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Odin was slow as he pulled into his cell, slowly shifting his body weight as he sat on the bottom bunk. Free time before bed was always… Colorful. Every evening felt different with all the inmates unwinding in their own ways at the end of each day.. Odin, on the other hand, did not enjoy it. His leg was gently bouncing up and down as he snatched his small toothbrush kit that he bought from commissary. The bathroom periods were some of Odin’s least favorites. Not only did he get to see a bunch of unhygienic slobs who never bought new toothbrushes so you could literally see the destroyed dirty bristles, but many took it as an opportunity to show off and size up other inmates. The werewolf glanced over at Julian.

The most disgusting inmate of them all.

Odin hated him. Seeing the baggy clothes over his weak frame. The mage never did anything to better himself. He didn’t put effort into working out so people wouldn’t poke at him or bruise his sides. Julian just ******** lay there floating in the middle of whatever current felt like pushing him. He silently took orders and did what he was told without question. Didn’t matter if it was from Odin or Hotts or whoever. Julian was the type of person that acted as nothing more than a living doormat. If Odin woke up tomorrow and found any parts of Julian had been absorbed into his own personality or being, he’d probably just kill himself. It was disgusting. The thought of being anything like that stupid body of existence. Julian was disgusting. Odin knew it with every fiber of his being. The ink mage was everything Odin hated and feared of becoming wrapped up into one… But he didn’t. Odin didn’t hate Julian. He didn’t think Julian was disgusting.

He quietly bit his lower lip knowing those baggy clothes were shielding that lukewarm skin. Delicate bones wrapped in pale decoration. The same stupid s**t Odin was obsessed over. The only ******** thing he thought about day in and day out and day in and night out. If he wasn’t going over in his head the normal paranoid thoughts over who he could trust, who he should distrust, what he could do to try to be three steps ahead the other inmates… It was just Julian. How his head was doing. Why his hair never grew in it’s natural color. Odin had been in over a month now and not a damn root was showing anything but that same unnatural blue. It was like the mage’s hair wasn’t even growing or some s**t, or enchanted hair dye before he got in, or he could paint it himself like he had managed with his own skin. Odin remembered something about light hair as a child. Julian had to have told him something about it but Odin couldn’t remember and it was driving him mad. He thought about all the ways he wanted to touch Julian. How he wanted to mold the mage like a slab of clay. Run his fingers through every nook and crany. Odin was sick. He was ******** ill in the head.

He pushed off the mattress and stood up slipping his hands out from the prison’s winter jumpsuit, trying to act normal. His body wanted to react and get excited. It wanted to work itself up knowing what it would have later tonight once the lights went dim. The guards were heavy during this hour. Every goddamn ten minutes you heard one screaming at inmates to keep it in their pants or hurry it up in the bathroom for others to wash their teeth. His hands had been removed from the top, and he lazily tied them together at the backside when a guard came over telling their section of the block could use the bathrooms. Odin’s head automatically ticked towards Julian as though the guard’s words wouldn’t cause the mage to move, only his.

The werewolf moved pretty lazily since his body was starting to get worn down. Odin was thinking about too much s**t. He needed to stop and just learn to get to bed earlier. A hand reached out tugging on the sleeves of his prison clothes that were dangling behind him. When Odin turned his head he saw Hotts standing there, moving up besides him. ”Careful dog-boy. Keep that up and people will think you’re open for business.” Odin tugged on the collar of his white tank top that was kept underneath his dark blue suit, the only thing covering his chest.

"The ********> Odin asked glaring slightly. Was Hotts talking about Leon’s dust? The man chuckled before patting Odin’s backside.

”Not that easy to use sagged pants during chilly seasons.” Sagged pants. That’s what the faggots did. Open for business. That was what they used to display they were down to ******** whenever. Oh. Odin slipped his fingers through the knot and tugged at the sleeves until they were hanging to his sides.

"Tch. ******** off won’t you?” Odin tried to play the embarrassment off.

”Inmates!” The guard bringing their few cells to the bathroom for their nightly ten minute BPS (brush-piss-s**t) session. They tried to make sure everyone in the blocks got at least ten minutes within the first hour of free time, then everyone had an extra hour where the guards didn’t have to keep running every few cells at a time for their turn to use the bathroom. The guards weren’t a fan of watching inmates do their nightly routine, so they didn’t have time for bullshit during the trips. They were always agitated trying to get it over with. ”You two make contact again and I’ll write the both of you up.” He snarled towards Odin and Hotts. Odin flashed his middle finger as Hotts staggered away from the two, moving off to walk with his cellmate instead. That left Odin and Julian having their own little space as they entered the bathroom. Odin claimed a sink, placing his toothbrush kit down next to it and turned to stop at one of the bathroom stalls. That was how it worked. You claim a spot, do your business while your cellmate makes sure nobody ******** with your toothbrush, then you brush your teeth while you watch theirs. Unless you were one of those dirty ******** mongrels who brought the toothbrush into the stall with you. ********. Nothing pissed Odin off more than when he saw an inmate sitting out on the toilet while they were sloppily brushing their teeth at the same time. He’d never missed doors on the stalls so much until he noticed inmates doing that bullshit.

