Harolin sighed.
He stepped out of the stall and pointed at Ruaan without turning back. "Don't call me that again."
"Noted," Ruaan said.
"I mean it."
"Completely understood."
Harolin walked out.
"What about Cullen?" Ruaan called after him.
The footsteps stopped. "I'll leave something at your cell by morning."
Then he was gone.
Ruaan stood under the shower for a moment.
"Lily," he said, to the tile wall.
Then again. "Lily."
"That name suits him more." One more time, quieter. "Lily."
He looked down, moved his hand to cover himself, and shook his head slowly. "Okay. Hurry up and leave before someone catches you."
He pulled out the soap — Harolin's soap, still wrapped carefully in the small cloth he'd been carrying it in — washed up quickly, wrapped it back up, and slipped out of the bathroom before anyone else appeared.
.
The package was sitting by the cell door when he woke up.
Small. Wrapped in plain paper. His name was written on the front in clean, precise handwriting that was very obviously Harolin's.
Split Lip picked it up from the floor and held it out. "It has your name on it."
Ruaan took it.
"Hey," Split Lip said, scratching the back of his neck. "Can I — is it okay if I call you Ruaan?"
Ruaan looked at him. "Sure."
A small pause. Then Split Lip straightened slightly. "I'm Yoon. Yoon Cassis."
Bruised Jaw cleared his throat from his bed. "Petre. Petre Adwan."
They both looked at the third bed.
Bandaged Arm was looking at the wall, like he wasn't interested in whatever they were discussing.
Yoon jerked his thumb toward him. "His name's Luca. Luca Bent. He's shy."
Luca said nothing, which was its own kind of answer.
Ruaan looked at the three of them — Yoon, Petre, Luca — and felt the names settle into place where the nicknames had been.
"Nice to know your names," he said.
Yoon beamed. Petre nodded. Luca continued looking at the wall.
"What's the package?" Yoon asked, eyes dropping to it immediately.
"I'll find out later." Ruaan tucked it under his arm. "Let's eat first."
.
They walked to the cafeteria together.
Which felt different from walking alone. Ruaan noticed it — the way the three of them moved around him, naturally, filling in the space on either side. Yoon was talking already. Petre was half-listening. Luca walked slightly behind.
At the cafeteria entrance, Yoon turned when he noticed Ruaan had stopped walking. "Come on."
Ruaan stopped. "I can't."
Silence.
They all knew what that meant, where he had to go instead.
Petre looked at the floor. Yoon looked at Ruaan's face. Even Luca turned around.
"We're sorry," Yoon said quietly. "For what happened at the game."
He didn't look at Luca when he said it but the weight landed there anyway.
Ruaan smiled, unbothered. "I know how to handle it."
Yoon opened his mouth.
"Go eat," Ruaan said. "I'll be fine."
They looked at him for another second. Then Petre clapped Yoon on the shoulder and steered him through the door. Luca followed without speaking.
Ruaan waited until they were gone.
Then he sat down on the nearest bench, put the package on his knee, and unwrapped it.
Small. Palm-sized. A single unmarked box inside.
He opened it.
Pills. White. Small. Six of them, sitting in a neat row.
He stared at them.
'Poison Cullen,' Harolin had whispered in the training room. 'Just enough to make him sick. Not dead. I need him out of the way for a few days.'
Ruaan had said 'What?'
Harolin had shrugged and threatened not to help him. And somehow Ruaan had said 'fine.'
He picked up two pills and looked at them.
'It's not going to kill him,' he told himself. 'Right? Harolin wouldn't give me something that kills him and pin it on me. That would be stupid. Harolin is not stupid.'
He put both pills in his pocket.
Then he looked at the remaining four, walked to the cell toilet — the one nobody touched willingly, the one with the permanent disaster situation nobody discussed — and hid them under the edge of the floor tile in the corner.
Nobody was searching there. Nobody was going anywhere near there voluntarily.
He washed his hands and walked away.
.
.
