Chapter 11

Newt tended to trust Stone, and when he said Leo would come around, Newt's traitorous heart believed it, but sometimes his biggest big brother was wrong.

Leo did not come around.

Newt bit his fingernails into his palms, staring at the empty chair beside him. The rest of the circle had been seated; even Mel, who arrived late like she always did, had sat down while eyeing the elephant in the room.

She sighed and pushed to her feet. Newt darted his eyes between the empty chair and Mel heading towards it at top speed.

"Please don't," Newt whispered.

Mel paused. "Lenard isn't coming. He didn't come last month either."

She gripped the top of the chair, about to drag it away.

"What's the harm in leaving it there?" Shaw asked.

He sat opposite Newt like usual with arms crossed and a frown marring his face.

Mel looked at him. "It is causing harm."

Shaw dragged his focus from Mel and put it all on Newt. He inflated with a deep breath, then let it go as he nodded.

Mel proceeded to drag the chair out of the circle. The empty place beside Newt felt vast. He stared at it, barely noticing the scratch of chair legs and the shuffle of feet. Thomas suddenly occupied the free space, but it wasn't just him that had moved.

The whole circle, Thomas, Shaw, Bull and Scott, had all moved to close the gap.

Shaw nodded to Newt, and he managed the briefest of smiles at the gesture, but prison wasn't the same without Leo by his side.

Mel began the session, but Newt mostly zoned out, fiddling with his fingers in his lap and thinking about Leo. He didn't fill out the worksheet Mel handed to him, but he did fold it into the smallest square he could manage before flattening the page and turning it over to do it again. He stopped at the touch of Thomas's eye, burning into him.

"What?" he whispered.

The nose slits in Thomas's face opened as he exhaled. "I'm thinking how I can cheer you up."

"You can't, not unless you can get Leo to talk to me again."

Bull sighed from across the circle. "Don't take it personally. Leo was like this before you got here. Barely came out of his cell, didn't interact, scruffy, and who knows what the hell is going on with the guy's mouth."

Newt glanced at Riley, who stood squeezing his temples by the door. They both knew what was wrong with Leo's mouth, and it looked pretty horrifying.

He'd stopped using his watch, which meant he'd drink down scalding hot tea until his lips blistered and swelled, and once they were like that, he bit them when he ate, not able to feel it. They were cracked and bloody, and the few times Newt had seen his face completely, he'd struggled to look at him.

"Drugs?" Scott suggested. "That would explain the mood swings, exhaustion, and the sores around his mouth."

"It's not drugs," Shaw said. "I'd know if it was."

"Unless he's got his own supply network."

Shaw shook his head. "He doesn't get visits."

"One of the prison officers might bring it in?" Bull said.

Riley pushed off from the wall. "I am standing right here."

Bull looked over at him. "So you are, Officer Riley… Are you inserting drugs in your rectum?"

Shaw responded before Riley had a chance. "Why would he put them up his arse when he could just walk them onto his wing in his pocket?"

Bull shrugged. "There's something about Riley that screams he loves taking things up the arse."

Shaw tightened his hand to a fist and thumped Bull in the side of the knee. Bull cried out as he curled over, cursing and spitting at the floor.

"Fuck, Shaw!"

"You're getting off lightly," Shaw growled. "And I still don't think it's drugs."

"What about those strange visits he has once a week with the doctor?" Thomas asked, rubbing his chin.

Newt shrank in his chair. Leo had refused to attend anymore health checkups, and Riley couldn't force him.

"He hasn't had one in weeks," Bull said.

Thomas nodded. "Exactly, and his face has begun to rot."

"His face is not rotting," Newt snapped.

"I don't think we should be discussing an inmate's medical condition," Riley said, "Let's move on?—"

"So you're admitting Leo does have a medical condition," Bull said.

Newt bristled on Leo's behalf. "It's none of your business."

Bull leaned forward. "It is. If it's contagious, we have a right to know. I don't want to exist as a human zombie."

Scott narrowed his eyes. "Opposed to a rat zombie?"

"You"—Bull pointed at Scott—"Pretty Boy, you're closest, has Newt got sores growing around his mouth?"

Scott swivelled in his chair towards Newt. Newt forced down the spike of betrayal as Scott inspected his mouth.

"No," Scott said. "No sores." He twisted back to Bull. "But shit, there's a huge sore at the top of your neck, pulsating—oh wait, it's your face."

Thomas tipped his head back and laughed. Even that had a snake-like quality.

Bull rubbed his forehead. "Go to hell."

"We need to stay focused," Riley said loudly. "Remember what these sessions are for…right, Mel?"