When Odin finished he went to the sink, dunking his hands under the stream of water to wash them before taking hold of his toothbrush. That was the unspoken: Your turn. It had only been a couple of minutes and the guard seemed particularly on edge. ”Hurry it up inmates others need a turn!” Odin rolled his eyes into the mirror, glancing at the bags under his eyes. For chrissakes he looked awful. It was almost good he hardly had anytime to look at himself in this hellhole.
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When Odin came back to the sink, he was now met with Julian’s hair tied off. He might’ve stared a second too long at the change before he moved in to wash his hands. Odin was pretty direct inside of bathrooms. When he was new and still trying to get the hang of the bathroom runs like this, he’d by accidentally made eye contact with another inmate using the toilet. He couldn’t break eye contact since the other man was aggressively holding it. He was forced to stand there unphased and like it didn’t bother him even though the slimy dirtbag made his skin crawl. Since then, he learned his favorite times to go was the allotted time for showers, right at the beginning of the day. When inmates were trying to get a turn to clean off or still waking up if you tried to hurry there would be a lull. Lately he’d been bad at taking advantage of it himself since Odin could never ******** wake up anymore. He was always too tired.

You had to learn real quick how to get rid of what dignity you had once you entered prison anyway. The werewolf understood that by now. He wasn’t exactly the new guy anymore. Julian backed away from the sinks so Odin grabbed his toothbrush and wet it, then pushed a bit of toothpaste on cramming it in his mouth. He took note of which stall Julian went in, but the werewolf was content focusing on the task at hand instead of watching over his cellmate like a hawk. Not like anything bad could happen when the guard was there to quickly hurry them back to their cells so the next guard could come in with the next crowd. Odin spat into the sink and brought the brush back into his mouth. As he focused on the left side of his teeth he splashed a bit of water on his face. Was ******** cold. All the water in the godforsaken prison was cold. He heard rumors about one of the showers being almost-warm first thing in the morning, but he’d never been able to get a slot early enough. He was pretty sure it was nothing more than a rumor. Odin just wanted the weather to get warmer. That would solve plenty of issues. He heard the small chuckle and glanced to the side to see Julian standing patiently and some ******** acting like he knew something. The werewolf’s eyes narrowed slightly. Everyone in prison seemed to pretend to know dark secrets about people. Odin was used to that, in fact, he was really starting to get the hang of it himself. You pick up tiny clues and come to a conclusion and stick with it acting like you know the whole story even if you don’t know s**t. It wasn’t about knowing facts, it was about getting good at pretending to know facts.

Odin washed off his toothbrush and splashed another take of water on his face, standing to the side of Julian. Plenty of room for Odin to snatch a handful of water for himself while Julian was washing his hands below the werewolf’s. It was about then that there was a knock at the door. The next guard had a small pack of prisoners waiting outside for the current ones to finish. ”Let’s go ladies!” The guard yelped at them. Odin put the toothbrush back into the small kit and pushed away from the sinks. Took another few minutes for the rest of the inmates to gather in front of the door. The guard in charge of them made sure he had the same number he arrived with before forcing them to march out in a single file line as the next guard with the next shipment of inmates waited for his turn to force them in for their turn to get ready for bed. The group immediately lost their single-line formation when they ungracefully trotted back down the hall towards their cells. One the guard dropped them back off to their area, he was moving to the next section of inmates. Once they finished getting everyone in the block a turn the guards wouldn’t be so uptight until the count before lights out. Until then, it would be nothing but constant streams of inmates and correctional officers walking past them.

Odin placed his kit away neatly before he moved back over to his bunk. The werewolf slowly placed his head down staring up at his usual crack. He was exhausted still, and the werewolf knew that it was a perfect time to sleep. Normally the werewolf would take the free time to lounge around and workout for the inmates that would be passing by. It was becoming a nervous habit at this point. Whenever the werewolf was around packs of other inmates the only thought to hit his head was Show them how strong you are. Make them know not to mess with you. Get stronger so you can beat anyone you have to. He was too sleepy to care for once. Odin wanted to curl up and throw his blanket over his head. ********, he was pretty sure he could just hide Julian completely underneath the blankets anyways. Nobody would notice when they're just walking by a moment, right? Odin almost snarled at himself. The ******** was he thinking? When the guards stopped walking back and forth in front of their cell every few minutes, trouble could start. The free time before bed meant anyone could slip into their cell when he was sleeping to start trouble. He was trying to weigh out the risk-reward of going to bed now, versus going to bed later and it was only then that he remembered he had a personal alarm clock just in front of him.

