Chapter 12

Newt started sleeping in Leo's bed.

It was completely by accident. One day they were sat on the bottom bunk, Leo with his back to the brick wall and Newt perched on the edge, entranced by the first episode of the new series of The Star.

Leo pulled his legs up onto his bed and flopped onto his side, asleep. Newt didn't notice until the ad break and thought about climbing onto the top bunk and watching from there, but instead, he lay down on the bed, propping his head up on his hand and watched the rest.

The timer clicked at nine thirty, and the TV turned off. Newt, too cosy and too warm to move, laid his head down on the edge of Leo's pillow and curled up nice and small.

He was only planning to stay until the first roll call, but he was too comfortable, and before he knew it, Leo was stretching behind him while morning light came in their window.

Newt bolted and clambered onto the top bunk, flushing furiously, but Leo got up and put the kettle on to boil while he relieved himself in the toilet.

They didn't talk about it.

It happened the next night.

Then the next.

Until Newt was sure he was taking advantage.

He hadn't asked if he could sleep in Leo's bed. He was sure that was one of Mickey's many rules that he was yet again breaking, and although Leo didn't protest his presence in his bed the next morning, he fell asleep first each night, unable to consent.

Leo lay against the back wall, head propped up on his hand as he watched The Street. Four days had passed since they'd hugged and he'd agreed to be careful with himself. It felt momentous when Newt wrapped his smartwatch around Leo's wrist and fastened the buckle for him. It had been a wordless promise.

Leo had shaved, but the facial hair had hidden the spreading rash and sores, and he'd cut himself to pieces with the razor. For half a day, he held his hand over his mouth to spare Newt the sight of his blood. Although painless, the wounds on Leo's face still must've itched, and it only took one careless swipe of his nails to open them up again.

Arguably he looked worse, but one of his signature smiles instantly soothed Newt's fears. The golden glow to his eyes had come back, and they were talking again.

"What an idiot…" Leo murmured. "Cindy knows how untrustworthy Tony is, and still, she's about to believe his version of events over Natalia's."

Newt didn't understand the appeal of soap operas, and Leo, a bit of a superfan, didn't make it clear either. The show seemed to annoy him more than entertain, and at the end of the episode, he buried his head in his pillow and groaned.

Newt swallowed. "I'm feeling a bit tired."

Leo lifted his head. "Huh?"

Newt gestured to the bunk above. "Think I'm going to have an early night."

"You can sleep here."

"I don't want to…impose."

"Impose?" Leo grinned. His eyes were golden, and Newt's cheeks started to burn with the way Leo looked at him. "What the hell are you talking about? Lie down, Newt."

Newt didn't, but he didn't escape to the top bunk either. He lowered his gaze as he picked at the sheet over Leo's bed, shifting forward and back in his indecision.

"Christ." Leo snorted, then he sat up, grabbing Newt around the middle. Newt laughed, batting at Leo's arm as he was pulled down to the bed.

Newt looked up at Leo from behind his back. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. If I wasn't, I would've said something four days ago when you first slept in my bed. Now, shhh…" He pressed a finger to Newt's lips. Newt's heart skipped a beat. "The Street's on."

He pointed to the TV, and immediately the soothing music of the network turned to two women screeching. Leo gaped, muttering advice for Cindy under his breath, mainly, ‘Don't fall for it, not again, Cind,' and ‘You're too good for him'.

Newt rolled onto his side to face the TV. He ran a tentative fingertip across his lips and felt them pull into a smile. Leo propped his head up again and rested his hand on Newt's side. The heavy weight became the only thing that mattered, and Newt glanced down his body, spying Leo's thick fingers casually splayed over him.

Newt's stomach fizzled, his smile twitched and jerked, and his eyes grew warmer, and wetter, and he was pretty sure he might have to consult a doctor over his over-the-top reactions.

The touches were becoming more frequent, that or Newt had just begun noticing them. They were both overwhelming and too sparse—too brief, too maddening. Stone, Mickey, Jude and even Robin touched him, whether a hug, a squeeze, a hair ruffle or the tap of knuckles to his chin, and he liked it, he needed it, but with Leo, it was more intense, despite not being intense at all.

Newt bit his lip, watching Leo's hand. It didn't do anything. It didn't squeeze, or pulse, or twitch. It wasn't even in contact with his skin, but it did things to his insides, made them squirm and burn and his heart flutter.

It took a few minutes for all the sensations and his mind to settle into something manageable and calm, then the warm weight was bliss against him.

Newt exhaled and closed his eyes.

