothering Pagan, why it would matter to him.
Why he even cared.
The next morning, Pagan seemed fine again; right back to his sunny, exasperatingly talkative self, just like normal. Well, as normal as anything with him ever got.
Along with being so fucking chipper before the sun’s even completely up, the way he gets so excited over mundane shit ought to be just as tiresome to anybody halfway sane. But the truth is, listening to him chatter away about whatever hasn’t been a source of annoyance for a good while now. If he’s being totally honest…well, it’s become kind of weirdly endearing.
“Ajay!” he’ll say, all bright and happy, “come on, it’s almost Telenovela Time!” Despite not knowing Spanish, Pagan fucking loves them for some reason. Whenever he shows up, now with Ajay in tow, the Hispanic guys in E grudgingly shift over to make room for two more in front of the set. Roll their eyes and sigh as they turn on the subtitles for them. He himself can’t really see what the big deal is…but watching cheesy soaps beats scrubbing floors or staring at the fucking walls, no matter what language it’s in.
Or when Pagan’s coming back from his library shift: “Ajay, do you know what today is?”
“Uh, Tuesday?”
“Taco Tuesday, my boy! It’s Taco Night tonight!”
Other times, Ajay will be hanging out downstairs with Hurk or some of the other guys and Pagan’ll stroll up to their table fucking chipper as shit, all excited just to tell him something.
“Oh Ajay! Guess what?”
“What?”
“Guess what’s showing for Movie Night this week!”
“I dunno, I forgot to look at the schedule. What is it?” Ajay tries not to smile, but he lays his cards facedown in order to give him his full attention. Hurk grunts at having their round interrupted, but he can suck it.
“…it’s Kill Bill!”
“Again? Maaaan…you gotta be shittin’ me,” Hurk whines from across the table.
“Hush, Drubman. I don’t recall asking for your opinion. Or speaking to you at all, in fact,” and Hurk does the wise thing and shuts his mouth.
“Huh…never seen it,” Ajay says. “Really wish I could get some fucking headphones though.” Getting a little annoyed at commissary’s continual lack of them; now that he has money to buy a pair, they never seem to have any in stock. And you need some to plug into the box thing, or you can’t hear the movie. Watching silent films is better than having no films at all, but it still sucks.
“Really? Well, don’t worry dear boy, I’ll gladly share mine with you,” Pagan says grandly. “Oh, I do love that one…”
So that’s how he winds up beside Pagan for Stockard’s next screening of Kill Bill, who reaches over and presents his other earbud to him with a little flourish.
This necessitates scooting nearer, but that’s okay. Since they’re not the only ones sharing it doesn’t look particularly weird; there’s a few other guys who are doing the same thing, so they don’t stand out. Even though his leg is parked right up against his, their heads so close together that he can smell his fucking aftershave, the stuff he uses on his hair.
Ajay stoically ignores the impulse to inhale.
He soon learns that Pagan’s seen this fucking movie so many times that he knows every line by heart. Before the first ten minutes have passed he starts mouthing along with the dialogue, a hand to his chest for dramatic effect. It winds up being so goddamn funny that Ajay keeps laughing and trying in vain to muffle it. But the last straw is when Lucy Liu slices some Yakuza dude’s head off with a sword and Pagan starts wildly applauding her.
“Quiet down thar an’ watch the pitcher,” a CO barks from behind them, in possibly the most backwoods hick accent Ajay’s ever heard. In fact, it takes him a second to work out that the guy means picture, not the thing you pour water out of.
Pagan rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath: “Of course, Jethro Bodine, of course. We’ll be good little boys, not another peep,” and that nearly sets him off into convulsions of stifled laughter. Again.
Once the fit passes, they grin conspiratorially at each other, Pagan’s thigh all warm against his own.
In the chow hall, one of the Unwritten Rules is that everybody has their territory that they stick to, carefully segregated. And sitting in the wrong spot could be misconstrued as rolling up on somebody else’s turf…especially if you happen to be a different color. In Stockard, the races don’t mix much.
Except for E Block.
Since nobody in E has gang or race affiliation they care to be classed by, all of E tends to stick together. They have their own turf staked out; one corner of the yard, and one of the long tables in the back that’s theirs alone. At E’s table in chow, Hurk and Sharky and Longinus occupy the first few spots on the benches, but besides that, the rest of them are free to sit wherever they want. The only exception is the seat at the head of the table, and nobody sits there but Pagan. Even when he’s not there, that’s the Rule: like the other tables, that one seat’s reserved solely for their Pod Boss. And it always stays free for him, just in case he happens to show up.