Mel startled, turning to Riley. "Yes. Of course."

Riley rolled his eyes and dropped his back to the wall again. The session continued, but Newt didn't take in a word of it, and at the end, Riley held him back.

"Are you sure you don't know why Leo's gone downhill like this?"

Newt hung his head. "I upset him."

"How?"

Newt shook his head. "I've said sorry, but he won't talk to me unless he absolutely has to, and then it's one-word answers. I'm really worried about him."

"Me too," Riley whispered. "I've been considering…."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Considering what?" Newt asked.

"Asking the doctor to bring in a specialist to assess him." He swallowed. "It's not just his physical health that's a danger to him right now. He's worse. He's worse than he was before you were here."

"You can't." Newt's throat closed. "They'll section him."

"I'd rather he be sectioned than dead. Come on." Riley pressed on Newt's lower back. "Let's get you back to the wing."

* * *

Newt stepped inside the cell, gaze downcast as he looked at Leo lying on his bunk, facing the wall. His exposed bare back shone with fresh blisters, and a recently ruptured one had leaked onto his sheets. A tube of antiseptic had been left by Riley the day before. It was unopened on the desk.

Newt had apologised.

He'd pleaded.

He'd asked Leo to call Stone and held out a letter from Stone, only for Leo to refuse to take it. Newt had propped it on his pillow, hoping Leo would read it at some point, but it had been swept under the bed.

"Riley's talking about bringing in a specialist to assess your mental state."

Leo didn't reply.

"They'll take you away from here."

"Why does it matter?" Leo mumbled.

"It matters to me."

Newt turned to their shared chest of drawers and tugged out his towel. "Scott's in the library, Bull's getting the servery ready for dinner, and Jude's dealing with some issue on D-wing."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because…" Newt unbuttoned his jeans and climbed out of them. "I'm going for a shower."

In Leo's absence, Scott and Bull had become Newt's showering buddies.

Leo rolled onto his back. "Wait for them."

"No."

"Newt…"

"You could come."

Leo blinked, then rolled to the wall. "I'm not your bodyguard anymore."

"I know." Newt grabbed his shower bag, then slipped on his Crocs. "You could still come, though."

He waited, but Leo didn't reply. Newt sighed and stepped out onto the wing. Being on Shaw's good side gave him some protection, but with him absent from the wing, Newt felt small and defenceless crossing the ground floor to the stairs.

There were eyes tracking him from the association tables. A game of pool paused as he momentarily rushed by. His heart hammered in his chest, but he managed to get to the shower room, relieved to find it empty.

He hung up his towel, stripped off, then took his shower gel into the cubicle.

So far. So good.

A few minutes passed, and then a rush of awareness went through him. He leaned his head away from the spray and listened.

Wet feet slapped the tiles as they crossed the floor.

Newt told himself to stay calm.

It was a communal shower, of course other prisoners were going to want to use it, but this prisoner hovered at his back. He'd boxed Newt into the small cubicle. The shower gel slipped from Newt's fingers, clattering on the tiles.

Newt thought better of crouching down to grab it.

"You not picking that up?"

He froze at Thomas's voice before turning towards him. Thomas's face, as always, was completely unreadable as he regarded Newt. He still had his clothes on but had slipped off his shoes, and his tattooed toes curled and relaxed against the tiles.

"When you're done, come to my cell."

Newt blew water droplets off his lips when he spoke. "Why?"

Thomas tilted his head. "I'm going to cheer you up."

"I'm flattered, and I'm in awe of your persistence, but I'm really not interested in being bent over your knees and having my arse slapped."

Thomas's tongues whipped out and ran along his lips. "You won't come to my cell?"

"No."

"Then I guess here will do."

Newt backed up a step. He pressed himself to the cold tiles. "Thomas…"

Thomas's blue eye seared as he stared at Newt. He took a deep breath and pressed a hand to his abandon. Newt clawed at the tiles before glancing at the partition, wondering if he could clammer over before Thomas ran that hand down his body to his trousers and pulled them down to expose himself.

"Thomas. I don't want to…"

Newt lost his voice as Thomas's lips parted. Instead of his forked tongue, a sound came out, not hissing, but strong and deep. It shook the air between them.

Newt widened his eyes at the word. It seemed to stretch for an impossibly long time before more words joined it, flowing, in a rich baritone.

Thomas didn't go for his trousers; he pushed into his stomach as he sang, and as he sang, he grew more confident, building and building until the shower room vibrated with his voice.

In the dead of night, when Newt was waiting for his sentence hearing, he'd thought of all the horrible things that might happen to him when he was locked in prison.