"Wake me when the guards are finished and free time before bed starts.” Odin said as he carefully closed his eyes. Just a nap. That would hold him off more than enough. Back when Odin was using drugs he lived off naps. He would be too uncomfortable to sleep more than a few hours, or the uppers he was on would keep waking him and clawing at the back of his neck trying to talk him into doing more. The only time he could really remember sleeping long periods of time was when he'd stay in a drug induced state for a week straight then crash and sleep for an entire weekend once he finally began to suffer through his comedowns. Sleeping had been horrible then. You'd crash feeling like s**t and wake up feeling like s**t. Odin was starting to learn to appreciate sleep. Appreciate eating. Appreciate some small aspects of sober life. It was the small things that kept you going in prison, like this: for one of the damn first times since Odin had arrived at the godforsaken place, he fell asleep within minutes.
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Being home felt nice. Odin sat there in his bed rubbing his temple after he woke. He’d never had a dream like that. A dream that lasted months. A dream that had so many details he didn’t know what to make of it. He stood up and began to walk towards the small kitchen area on the other side of the room. He just wanted to eat a giant steak. Please and thank you. That would hit the spot just perfectly. Opening the fridge, Odin was fortunate enough to see there was just enough for him to cook up. He couldn’t remember the last time he put the effort into buying food and preparing it himself.

”Odin.”

A small murmur left his lips, which translated in his half-sleep state as: "I only have enough for one I need to get mo-.” As he spun around to meet with the comforting voice he realized his apartment was quickly sputtering away. The folds of the building tucking themselves into the back of his head as his sanity slowly came back. His ability to think clearly. To become skeptical. Although it was a lot closer than he had expected, and it gave Odin the craving to look. So his eyes shot open to see Julian carefully kneeling besides his bed. Like he was gently being woken for a morning before work. As a child, mornings were always filled with screaming and shouting at the top of his lungs when his slaves tried to wake him for school. He would throw fits when they tried to get him out of bed, and when they removed his covers, and when they tried to get him dressed. Then when he grew up he stopped waking up for things. And now he was older. So instead of having fits like he used to, Odin just sat up and nodded slightly.

"Yup.” He confirmed. Now that he napped, his filthy morning breath was back almost immediately. Luckily, Odin was in the habit of keeping drinks around to help him swallow down whatever vitamins he could get from commissary. So he leaned to the side of his bed, snatching the V8 bottle that Odin hated the taste of. He filled his mouth, swishing the drink around so it had the perfect opportunity to coat his tongue with that puke flavored s**t. After he swallowed, it at least helped a little.

The werewolf looked up at the hallway. Hotts had wandered off to god-knows-where. Odin didn’t hear any complains from Leon. He wasn’t too worried about the fae since that last douchebag he was rooming with disappeared. Until they found someone new to put in with the fairy the male had the cell all to himself. Odin was less than a two second distance away. He was more bothered by the fact he knew the damned snarky idiot probably had library books sitting around his cell with smack tucked away inside. The only downside with Leon being tucked away safely by himself was that Odin couldn’t have any type of eyes on the liar. Nobody to be there if Leon was given a bad batch and overdosed. Nobody to be there if he tried to do anything to begin with.

Part of Odin wished he’d never found out about Leon’s little side-business. It felt good being able to control it, but it felt bad knowing the little s**t wasn’t as stupid as you’d assume a prison junkie to be. Odin’s eyes landed on Julian again. The mage was too uptight to do anything like Leon was, but he might’ve tried something in the past. Might’ve offered favors for protection before Odin showed up. He already knew when he raped Julian the first time… It was the first time. Julian made that perfectly clear. It seemed so recent. Odin knew he went a bit rough on the kid sometimes. Half the time Odin got freaked out at himself when he’d run some fingers along Julian’s neck, so instead of looking weak he’d snap outta it and choke Julian instead for a few seconds. Sometimes when his lips got too close to Julian’s skin for comfort or he realized he was digging his nose too close to that shaggy head of hair the only excuse for it was to bite down. He wasn’t sure what freaked him out because in those moments Odin felt like he had everything he possibly wanted. It was the type of bliss that made him lose his mind for minutes at a time, and when he snapped back to it he was quickly trying to shake all the damned stupid thoughts he was sucking outta Julian.

His disgusting parts. Odin kept trying to take Julian’s disgusting pieces when he lost himself. That was why it was so important for him to counter it. He didn’t want to give Julian that power over him. Odin didn’t want to give anyone that power over him. It was ******** up how the ink mage kept that damned spell on him. If Odin didn't know better he'd think the a*****e was a psychic mage that had been ******** with him this whole time. Forcing the obsession on a primal level that was his safe space. His comfort. His charm. As though Julian was a key wrapped round his neck. Odin ran his fingers over the top of his head parting the short strawberry blond hair between his digits. He needed to get on with it. Was better for Odin to pretend to be chitchatting so nobody thought the two were bored looking for some form of entertainment. "You do any trades that are worthwhile?” Odin asked. Leon had something of use to him, Odin didn’t know how to learn about Julian without straight asking it. So he did. They still had nearly an hour of time before the lights went out (probably more realistically like 40 minutes, not that Odin had a watch on him to check the time).
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Julian acted as though Odin was Medusa herself. His body turned to stone, refusing to move a single muscle even when Odin was leaning to the other side of his bed to grab hold of the juice he was trying to clean up his breath with. Prison was good at making you miss stupid things. Idiotic useless things you never thought about on the outside. s**t like a bottle of mouthwash whenever you wanted to take a swig. Odin didn’t know what he’d do once he got out.