That’s been happening more often lately, he’s noticed, even when it isn’t Taco Night. That doesn’t count though. Everybody shows up for Taco Night.
Today, Pagan wanders in just as Ajay’s getting back from the chow line. Most of E’s already there and digging in by that time, and as he walks up, Pagan gestures at the place beside his own seat with this almost regal kind of gesture. Grand, yet flamboyant little flourish, maybe with a hint of irony in it. It also happens to be Hurk’s spot he so casually waves to, and Ajay glances that way with a touch of wariness, not sure how well Hurk’s going to take that. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, just quickly scoots down to make room for him and grins like he’s happy to have his best bud there. None of the others act like this is even remarkable, and he relaxes.
Ajay’s busily picking the bone and gristle bits out of his ‘salisbury steak’ when Pagan reaches over and flicks the edge of his plastic cup a few times, like he wants to propose a toast or something. The talk along the table quickly dies down in response. He looks up as all the other heads turn that direction too, to hear what the Boss has to say.
“So, I’ve decided that next weekend…we’re going to do spread.” Cheers go up from the whole table, Hurk and Sharky high-five each other across the trays, and Pagan has to pause to let the noise recede some before going on. “The usual rules apply, check with Longinus to see what’s still needed by Friday evening at the latest, all of that bullshit blah blah you know the drill.”
No doubt the announcement for spread is for somebody’s birthday or anniversary or something. Pagan pretends like he doesn’t give a shit, like he doesn’t care enough to bother remembering any of that stuff. But it’s a sham. Ajay happens to know that he keeps a list in the desk drawer of all the guys in E with those kinds of important dates duly recorded, all neatly written out next to their names. He’s seen it for himself.
Earlier in the week, Ajay decided he’d try to get the stuff together to make what’s probably the best dish in his small repertoire of prison cookery: Orange Chicken. He takes it as a good sign when he gets lucky and manages to score a whole box of instant rice and the last few cans of chicken in commissary’s perpetually limited stock, and pumps a fist in victory.
When he reported his plan to Longinus, the big man had smiled and made a note of it.
“Ah, Ajay…then I have just the thing for you! Call it part of my contribution, yes? I’ll bring it tomorrow.” Like many inmates that worked in Services, Longinus could obtain a lot of shit. And in this case, ‘just the thing’ turned out to be half a cup or so of real, honest-to-god-pilfered-from-the-kitchens soy sauce. The good stuff, not just the salty brown water that commissary sold in tiny packets for highway robbery.
A half an hour’s lively bargaining out in the yard for other black-market goods, and he has the rest of what he needs: garlic and onion powder, a couple of ketchup packets slipped out of the chow hall in someone’s pocket, and an envelope of the orange breakfast drink mix that commissary had quit stocking altogether for some reason.
The morning of, he dumps everything together and gets his canned chicken marinating in the sauce while he cooks the rice, and when he tastes it, he figures it might just be the best he’s ever made.
By the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, the microwave downstairs has been going for half the morning. Hell, theirs too; both pressed into action for a big spread. When some of the other guys drop off stuff for Ajay to heat up, they wait a respectful distance from their front door, just as Pagan said they would. Pagan himself sat and read the paper while all this was going on around him, bare feet propped up on the desk, but Ajay expected that. Didn’t figure he’d be too involved with any of the actual work parts.
That spread turns out to be a real good one. Big too, with most of E involved. Sometimes a spread’s just three or four guys that tend to hang together pooling their resources to make a bigger meal, and sometimes it’s more like a potluck. Kind of serves the same purpose too. To come together and share food, to feel a little more human in a place that tries to steal that.
But in any case the Rules are the same: if you don’t put in, you don’t eat.
Once they wipe down the pod’s tables and lay out some clean trashbags to dump the food out on, it starts to look almost festive.
After their spread has been…spread, Longinus stands up, arms held wide over the bounty.
“Who will say the grace, hmm?” The first question is quiet, but like usual where biblical matters are concerned, his bass rumble tends to go quickly from zero to full-on religious fervor. “Who among you will raise his voice to the Heavens, and thank the Lord Jesus this day?!” He all but bellows it. Ajay winces inwardly as it echoes off the ceiling.
“Ooooh me, me!” Hurk immediately pipes up, waving a hand around like a little kid wanting to be called on. “I’ll do it!!”
“No you ain’t either, I’m gonna,” Sharky interrupts. “It’s my turn ‘cause you got to the last time…remember, numbnuts?”
