The high-decibel shriek of the prison buzzer sliced through the heavy afternoon air, a sound that usually signaled a return to the suffocating monotony of the cells. For once, I welcomed it. I stood up from the bench quickly ,not casting a single backward glance at the man sitting beside me. I needed distance.
As I moved toward the gate that separated the yard from the main blocks, my S-class senses picked up a flicker of jagged movement. In the narrow, shadowed gap between the laundry facility and the secondary cell block, away from the prying eyes of the tower guards, a silhouette was trembling.
It was the new Omega from my cell. He looked smaller than usual, his frame vibrating with a terror so potent I could practically taste the metallic tang of his fear. He was holding something small - a plastic-wrapped bindle - extending it toward a burly B-class Alpha whose scent was a foul mixture of unwashed skin and predatory greed. The Omega's hands were shaking so violently the package nearly slipped.
I should have kept walking. In a place like this, "mind your own business" isn't just a suggestion; it's a survival strategy. But then the Alpha's hand shot out, thick fingers bruising the Omega's pale forearm as he yanked him forward with a snarl.
I let out a long, weary sigh that clouded in the chilly air. My feet adjusted their course before my brain could fully protest.
As I approached the alley, the B-class Alpha's internal radar finally pinged. He tensed, his shoulders hunching as he sensed the sudden, overwhelming pressure of an S-class presence. He let go of the boy so abruptly it was as if the Omega's skin had turned to white-hot iron, shoving him to the side. The Omega hit the hard, packed dirt of the yard with a dull thud.
I came to a halt a few paces away, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my grey prison trousers. I didn't puff out my chest; I didn't have to. The air around us simply grew heavy, the kind of atmospheric weight that makes it hard to draw a full breath.
"Is everything alright here?" I asked, my voice dropping into that low, lethal register. I looked between the two, my gaze lingering on the bruised skin of the Omega's arm.
"Bin..." The Alpha's voice was a pathetic stutter. He took a frantic step back, his heels catching on a stray stone. He knew the rumors. Everyone knew the "Tongue Ripper" didn't play well with others.
The Omega didn't waste a second. He scrambled up from the ground and rushed behind me, using my larger frame as a human shield. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a frantic, bird-like heartbeat thumping against the space behind my shoulder blades.
I looked the Alpha dead in the eye, my expression a mask of bored indifference.
"Are you that desperate for me to call you?"
The implication hit him like a physical blow.
In the pheromonal hierarchy of the prison, being "called" by an S-class Alpha during a rut wasn't an invitation; it was a sentence. My ruts were legendary for their violence - a byproduct of my distorted biology that the prison grapevine had turned into a horror story. To be "called" meant being used to vent the kind of aggression that left men in the infirmary for weeks.
The Alpha turned a sickly shade of grey, his head bowing so low I thought he might tip over. "No!" he protested, his voice cracking. "No, I... I'm going!"
Another buzzer droned, longer and more insistent this time. I gave a sharp, clinical nudge of my chin toward the exit. The Alpha didn't need a second invitation; he scurried away, his boots kicking up dust in his haste to disappear into the surging line of inmates.
I turned slightly toward the Omega. He remained hunched, his head lowered, hands clasped tightly in front of his waist as if trying to hold himself together.
"Be careful," I said curtly. I didn't offer a hand. I didn't offer comfort. I just turned and began the long walk back toward the gate.
Just as I cleared the mouth of the alleyway, a flash of grey caught my eye. Sol was leaning against the rough stone wall of the building, his hands in his pockets, his posture as relaxed.He'd been watching. Of course he had.
I ignored him, my stride lengthening as I crossed the emptying field.
"I didn't know you were so generous," he cooed, pushing off the wall to follow me.
His voice trailed after me like a persistent shadow, each word more irritating than the last as we filtered through the checkpoints and back into the stifling confines of our cell block. He talked about the "nobility of the predator" and the "irony of a killer playing savior," his tone light and mocking. By the time the heavy electronic lock hissed shut behind us, my teeth were gritted so hard my jaw ached.
I sat down in my corner, the familiar shadows of the unit offering a modicum of peace that was immediately shattered when Sol sat down just inches away.
He reached out, his long, pale fingers sliding toward the book I had been reading. I didn't move fast enough to stop him.
"Mmm... Misconception," he mused, his eyes tracing the faded letters on the cover. "I've read it. The author is quite insightful, don't you think?" He looked at me thoughtfully, his eyes bright with a localized intelligence that made me feel like a specimen under a microscope. "But there are some parts where he just bullshits people and hopes no one will notice."