At first, he always promised himself he’d stack up on piles of drugs and put himself in a drug induced coma he missed the s**t that much. Then the first two weeks passed. Suddenly the werewolf found himself thinking about getting himself the most extravagant meal he could afford. No. That needs to be re-worded. The most extravagant meal Ian could afford. But then the werewolf had been trapped in for three weeks. Odin found himself thinking about being able to go for a long jog at a park. By now sometimes Odin even found himself just thinking about I just want to take a breath of something other than prison air. Other times he dreamt of buying a bottle of mouthwash at some shitty corner store to bring back to his apartment. He didn’t know what the first thing he’d do once he was free, but the more time that passed the more insignificant and meaningful it became. Hell, recently Odin would think about his old apartment and it was getting hard to picture walking through the door without Julian standing somewhere in the center waiting for him.

It was getting harder to separate himself from prison, that was all. Every day Odin spent here made his small dose of eternity seem like it would never end. It was getting hard to picture the uniformed days vanish where he wasn’t on strict daily counts. It was getting hard to picture himself returning home to what he once thought was a tiny apartment. Now when Odin’s mind wandered to the once-hellhold Ian was still paying for him while he was in, the werewolf pictured it as though it were some type of luxury condo. The main room was bigger than this cell alone. He had two rooms, even if he only used the second one as a place to hide things and vanish to on full moons. The kitchen area was just across from his bed, one small counter that cradled a sink and pushed up against the fridge. He never thought he’d look at that tiny half-kitchen and see it as a luxury either. Everything out of the prison walls were so foreign. That included a space, no matter how luxurious, without his new belonging lingering a few feet behind. Staring at him with those large cat-like eyes as they waited for direction. Dream-Odin had imagined it so simply. He had no problem waking up and forgetting the past few weeks as though they hadn’t happened at all. But the real Odin, staring at the statue that seemed to be made of stone, he couldn’t do it.

Solitary confinement most of the time before you came.

Odin had only been in that claustrophobic hellhole once. It was smaller than a parking space and the disintegrating walls were clunky, not allowing in the slightest bit of natural light. In all honestly, solitary confinement scared the s**t out of him. The second that door shut it felt like you’d run out of air. If the single small light bulb flickering above head went out you’d be trapped in the darkness until a guard came round bothering to check on you. Odin hadn’t even been in his right of mind for majority of the time he was in there. For the few hours he had been, it felt like an eternity. The werewolf couldn’t stand it. He had been willing to give up his image and re-enter the general population prematurely for the sake of getting out of that room.

How the ******** did Julian survive that?

"How long have you been in?” Odin asked. He couldn’t help himself. At that point it was required. How long has Julian lasted so far? When was Julian going to be free? The werewolf was already patting himself on the back. Most people didn’t have homes to go back to once they left prison. Majority probably had to move back in with their parents until they could afford a place on their own. If Odin cleaned up his private room he could easily fit beds in there. Dressers. Desks. Anything. It was difficult being able to picture having enough belongings to line up nicely in an apartment at this point anyways. What the ******** did Odin need so much stuff on the outside for anyways? He constantly had tissues, takeout boxes, old prescription bottles, clothes, and random s**t littered all over his apartment. It was all too much. Everything would be different once he got out.

Odin didn’t bat an eye when Julian was saying he was useless within prison. A part of Odin almost made a comment about Julian’s only use being his body when it came down to the bottom line, but at this point that was basically Odin’s anyways too.

Tatoos.

The ink was clear as Odin realized Julian was practically tattooing himself just now anyways. Odin slowly nodded his head, one of his brows arching in the air giving the ink mage a skeptical gaze. Was tattooing something you could even trade? He’d already seen dozens of shitty prison tattoos within the place. Tons of them wanted the proper prison experience where they were marked up and left with those uneven tattoos. You’d break pens and find something to sharpen down like a needle then stab repeatedly. Most the tattoos looked awful. Like a middle schoolers arts-and-crafts project gone terribly wrong. Inmates must’ve constantly went in picturing a gun and ending up with a thick blob, the uneven dots hardly equating to anything.

"With your ink or -?” Odin found himself asking, as though it mattered if Julian put his blood in other people or they needed to buy a new set of pens from commissary. Hell, they could make it other people’s problem. They provided the ink, Odin provided the tattoo. The werewolf still wasn’t sure if he’d pursue it. If he could get on some people’s good side because of it, then like ******** would it be worth it. He wasn’t sure how well it would go if he wandered up to the alchemists asking if any of them had a tattoo that they regretted. The werewolf would have to consider any options before doing something so stupid. That’s probably a surefire way to become the laughingstock of the whole place.