They kept him awake.

They made him wipe tears and snot into his pillow.

Only Triton knew because in the morning he put on a brave face for his brothers.

Never in a million years did he believe prison would give him one of the most spine-tingling moments of his life, but there was something as surreal as it was special about a snake-skinned tattooed man with no nose and a forked tongue serenading him with Les Misérables's "To Dream A Dream".

Thomas was good.

He was more than good.

He was world class.

His voice belonged in opera halls.

It belonged at awards ceremonies, sell-out arena's and on soundtracks.

And as he sang, Newt's heart raced, no longer from fear but at the sight of that blue eye.

It had mesmerised him from the first moment.

He knew who Thomas was, or at least who he used to be. Long before The Star, there had been other talent shows, ones Newt had watched clips of on YouTube and the messages beneath were condolences, well wishes for a man in his early twenties who'd been bullied mercilessly after he'd auditioned as a child until he couldn't take it anymore.

A child deemed overweight, ugly, by cruel trolls. He had blue eyes, not soft like Scott's, but harsh sapphires. He'd smiled and oozed enthusiasm over his talent when all the world seemed to want to tear him down.

Thomas held the last note. It gave Newt goosebumps. The wing, which had been near enough empty when Newt stepped into the shower room, exploded with cheers, and jeers, and items being knocked against the metal walkways, clanging and chiming.

Thomas bowed at Newt before turning around to bow at the packed window.

"I know who you are." Newt's voice shook. "You're…you're?—"

Thomas pressed a finger to his lips. Newt nodded.

"I wanted to put a smile back on your face, Starman."

Newt laughed. He touched his mouth, and sure enough, it was pulled in a smile, but it wobbled and twitched with overwhelm, and his eyes were on fire.

"You okay?" Thomas asked.

Newt nodded. "Yeah, I am… Just wow. Wow, Thomas."

"My work is done." He flashed a look to the side. "He's all yours."

Newt poked his head out of the cubicle to find Leo there, still shirtless, and wide-eyed, staring at Thomas. Fists bashed the window until Jenkins rushed along the landing, sending the other prisoners on their way. Thomas stuck his tongue out, flexed the tips, then left the showers.

Leo stepped closer. "Are you okay?"

The question jarred Newt. He was fine, being asked if he was okay by a man who looked ill with blotchy swollen lips, scraggly facial hair and red eyes, but he managed to nod.

Leo didn't say anything else while Newt dried himself and pulled on his boxers and T-shirt. He led the way back to their cell where the wing was a hive of excitement from Thomas's impromptu performance.

Leo pushed the door closed on the wing, muffling the noise.

"You came after me."

"Looks like it…" Leo stooped to get back into his bed.

Newt caught his biceps. "Don't."

Leo straightened. He pulled his arm from Newt and turned to the sink. "Don't what?"

"I know you hate me, but you've got to stop this. You're hurting yourself."

Leo laughed bitterly. "I can't hurt myself."

"You can and you are!" Newt gripped the bed. "Your back, your lips, your tongue. Who knows what damage you're doing inside."

"I can't feel it."

"What about the hurt you can feel?"

Leo shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The hurt Stone put there, that I put there. That Mickey and Jude did too. We lied to you."

"You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me."

"There's no point."

Leo snatched his toothbrush from the holder. He layered it with toothpaste before shoving it in his mouth. The harsh sound of bristles scraping over teeth made Newt shudder. He'd seen the blood all over Leo's toothbrush after he'd finished. Seen it in the sink as he spat. It made him dizzy.

"Stop," Newt said. He stepped up to Leo and wrapped his arms around him. Leo stiffened and stopped brushing his teeth. His body was warm, and firm, and Newt rested his cheek to Leo's bare back below the blisters. He closed his eyes, hugging him.

Leo sighed. His toothbrush rattled the holder as he slotted it back inside. His hand landed on Newt's arm, and Newt tightened his grip, clutching harder to make it difficult for Leo to unpeel him.

Leo didn't force Newt from him. He ran his hand across Newt's arm. "I don't hate you, Newt. I don't hate Stone, or Mickey or even As—Jude."

"Then why?"

"I'm tired. I'm so tired of…"

"Of what?"

"This life. I don't want to be careful anymore, not when there's no reason to be. When Stone wrote to me, he gave me a reason. And at first, you were this idea, a way I could be useful to Stone, but then I met you and you were this physical thing he'd given me." Leo twisted in Newt's arms until they were chest to chest. Newt kept his arms firmly around Leo and leaned back to look up at him, but Leo spoke at the window. "And I know that sounds messed up; you're not a thing or a possession, but for however long you're in here for, it felt like you were mine. Mine to look after, watch over, and protect, and now you're not mine anymore. Now you don't need me."