I reached out and yanked the book from his grasp with a sharp snap of my wrist. He just smirked, leaning back against the wall.
"Like the end..." he started.
I fixed him with a cold glare.
He stopped, a playful glint in his eyes as he made a theatrical motion of zipping his lips shut.
The cell was unusually quiet. The two new inmates had been pulled for a mandatory medical screening, and CJ was, as always, lingering in the workshop to finish some "passion project" or another. It was just the two of us.
I tried to concentrate on the text, but the silence was thick, charged with the presence of the man beside me. I could feel his gaze. It wasn't a stare; it was a physical weight, tracing the line of my profile, the curve of my neck, the tension in my hands.
"You're quite pretty, you know," he said suddenly. His voice had lost its mocking edge; it sounded soft, almost in a daze, as if he were speaking his thoughts aloud without realizing it.
"For someone I just met, you're far too comfortable," I snapped, not looking up from the page.
"Who said this was the first time we met?"
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I finally looked at him, my brow furrowing in genuine confusion. Before I could demand an explanation ,the cell door hissed open.
CJ walked in, smelling of cedar shavings and cheap prison tobacco. He looked between the two of us, a slow, knowing smile tagging at the corners of his mouth as he sat down on the floor in front of me.
"I see you two have become friends," he teased, folding his legs. He looked immensely pleased with himself, like a gardener watching a difficult seed finally sprout.
I scowled and buried my face back in my book. Between CJ's relentless meddling and Sol's cryptic nonsense, I was convinced my cellmates were on a coordinated mission to see who could drive me to insanity first.
The days that followed were a blur of persistent, irritating proximity. Sol became my shadow. In the woodshop, he was always at my elbow, his "mentorship" consisting mostly of him asking inappropriate questions while I tried to focus on the grain of the wood. In the yard, he was a permanent fixture on my bench, driving away any hope of peace with a constant stream of lewd commentary and sharp-witted observations.
Whenever I tried to circle back to his comment about us having met before, he would dodge the question with a wink or a remark so scandalous I'd find myself scowling just to hide the heat in my face.
But it was the nights that were changing me.
It started with him sleeping close. Then, I began to wake up to the feeling of his body flushed against my back, a solid, warm anchor in the middle of the cold cell. Then came the hand ,his arm draped possessively over my waist, his fingers twitching if I tried to roll away.
At first, I'd fought it. I'd shoved him off, hissed threats into the dark, and spent half the night sitting up in a defensive crouch. But Sol was relentless. By the third night, I was too exhausted . By the fifth, I realized, with a sense of profound self-loathing, that I was sleeping better. The warmth was a comfort I hadn't realized I was starved for.
Tonight was no different. His arm was a heavy, warm weight over my head, pulling me into a soft, rhythmic embrace. CJ had teased me earlier that day about how "domestic" we looked, and I'd nearly thrown a chisel at him, but the truth was beginning to leak through the cracks of my resolve.
I turned slowly to face him. He was asleep . In the pale, silver moonlight filtering through the high bars, his sharp features looked softened, almost vulnerable. His long hair had fallen over his face, obscuring his eyes.
I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He was handsome especially when he wasn't speaking. Without thinking, my hand moved. I softly pushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. My fingers brushed his skin, and a jolt of electricity raced up my arm. I recoiled instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I've lost my mind, I thought, turning back to face the wall.
Suddenly, his arm tightened. He pulled me flush against his chest.My breath hitched. I stayed perfectly still, eyes glued to the concrete of the wall. I hadn't been held like this since I was a child. The only person who had ever shown me this kind of soft, protective affection was my sister ,and this was nothing like that. This felt dangerous. It felt like an invitation to a cliff's edge.
I stopped breathing, waiting for him to settle.
"Are you awake?" he whispered. His voice was thick with sleep, a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver down my spine. He propped himself up on one arm, looking down at me.
"No," I whispered back, my own voice betraying me. The irritation that usually fueled my interactions with him had evaporated, leaving behind something raw and unfamiliar.
He let out a soft chuckle and gently turned me over so I had no choice but to face him. In the dim light, his smile was a curve of pure, unadulterated confidence. I wondered, not for the first time, why he looked at me this way. Everyone else saw a monster, a biological anomaly to be feared. But Sol looked at me as if I were something precious.
"What? Did I look handsome?" he teased.
I scoffed, trying to look away, but his presence was too large for the small space between us.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.