Realizing his sentence had been unfinished, Odin knew he needed to top it off with an ending. "- or blood or whatever you got.” Odin muttered waving his hand through the air carelessly like he wasn’t all that curious about it in the first place. "You use that or normal ink?” He roughly finished the question, completing it so he didn’t seem like a mumbling idiot as he spoke about s**t he didn’t understand. The werewolf had never been very interested in other races. He never took the time to learn what they could do or how they worked. Julian’s blood was a complete ******** mystery to the guy.

And as prison taught him: Pretend you know everything even when you don’t know s**t. He would probably never have a proper understanding of Julian's body since he couldn't see himself ever sitting down to have the conversation they required indepth conversation.
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It was impossible to hide. The slightest bit of shock emulating through his facial expression. He immediately fell sullen seeing four months written on the ink mage’s skin. In SHU or the total amount of time he’d been in prison? ********. Odin was bad at asking questions. That’s all he was learning from this all. The werewolf had never been good at social interactions. The more he let that question simmer, the faster he realized he didn’t want to know the answer. His head lifted, a slight noise of frustration leaving his lips, "Tch.”, before he secured his gaze on the ink mage again.

As Odin traced over the text he tried to make sense of it, but he was no good at problem solving. Came in April 6th. Prison, obviously. It had to be the date Julian arrived. Then something about Leon. What? What did Leon have to do with any of this? Odin knew Julian cared about the little guy but chrissakes. The mage had been playing stalker or some s**t by keeping track of the fae’s cellmates and what he was up to. Odin tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Now it was his turn to play stalker. No, not stalker. Odin wasn’t the one quietly watching in the corner. He was the one snapping wrists.

Seven months left. Close to eight.

"Until your release?” Odin’s expression went blank. Nearly the length of his time that he was required to stay. Longer. Just a tiny bit longer. It wouldn’t be an issue. Julian could just stay back in solitary until his release then Odin would rent a car and drive back to this hellhole to pick him up. It would all be that simple. His eyes left Julian realizing the kid had just been talking about Leon. That’s the one who had been in long before them. The fairy had been in the longer and was already an established member of whatever group Julian was talking about. Seemed safer. Safer than Odin? Or safer than the alchemists? Odin wasn’t stupid, he understood he was only one guy. Certainly not the safest person to hide behind in a place like this. The werewolf still took offense to it though. The frustration was mocking him. You can’t be strong enough, it said. He wasn’t going to focus on the small details, though. There was a more important one. "When is Leon’s release?” If Julian even knew the other male’s release. Odin saw the two whisper back and forth sometimes. It wasn’t anything like the lycans. It wasn’t anything like the groups of inmates who joked around with their friends and laughed their asses off during free time. Leon and Julian weren’t like those two brats in his work assignment group who were always talking and complaining loudly to one another in order to let off steam. The fattie, always shoving food in his mouth while this thin friend was constantly giving him s**t for it. Those two didn’t joke like the other inmates. Which Odin also understood, he wasn’t anyone’s happy place.

Not without drugs, at least.

He’d gotten a taste of being the life of the party. Odin had once been able to crack jokes and cut through tension like butter. He’d tell stories of stupid s**t he’d done with his friends and all the abandoned buildings he trespassed on so they could skateboard or graffiti on the walls. He would have stories about girls at parties who had their tops torn off before they were shoved into pools. Odin used to be able to make anyone laugh. It had always been fake. The blond understood he wasn’t that big a winner when it came to personality. He watched the way people got sick of being around him. The way people seemed to give him the silent treatment when he was sober so they didn’t start fights. The way people would set fun things to do and not invite him half the time even when all their other friends were going. Odin wasn’t that stupid... He watched the way people were around him at times. Taking note of Julian’s silent presence, Odin knew the kid was terrified of him. That being around Odin was so hard that he couldn’t even bring himself to speak like a real person. He knew the two would want nothing to do with him once his sentence was up, but it felt good to pretend they did. That Odin could leave and have some ******** up little pack he created himself. That he’d clean up the back room in his apartment and the two would be so ******** grateful and look at him like some type of hero. The two only stayed in line because they had to, not because they wanted to. Without Odin they’d be with anyone else inside the prison. The ******** was he asking about their release dates for when it didn’t matter in the end? Pull yourself together. ********> He angrily scolded himself.

Upon hearing Julian’s had ink-blood since he was born, Odin couldn’t do much more than nod as though he ******** understood or some s**t. It was nonsense to him. He didn’t know how it was possible. Did the ink have antibodies? Did it carry oxygen okay? His mind was buzzing with probably just as many questions as the doctors to work with Julian as a child, though he wasn’t allowed to try and find any solutions for it.

Can make it red. Less weird for people to see.

I don’t think it’s weird. Odin almost said. He did think it’s weird, but, it was one of those things he was willing to overlook. Instead, that rude filter in his head translated his thought into: "Nobody cares what color you bleed.” His tone was careless, bored almost, as though he couldn’t be bothered discussing it anymore. It was the only way he knew to express himself. Ultimately, turning it red seemed like a waste of energy anyways. If Julian was bleeding, he had bigger things to worry about than freaking people out about what color it came out as.