"I do," Newt insisted. "I needed you in the shower."

Leo frowned. "You did that on purpose. You put yourself in potential danger."

"I knew you'd?—"

"No, you didn't. Newt." Leo closed his eyes. "Because I didn't until I was moving out of the cell, and you got lucky with Thomas, and I know you're on good terms with Shaw, but things can change in here. You can't get too comfortable." His hands found Newt's shoulders and squeezed. His eyes were on Newt, shimmering as he gently shook him. "You can't put yourself in harm's way. You have to be smarter than that."

"I do need you."

"You have Jude. You have Scott, Bull, Shaw, hell, I think you've even got Thomas now. As long as you don't do anything stupid, you'll be fine."

Newt pressed his lips in a firm line. Leo wasn't listening.

"I do have them," Newt agreed.

Leo nodded. "Yes, you do?—"

"But I want you too."

Leo removed his hands. He tried to turn. "No one wants someone like me."

"I do," Newt insisted. "I feel safest with you, and I hate this cell. I hate how small it is, how the glass in the window is frosted and I can't see the stars, and how it's always cold, but it still feels like something good. It's a home."

"Inside a hell."

"Still a home though, our home, and that's not the bed, or furniture, or the stone walls or the bars on the window, that's you, and it hasn't felt like that for the last few weeks. It's felt horrible in here, and I know you've felt it too. You can't possibly want it to be like that."

"Newt…"

"I was so scared coming here. My brothers thought I was in denial, but I kept it from them. I didn't want them to know, and even with Shaw's threats, you made me feel safe. When I'm with you, I don't feel scared?—"

"Don't get complacent. You can't. Especially when it comes to me."

"Seeing you not looking after yourself makes me scared. Hearing that Riley is considering bringing in someone to assess you makes me scared. You're either going to do something you can't come back from, or someone's going to take you away. That makes me scared, really scared."

Leo stared into the corner of the cell, shifting his jaw. "I don't want you to be scared."

"There's an easy solution," Newt whispered. His eyes were stinging when Leo looked down at him. "Stop this," Newt whispered. "Take care of yourself again and be there for me. And I'll be there for you."

"You're a manipulative little shit." Leo sighed.

"It has been said before." Newt pressed into him, resting his chin against Leo's chest. "But I can still be your manipulative little shit in here."

Then Leo hugged him.

It wasn't like Stone who squeezed, or Mickey who lifted him off the ground, or Jude who stayed ramrod straight throughout. Leo hugged with his whole body, curling around Newt, drawing him in. He was strong, broad and so warm. Newt wanted to stay hugging him, knew he could with the way Leo was still holding him, but he tore himself away and snatched the antiseptic cream off the desk.

"Sit," he said, pointing at the floor.

"I'm perfectly capable of?—"

"Sit," Newt demanded, getting on Leo's bed. He opened his legs and pointed at the spot on the floor between them.

Leo slumped, then nodded. "Fine."

He wedged himself in the small space between the bed and the desk, snug between Newt's spread legs.

Newt smothered his hands in cream, then hovered his fingers above Leo's shoulders. "Ready?"

"Yes. I'm ready."

Newt winced as he touched Leo's red skin. He stiffened, awaiting a reaction, but Leo just shook his head. "You don't have to be so tentative."

Newt ran his fingertips over Leo's uneven skin. Leo's whole back was a mixture of textures and shades. Newt stroked one of Leo's scars; different to the scalding scars, it looked more like a deep white scratch on his skin.

Leo's shoulders stiffened in response.

Newt's breath caught. "I didn't mean to…."

Hurt you.

The rest of his words died in Newt's mouth.

"It doesn't hurt, Newt. It feels…kind of"—Leo let his shoulders drop—"nice actually." He let out a happy sigh. "I can't remember when someone last gave me a massage."

Newt paused. He'd not been thinking about it like that, but he found he enjoyed touching Leo's broad shoulders. His skin was hot, and hard, and feeling the tension leave him was oddly satisfying. From Leo's soft sighs and drooping head, he seemed to enjoy it too.

He pressed his temple against Newt's knee, exhaling a warm puff of breath against Newt's skin. Newt's insides tingled. He tried to control a giddy smile, craning his neck forward so he could see Leo dozing against him.

Even then, he didn't stop rubbing his shoulders and the top of Leo's back. His smile calmed to one of contentment, and his tingling insides settled to a pleasant sensation.

Newt hummed a soft, happy tune in a cell that felt like a home again.