My lungs seized. The air in the cell suddenly felt thin, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. He didn't wait for a "yes." He leaned in with a slow, agonizing deliberation, his eyes searching mine for a rejection that didn't come.
When his lips finally touched mine, it wasn't the violent, demanding collision I expected from an inmate. It was slow. Passionate. He captured my lips with a softness that made my knees weak even as I lay there. His hand slid to the side of my waist, pulling me closer until there wasn't a breath of space left between us.
I found myself reciprocating. My mind screamed at me to stop, to push him away, to reclaim the solitary fortress I had built for myself. But my body was acting on its own. I had never been kissed like this - so gently, as if I were made of glass.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a fluid, rhythmic symphony. He shifted his weight, straddling my hips as the kiss grew more urgent, his hand tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck.
I felt like I was drowning in him.
What am I doing? This isn't okay. Why am I letting this happen?
Was I really this desperate for human touch? Or was it him? His touch felt so deliberate, so careful, as if he were afraid that if he didn't handle me with absolute reverence, I would shatter into a thousand pieces. And under that softness, I felt my walls crumbling.
My hands found his hair, gripping the silken strands as he let out a low, muffled moan against my mouth. I slid my tongue into his, tasting him, losing myself in the heat and the friction.
Maybe my rut is close, I reasoned frantically. That's all this is. A biological lapse.
I felt his hands graze the skin beneath my shirt, sending a wave of shivers straight to my core.
I wanted him.
But then, his hand traveled lower, moving toward the waistband of my pants.
The contact was like a bucket of ice water. My survival instincts, dormant for the last ten minutes, roared back to life. My eyes snapped open.
I moved with the violent efficiency of a cornered animal. I pushed him off me, as i scrambling to my feet quickly . I stood there, chest heaving, my hand raking through my disheveled hair as I stared at the floor.
I looked back at him. Confusion and a trace of hurt covered his face, his lips red and swollen from the kiss. Before he could speak - before I had to face the reality of what I'd just allowed - I turned and rushed into the bathroom.
I stayed in there for hours. I sat on the edge of the cold tile floor, staring at the door. I heard his footsteps approach once. I saw his shadow block the sliver of light from the corridor as he raised a hand to knock, but he hesitated and eventually retreated.
I let out a shaky breath, splashing cold water onto my face. My reflection in the dull metal mirror looked like a stranger's.
The next morning, I avoided him like a plague. I sat at the far end of the table during breakfast, my eyes fixed on my bowl of bland rice. I could feel his gaze, but I refused to look up. I was terrified that if I saw his eyes, the resolve I'd spent the last few hours rebuilding would vanish.
CJ watched us with a questioning look, his usual banter silenced by the heavy, suffocating tension radiating from my corner.
Luckily, today was my scheduled therapy session. It was the perfect excuse to skip the woodshed and hide in the only part of the prison where Sol couldn't follow.
I sat on the worn sofa in the therapy room, my head resting against the back as I stared at the ceiling tiles.
"So, how are you, Bin?" Jie asked, peering at me through his glasses.
I didn't answer. I just watched the dust motes dancing in the light.
"It's been a long time since your last rut," Jie continued, flipping through a folder. He usually didn't push, but today his voice held a note of professional concern. "You know how it is when your ruts take too long to cycle. Should I inform the warden to prep the medical wing?"
"No," I said with a sigh, finally sitting up.
I looked at my hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on my sleeve. "Jie... have you ever liked someone?"
The therapist froze. He looked at me with a mix of shock and intrigue. It wasn't the kind of question I usually asked I usually spent our sessions trying to find new ways to make him squirm.
"Yes," he answered, his voice softening.
"How does it feel?"
He looked confused, but a small, genuine smile bloomed on his face. "Well, the only person I've truly loved has been your sister. You know that."
I felt a twinge of regret for opening this door, but I needed an answer.
"It feels... amazing," he said, his eyes going distant. "Every time I'm away, I just want to be around her. I want to see her smile. I want to protect that happiness. It's like a constant pull toward a center you didn't know you had."
I listened as he rambled on like a lovesick fool. I wasn't like him. I couldn't be. My sister was a good person; she deserved that kind of light. I was a monster in a cage.
"Why?" Jie asked, leaning forward expectantly. "Is there someone you like?"
I scoffed, looking away immediately, but I knew he saw the flicker of hesitation in my eyes.
"I don't like anyone," I said, my voice cold. "I was just testing you."
I stood up to leave, the image of Sol's smile in the moonlight burning in the back of my mind. NO ! I couldn't possibly like that idiot.