Synthetic ink. Odin narrowed his glance slightly when Julian mentioned for strangers. He was already balancing the possibility of Leon had some type of marking on him. Because who else would possibly get a tattoo that wasn’t a non-stranger? Someone who wasn’t within these prison walls. Perhaps Julian found a way to slip a fake tattoo on someone he hated so he could track them. Maybe a strand of Hotts’ hair was coated in silver ink. Julian was still playing stalker with someone. Hell, Odin might’ve been the victim and didn’t even know it. For some reason, that possibility didn’t bother him as much as one would expect. It was almost as though he trusted Julian to some degree.

Odin didn’t have time to respond, his head turned the second he noticed someone standing near the open cell. Some tired looking guy. Odin slowly stood up, taking a slight half-step in front of Julian. His territory. His. Everything in here was his. No words were exchanged. The dark haired male just turned his head slightly, then tugged on his collar. TREAT? Everyone seemed to be playing Julian’s game, except their message wasn’t written in ink. It was written in someone’s blood. The male thumbed the word, the blood getting brushed away as though it hadn’t been there in the first place. Same ******** from the cafeteria. Same message. Odin would know who was trying to communicate with him once he found who the male spent his time with. This guy wasn’t someone who had ever caught his attention before.

The male moved coolly as he released the collar of his top. The fabric bounced back covering the area once more that saved the message for Odin. Slowly as hell, as he took two steps on the other side of the prison bars. A half-nod was delivered to Odin. The male wanted him to follow. Odin slowly wrapped his hand round the bar just off to the side of the entrance, the one that lined up with where the male was lingering. He leaned his forehead against the cold surface snarling towards the man. "Come here again and it’ll be the last place you ever go.” He said rudely. "I ain’t a b***h listens when told. No problem teachin’ you that the hard way.” He kept that eye contact, the other male staring a moment before carefully shrugging towards the werewolf.

”Adam. Was nice meeting you.” He took another few steps back, saluting Odin before turning his back to the cell and leaving. Snake. His movements were sly. Cool. Laid back. Odin didn’t trust him.

"Tch. You know him?” The first thing to leave the werewolf’s mouth when he turns back around.
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Odin had once reminded Julian he might have been in for murder.

He didn’t know why he would suggest something like that to his cellmate. Julian already understood his place when it came to Odin. They both had their roles and stayed within their job description. His reputation mattered to all the other inmates, the ******** would Julian ever care for? Drugs weren’t a very bad sentence anyways. Plenty of inmates were in for that and still went off to joke with their little friends during free time. There was a lot of prison justice, sure. Odin had watched one of the guards rat out a rapist. It was odd, watching a pack of criminals quickly take justice into their own hands. The man was turned to some type of game for the inmates. He always had large bruises and Odin caught the guys working in the kitchen pissing or spitting in the guy’s food whenever he got on line near the ********. Come to think of it, Odin hadn’t seen him round recently. Perhaps he was taking Julian’s approach by hiding away in SHU. While he wasn’t in yet, the werewolf heard plenty of rumors about a man who was killed pretty quick. Word got out he had murdered a child. There were a lot of things you could do to gain respect in prison, but nobody liked the type of person who picked on someone weaker than them. Prison justice was one weird set of morals Odin had trouble wrapping his head around. Do something shitty in the outside world and have people find out? Your prison sentence is hell. Do something dangerous and hurt other dangerous people? You gain respect. Do something irrelevant like drugs or petty crime? Nobody seems to care much. You were just a nameless nobody.

Keeping your sentence quiet was the only other option. Don’t speak about what you’re in for, hope that none of the guards or anyone who knew you on the inside ******** you over. If Odin already spotted two guys who he’d bought drugs from in the past. They didn’t seem to recognize him, so the drug addict decided to try and re-invent himself by steering clear. He wanted to be the type of person nobody would have recognized if they saw him just before he went in. The drug addicts weren’t very high on the prison totem. Addicts are the best bet if you’re horny as s**t and don’t got easy access to anyone else. They were probably riddled with STDs and infections… Disgusting, really. Not many have anything to offer worthwhile, so they willingly degrade themselves so they haven’t got to experience prison most the time.

Leon fell under one of the lesser categories.

If Leon had been in for years prior, and had years left… What was the point? Odin was only in six months. He had already been planning how he’d set his apartment to accommodate Julian once he left. If Leon was sitting round only able to picture years and years ahead of him then there wasn’t much hope in keeping him clean. Odin wouldn’t have done it either. Prison is bad enough. Sometimes there’s no point in fighting.

Didn't know he was here.

Julian continued the tragic story. After Leon had been passed around like a piece of meat and alone, he wasn’t allowed to speak to Julian. He got a sight of his old best friend and had to play it off as though Julian was no more than a stranger. It was easy to do it with people you’d only bought drugs from once or twice. What if one of Odin’s old friends had been in? The werewolf tried to picture it, Ian coming to mind. But his brother would never do something stupid enough to end up in prison. His mind flickered from friend to friend, trying to place them behind bars. None meant enough to him to want to speak with. He wouldn’t care. Odin didn’t have any Leons in his life. Odin only had a broken family and piles of drug addicts he used to steal from and they’d steal from him in return. It was too depressing trying to backtrack his life and act like he had meaningful relationships with people.

