Go Together Like The Devil And Sin
I think I’m sort of doing a WIP dump. Here’s the first of probably like, a couple.
“Well, I hope it’s to your mum to tell her you’ll be eighteen months late for your dinner.” The detective sneered down at Eggsy, knowing full well the coast of Eggsy’s silence.
Eggsy knew it as well. He was up shit creek with no one to turn to. He weren’t no snitch and he’d been the one to steal the car any way. His mates would check in on his mum, Dean might even be in a better mood for a while. Eggsy didn’t doubt the bastard would be laughing his arse off when he heard about Eggsy’s stretch.
He picked up the phone and called his mum. She cried just like he knew she would. Scolded him for stealing Rotti’s car, begged him to grass up his friends, but in the end, Eggsy told her he loved her and hung up.
He’d already been booked, so he only had a short wait in the holding cell before a short wait in the holding cell before the transfer order came in. Eggsy was taken, stripped down, and stuffed into a grey jumpsuit, and that was it. He was an inmate at Bristol Penitentiary and would be for roughly the next year and a half.
“Where are we putting him?” He heard one guard ask another. They were walking behind Eggsy as he carried a stiff blanket, a pillow, and a cheap plastic toothbrush through the cellblock.
“With Hart.” The other replied with an indecipherable tone.
“Hart?”
Eggsy frowned but didn’t say anything. There were all sorts in the prison, it’d be just his lick if they put him with some violent psycho.
This wasn’t Eggsy’s first stint, even though it was going to be the longest. Why shouldn’t it also be his first time with a truly dangerous cellmate?
They led with gruff orders, ‘left here,’ ‘up there,’ and such until they were out of the block with vars and were passing heavy doors with plexiglass windows.
He glanced at each door skeptically. Heavy doors meant a newer part of the prison. He would have thought they’d shove him with the ‘troubled youth’ for his stay. Not that he was complaining, yet. When he stayed in Leeds he heard good things about new cellblocks. They were cleaner, more comfortable—Eggsy glared at the door he was ordered to stop at—There had to be a catch.
They opened the door for him, as his hands were full, and Eggsy blinked at the state of the room.
It was a little bigger than he expected, and smelled so much better than the normal detergent and body smell. It was a pleasant, clean, and subtly spicy, where as his last cell smelled more like old hot sauce and bleach. There were two cots on opposite sides of the room, bolted down to the floor in the upper corners. Between them was a barred window, and underneath were two shelves on the wall, and two chairs. Eggsy didn’t notice the small tables at the end of the beds, because of the occupant.
The right side of the room was claimed, with several books on the shelf, bedding on the cot (which looked significantly nicer than what Eggsy was holding) and finally, most obviously, the older man sitting in the right chair.
“Mr. Hart,” said one of the guards. “Got your new cellmate.”
Hart glanced up briefly, but quickly returned to reading the book in his hands. The guards left without another word, not even bothering to close the door behind them.
Eggsy fought the urge to clear his throat. He went silently to his side of the room and began to make his bed. He watched his cellmate warily out of the corner of his eye.
If Eggsy hadn’t been in prison, he’d assume he was looking at some kind of duke or something. Hart sat gracefully in his chair, legs crossed and wearing his jumpsuit like it was high fashion. He seemed completely unperturbed that Eggsy was there.
Eggsy looked away, posh tosser was probably some kind of paedo.
He had just finished making his bed when he heard the turn of a page. Then Hart addressed him. “I apologize, I wanted to finish the chapter before I got distracted again.”
Eggsy looked at him. Hart was standing, taller than Eggsy with broad shoulders and a lean build that made him look a bit younger than Eggsy’s original guess. The air around him had changed to polite and welcoming. It took about three more seconds before it really sank in that Eggsy was sharing his cell with an extremely attractive man.
He looked down and muttered, “S’alright bruv, been to prison before.” He knew the drill.
But Hart just stepped closer and offered his hand. “Harry,” He said, still pleasant as you please. “Harry Hart.”
Eggsy shook it, noticing the distinct softness of it as well as the size. Not much physical labor, but his knuckles looked rough and scarred. “Eggsy.”
“A pleasure,” Harry glanced around the room wryly. “Circumstances notwithstanding.”
It was funny, but Eggsy only managed a tight smile before Harry went back to his book. The friendliness was nice, he supposed, but he didn’t trust it for a second.
He turned back to his bed and sighed inwardly at the scratchy material. He rarely got money in his account for the cantina, and considering why he got thrown in there, he doubted Dean would be feeling generous. No hope for a nicer blanket like Harry’s then. Eggsy flopped onto his bed with resignation.