The door to the VIP cafeteria was different from every other door in Blackmere.
Heavier. Cleaner. The handle actually worked properly, which in Blackmere felt almost disrespectful and weird.
Ruaan stood in front of it and knocked.
The top two opened it. He looked Ruaan up and down and turned back inside. "It's him. The toy."
From somewhere inside, Cullen's voice: "Let him in."
The door swung wide.
Ruaan had expected nicer. He had not expected this.
The room could fit fifty people easily — long tables, actual chairs with cushions, lighting that didn't buzz or flicker. And in the centre of it all, at the best table, Cullen Ray sat in front of a spread that made Ruaan's grey uniform cafeteria breakfast look like a direct personal insult.
Roasted chicken. Hot bread. Cheese. Fruit. Three different drinks in three different glasses.
The top two and three were at their own separate tables with their own company, doing their own things loudly. Ruaan looked away.
"Come sit." Cullen patted the chair beside him.
Ruaan sat.
"Hungry?" Cullen asked.
Every cell in Ruaan's body said yes. His stomach said yes. His eyes, looking at that roasted chicken, said yes in three languages.
He nodded.
Cullen leaned forward. "Me too." His eyes dropped. He reached out, took Ruaan's hand, and pressed it firmly against the front of his trousers.
Ruaan's hand snatched back so fast it knocked his own elbow.
Cullen laughed. "Verrrrry hungry," he said, like this was the funniest thing that had happened to him all week.
He nodded at the food. "Eat."
"...Really?"
"You're so cute." Cullen leaned back in his chair and watched him with that heavy-lidded attention that made Ruaan want to sit further away. "I want to gobble you up. That hatred in your eyes—" he sighed like it was a compliment "—makes me want you even more."
'Fucking psycho,' Ruaan thought clearly.
He reached for the chicken.
His fingers closed around the leg. He pulled. It came apart perfectly, the skin golden, the steam rising, and the smell hit him and he forgot everything for approximately four seconds and just ate.
"Interesting," Cullen said.
Ruaan looked up.
"Everyone else goes for the bread first," Cullen said. His eyes were fixed on Ruaan's mouth. "Watching you eat is making me very hard."
His hand landed on Ruaan's thigh.
Ruaan chewed and swallowed before reaching for the bread.
"Is that so?" he said, with his mouth still slightly full, because dignity was already gone and the bread was warm.
He needed a distraction.
"Are you talking about Finn?" he asked. "Did he eat the chicken first too?"
Cullen tilted his head. "Finn?"
"Your last—" Ruaan gestured vaguely.
"Oh." Cullen waved his hand. "Finn." He said it like he was remembering something that wasn't interesting from a long time ago. "He's obsessed with me. He kept losing the Thursday game on purpose just to stay close to me." He shook his head. "Can you believe that?"
'No,' Ruaan thought. 'Absolutely not. I one hundred per cent do not believe you.'
"Wild," he said, and ate more chicken.
Cullen stood up.
He reached for the hem of his shirt.
Ruaan's hand moved into his pocket.
Cullen pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the chair, rolling his neck, completely comfortable, like this was just a normal thing to do at breakfast.
Ruaan's fingers closed around the two pills.
He looked left. The top two were occupied. He looked right. The rest of the room was doing its own loud thing.
He reached for the cup. Poured grape juice — dark enough, thick enough to cover anything. Dropped both pills in. Watched them dissolve in three seconds.
Pushed the cup toward Cullen's side.
Cullen turned back and saw it. He looked at the cup and looked at Ruaan. He smiled slowly.
"Pouring drinks for me now?" He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Ruaan's neck, warm and deliberate.
Ruaan sat completely still and let him.
Cullen picked up the cup and drank.
Ruaan picked up his own cup and drank too and looked at the ceiling over the rim and thought to himself:
'That pill isn't going to kill him.'
'Right.'
'Harolin wouldn't give me something that actually kills him because then it would be my problem.'
'Right?'
'...Right.'