Once Adam had introduced himself to the werewolf, Odin’s temper seemed to flair up. People toying with him. He hated these prison games, but he was starting to get a feel for them. The werewolf was slowly getting exposed to the rules so the male was certain as long as he played his cards carefully the three of them would be fine for the time being. When Odin wanted to know who the other player was, Julian responded to the best of his ability. ”He’s with the ghouls, I think.” Thinking wasn’t good enough. With Julian’s assumption Odin at least knew where to start the next time he was out in public. His sharp brows were stitched together as Julian gestured for him to move closer. The werewolf did so, slowly. The moment he saw Hotts’ had been mentioned Odin couldn’t hide the small snarl leave his lips.

Odin didn’t know why he was being followed, but hearing that made his stomach knot up tightly as he began circulating through a number of possibilities. Had a guard lied about his sentence? Did someone know him? Was there some drug addict he had ******** over in the real world that he didn’t remember? Was Hotts the one following? Odin could see the old ******** trying to make it look like a third party when the man was pulling the strings behind the scene. Odin had nearly bashed the man’s skull in. Of course, the last thing Odin wanted to admit was the most likely possibility. The alchemists. They had the most motive to make Odin’s life hell. The werewolf had harmed one of their own, disrespected them, and stole one of them to take for his own. There were rumors about the two who were gone. Pike and Mallory both. The two fwo men were nowhere to be found and nobody could confirm who, or what, was the cause. Odin had Pike’s blood on his hands in a lot of those rumors.

His response for the useful information? A grunt of displeasure. Then it only took one gesture to shut his cellmate up: Sit on his mattress and look away. The result meant that it was impossible for any dull brown eyes to trace on that pale skin that displayed Julian’s voice. The mage was too scared to talk. Odin understood that. All it took to make it all stop was to stop acknowledging him. So Julian went from being a cellmate to nothing more than an inconvenience he wanted gone.

By that point in time, lights out wasn’t too far off. The awkward silence wouldn’t last much longer before the nightly count started and the cell doors were shut. Everyone would be accounted for and then Odin would be able to do whatever he damn well pleased under the cover of the dim lit surroundings. Until then, he couldn’t do much more than sit in his bed angrily trying to stay one step ahead of everyone around him. Huddled over his blankets like some type of conspiracy theorist, Odin was picking at an old scab on his arm when the lights had finally gone dim. They flickered a couple times to alert the inmates it was bedtime. He was still lining up all his enemies, the alchemists obviously still in the lead after he had time to think about it for the remaining free time. The werewolf pushed up from the mattress moving to his usual spot. He went to the entrance of his cell waiting silently as the guards moved by with their little clicker. This time the sound of a door being closed followed each click click. When the guard passed Odin and he heard them both get added to the clicker’s count, he watched as the cell door was closed, still standing near the entrance as his eyes followed after the guard until they were long out of his sight.

For the few minutes it took them to finish count, Odin didn’t seem to budge. His body was locked in place, an anticipation tearing at his mind. None of it matters. He realized as he finally had something to look forward to. It wasn’t until the lights went out, this time for the rest of the night, that Odin’s hungry gaze shot over his shoulder. His pupils were dilating as his fingers cupped round Julian’s forearm. The kid wasn’t allowed to retreat to his own bed. Not tonight. Odin pushed Julian towards his own mattress before sitting besides the mage. There was a small space between the two, nothing particularly intimate about it as Odin began to remove his own shirt. He tossed it to the floor. He wouldn’t need it again unless he wanted the small amount of extra warmth before bed. Fortunately, being cold typically wasn’t an issue as long as Odin had something like a blanket to lock in his heat.
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Odin had never been good at telling people what he wanted. He was never good at communicating when it came to worries and problems he was facing. As a child, he threw fits. The boy would screech and cry as he tried to assault people while they told him to stop. There was no talking any sense to Odin either. Nobody had ever broke through the boy’s temper and managed to soothe him. It always met a violent end with his slaves pinning him to the ground so he didn’t destroy store property or he’d be locked in a bathroom until he stopped threatening to hurt people around him. The violent tendencies was what the boy had grown up with. It was all he knew.

As an adult, Odin was more mature in some ways… But he never grew out of it.

So as he allowed his thoughts to control his mood, it also controlled his cellmate. Julian slithered away from him quietly. That left Odin by himself, solitude. His little safe space. He used to be locked away in bathrooms until he stopped screaming. Eventually the anger issues went quiet. He liked to lock himself away in his head as it simmered, simmered, simmered away. Eventually, that anger pooled together and formed into a boiling fuel. It always lead to an explosion. That one day some drunk rubbed Odin the wrong way. The one time someone said the wrong thing to him. It always lead to him getting into fights, ruining friendships, or nearly getting himself arrested for doing something stupid in public. Hell, it almost lead to Julian’s death. Odin knew damn well how close he was to it after he came back from SHU. He was haunted with guilt after all he’d been doing to Julian. Odin had no problem telling him to shut the ******** up, he had no problem raping him repeatedly, he had no problem using him.