“Awww fuck that,” Hurk snaps. “You’re just makin’ that up. And your prayers are stupid anyways.”
“Are not!”
“Are too! Mine’s the best, ask anybody! ‘Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub, yay God!” Only like the best prayer ever!”
Sharky splutters. “You’re one to talk about stupid prayers…if it ain’t that one, then it’s about some fuckin’…monkey wearin’ a suicide vest and dynamite and I don’ even know what-all else. Which ain’t even Christian, you idiot. ‘Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat!’ There! That’s what you’re supposed to say, if you ain’t soft in the head like…”
Hurk howls over him. “Don’t you talk shit about the Monkey God, you pigfuckin’ redneck heretic! Dicklips! Shit for brains!” A deep inhale: “FURRY!!”
Sharky flushes beet-red. “Fuck you Hurky, fuck you,” he bawls. “So what if I have a fursona, you can go straight to hell on a lubed-up slip n’ slide, is what you can fuckin’ do! Fuck off!”
Faces inches apart and spittle flying, it looks as if they might actually come to blows over this idiocy.
Just then, another, much softer voice slices through their unholy din.
Gentlemen, do I need to put you both in time out?” Pagan enquires, all saccharine sweetness and buried blade.
Facing the prospect of either missing out on the food or Pagan getting violent, possibly both, finally settles them down to glares and muttering.
Perfectly cheerful again, Pagan claps his hands.
“Well, that’s good enough for me…dig in!”
Nobody has to be told twice.
Ajay grabs his own newly purchased eating set and goes around filling his bowl with a little bit of everything. Then he parks it beside his contribution, just to make sure nobody’s pigging out on seconds before other guys even get the chance for firsts.
A few moments later Pagan comes strolling along to his end of the table, examining the food on offer with a critical air. He sniffs dubiously, and Ajay reaches out and gently takes Pagan’s bowl from his hand.
“Just try it,” he murmurs, and scoops up a good-sized helping of rice and chicken for him before pouring a little of the extra sauce over it.
When he hands the full bowl back, Pagan doesn’t say anything, just a perfunctory thanks as he’s walking away. But Ajay watches him out of the corner of his eye as he’s enjoying his own food. Whoever made the spicy bean dip was pretty damn good at it, he decides. Even sprung for real tortillas to go with it and everything. He watches Pagan fork up just a little, like he doesn’t exactly have high hopes for it being edible, and put it almost cautiously in his mouth. Watches his eyebrows raise in surprise…and immediately go for another, much bigger forkful. Ajay smiles to himself. Told ya, he thinks, nearly smug.
Pagan demolishes his bowlful with neat precision and then comes back for more. He holds it out to Ajay and asks softly if he might not have another helping of such an exquisite dish.
And that…
Seeing how much Pagan’s enjoying the food he made, the quiet appreciation in his voice when he asks, low and warm like it’s just the two of them…and a little of that same warmth seems to spread to his own chest, like a little spark settling there. Ajay hands the refilled bowl back with satisfaction, glad to be able to feed him for a change. Food mostly bought on Pagan’s dime, true, but it doesn’t really matter. Sharing, that’s what matters.
Later, after Ajay’s helped the other cons in E with cleanup duty, he goes upstairs to their room. As he’s slipping his shoes off in the foyer, he finds Pagan also on cleanup duty: at the sink cleaning his stuff up. In here, your belongings are one hundred percent your responsibility and everybody takes care of their own shit. That’s the Rule…but nevertheless, he went ahead and put Ajay’s in there too. Put all their stuff in the soapy water together, Pagan scrubbing placidly while he hums under his breath.
As he walks by Ajay touches his shoulder; just for a moment, just long enough to squeeze lightly before withdrawing. Pagan doesn’t look up from the mug he’s washing, but Ajay can see his little smile in the mirror, the gentle curve of his mouth.
That’s warm too, in the same place as before. Confusing, but warm.
Later that night, he’s nearly out when Pagan whispers up to him.
“Dear boy, are you still awake?”
“Yeah, kinda,” and rubs muzzily at his face. “S’mthin’ wrong?”
“Ajay…what’s a fursona?”
It took him ages to get back to sleep after that, but only because he got hiccups from laughing so hard.
Ajay Ghale keeps his head down and slowly does his time. But unlike what he said to that kid up in Admin, doing that time feels a little different to him now. Feels like something he can tolerate; that despite everything, like there’s parts of his life that have a little brightness to them. Like there’s some good in here, too. For the first time in a long time…maybe even a little peace.
Until everything goes to shit. And, like usual, it’s all his own fucking fault.
***