By the time count was over and Odin was tossing his shirt to the floor, Julian seemed to have something in mind. The ink mage was delicate, slowly slipping to the floor as he withered to Odin’s feet. The contact was minimal. Julian’s head resting against his leg. Odin stared at the blue head of hair. He was silent, trying to figure out what this meant. No, obviously I know… But why. The werewolf slowly brought a hand to his abs, resting it against the muscles he had been building up. While he built muscle much faster than the average person, he was still a bit slim for his liking. It was difficult to bulk in prison when the meals were so small. The only food he had was trash and candy from commissary. When he cared about his appearance outside of prison he always had the choice between stocking up on healthy meats and vegetables until his stomach felt like it would burst. He always had protein shakes to go along with breakfast and dinner. ********.

Who gave a s**t how he looked?

Odin had Julian between his legs. He slowly slipped his hand down his skin, slipping over the curves and indent of his belly button before his fingers dug themselves underneath his waistband.

TIME SKIP

Odin hadn’t exactly made it discrete. He was rough, his frustration and annoyance clear as his forehead pressed against the surface in front of him. If anyone even so much as glanced at their cell it would be painfully obvious what was going on and what Odin was doing. They’d probably even manage to see some of his more intimate pieces. As the werewolf finished, he cleaned all his s**t up and his hands were dragging his body up towards Julian’s bed. Odin didn’t like the idea of using Julian’s bed. Some part of Odin felt like he could do whatever he wanted with the boy as long as Julian was allowed his own little safe space. An area Odin wasn’t allowed to enter. Julian was supposed to have his own small paradise that he could retreat to in order to be safe and sane. Odin was breaking Julian’s personal space and taking it over anyways.

That tended to be one thing that actually worked when Odin was younger. He would actually do quite well when he was given off-limit zones. He was never allowed in Ian’s room, but the two could hang out in the small game area that sat between the two rooms. When that happened Odin never followed into Ian’s room even if he was screaming and throwing s**t at the poor kid. He’d pound at the door until he tired himself out and then retreat back to his own room. Odin always pictured his prison cell the same. If Julian left that bunk he could do whatever he wanted with the kid, but if Julian was hiding up there like usual he was to leave the mage alone.

So climbing that ladder felt bad. He pulled himself onto the mattress and got underneath the blankets, Julian quickly catching the memo knowing he wanted to make Odin happy so there wouldn’t be problems. He waited as the blue hair was pushed against him, Odin’s eyes shifting towards the ceiling. Earlier when Odin’s hand wrapped round Julian’s neck and his head lowered, he could smell the brand of shampoo the male used. With long a** hair like Julian’s it was impossible not to smell the shampoo. The long locks absorbed so much and kept every scent in for so long. Odin had been playing detective as of lately, whenever he was in line waiting to get items from commissary he would find himself glancing over the types of shampoos they had, narrowing down the options. He managed to confirm when he put in the effort to peek in on Julian’s shower equipment. It was difficult to see s**t like that since Julian always seemed to hide everything well. Odin would leave things on top of the storage box near the bed often. Julian never did that. He kept it clean, clean, clean. The werewolf even found himself cleaning up more after himself to try and mimic half the tidiness Julian displayed. Everything always had a place and Odin was starting to catch onto that.

Now, there were the slightest traces of vomit mixed in with the usual scent, but not enough to agitate him. Well, not more than he already was. The whole night could be described as nothing more than an embarrassment for the both of them. If they had been at his apartment, Odin probably would have dragged Julian to the bathroom and ******** him more in the shower. It would’ve been disgusting, but in a good way. The water running over them to clean up the mess from soaking into them. Here, they both dug their graves and had to lie in them overnight. There was no clean option. You did what you wanted, then paid the consequences for it until the next morning when you were allowed to shower.

Julian’s arm moved over Odin’s side which caused him to glance away from the ceiling and back towards the kid. What was he doing? Odin couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. He liked to be the one to move Julian into whatever damn position he pleased. For some reason the werewolf felt that it made a difference. After he remained still for a few moments, Odin moved his fingers towards the hand draped around him. He peeled Julian’s arm from his side and adjusted it so it was more comfortable for his free hand. With Julian laying on the other, half his body was pretty useless.

His thumb slowly traced into the valleys tucked between Julian’s fingers. Odin was a fairly fidgety person so tracing over small pieces of Julian always felt good. Sometimes it was the repetitive motion of toying with his hair, other times it was massaging the crease near his bellybutton. Julian was his living therapy stone, nothing more than a comfortable texture that was soothing to the touch. The werewolf settled on the gap near the base of Julian’s thumb. His fingers kept tracing over that patch of skin as he breathed slowly staring at the ceiling.
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