* * *

"It's nice to see you again, Leo."

Newt evil-eyed Mel, flaring his nostrils at her soft smile. It was fake. He'd seen how she'd looked at Leo when he'd been distracted. She stared. Eyes lingering on his mouth, chin and jaw, still torn up and sore, her expression twisted, and she shifted her legs away like she no longer wanted the tempting split in her long skirt directed at him.

Newt hated her. He hated the way she looked at an unaware Leo, and he hated the way she managed to hide behind a warm smile and kind eyes when he did happen to glance at her.

"It looks like someone bottled you," Shaw said. He lurched forward in his seat. "Did someone bottle you?"

Leo had only made fleeting dashes outside his cell for food, showers, and clothes washing, and the other inmates had only caught glimpses. Newt had heard the gossiping though, from herpes to a flesh-eating bacterium to a failed face transplant beginning to fall off.

"No one bottled me," Leo said before gesturing at his face. "This is self-inflicted."

"You poor thing." Mel pouted before shooting a venomous look in Riley's direction. "Aren't you his personal officer?"

"I am?—"

"This isn't down to Riley," Leo said firmly. "This was me not looking after myself."

"Did the doctor manage to sort out…" Bull coughed and gestured to his lips. With Leo's focus elsewhere, Mel's concern morphed into a sneer as she considered Leo's wounds.

Newt hated her.

Leo nodded at Bull. "Antiseptics, steroid creams. It might take a while for them to heal."

"And your shoulders?" Bull asked.

Leo tugged at the straps of his vest to reveal the peeling skin. "And my shoulders."

Scott leaned past Newt to look at Leo. "I hope the doctor gave you some painkillers too."

"He sure did."

Newt wished Leo was joking, but the doctor had prescribed Leo tramadol to go with the creams. Newt's glare upgraded itself to a furious squint when he thought about him too.

"It's good to see you back," Shaw said. "Officer Riley was freaking the fuck out over you."

"I was not," Riley said, relaxing his crossed arms a fraction.

"He was," Shaw muttered.

"Jealous?" Bull asked.

Shaw smacked him over the back of the head.

"I'm glad you've decided to rejoin these sessions," Riley said, ignoring Bull and Shaw's hissed conversation.

"Thank you, Riley." Leo nodded in his direction.

"Baby Briggs?" Bull circled his fingers around his face. "What's with the intense look of constipation?"

"What?"

"Have you caught something from Leo?"

Leo tilted his head. "If he's got constipation, it's more likely down to you and the awful stuff you claim is edible."

"Hey," Bull snapped. "For the last time, I don't cook the damn stuff. I just serve it."

"I'm not constipated," Newt said, blinking to immerse himself in the conversation. "If anything, I'm too far the other way."

Scott leaned away, chuckling. "Too much information."

"Is that a symptom of whatever you have?" Bull asked Leo.

Leo rubbed his chin. "No, again, I'd blame your awful food."

Bull stamped his foot on the floor. "For chrissake!"

"Is this conversation about Newt's shitting habits going anywhere?" Shaw asked.

Bull calmed down. "I just wondered why he looks so angry. Not only has he brought his bodyguard back from the brink, but he proved your arrogant arse wrong."

"What?" Shaw sat up straight. "He hasn't proved me wrong."

"I seem to remember you telling him there's not a talented person on this wing, and if there was, you'd eat your words."

"I don't remember saying that."

"You did," Newt said while Scott and Bull nodded along.

Leo smirked. "Even I remember you saying it."

"And me," Riley added, raising his hand.

Shaw swivelled to face him. "Oh, I see how it is, Officer Riley, taking sides."

"The one against you, yes."

Bull stomped his feet and clapped his hands, hooting at Riley's dig.

"Fine." Shaw huffed. "I take it back; I eat my words. Thomas, I only caught the end of you singing as I stepped back on the wing, but you've got it. You're The Star of Brixton. Newt was right."

Thomas bowed his head. "Thank you."

He shared a secret smile with Newt.

Scott hummed. "Who knew such a beautiful voice could come from such a scary face."

Newt held his breath, side-eyeing Scott.

Thomas pressed a hand to his chest. "Who knew such a beautiful face could hide such an acid tongue."

Newt's eyes widened as he darted looks between Scott and Thomas, then they both smiled at each other, a lingering smile, and Newt darted his head left and right faster, taking their smiles in for as long as they lasted.

"What the hell?" he whispered beneath his breath.

"Shaw, that's all very well, saying you've eaten your words," Bull began. "But you've not really eaten them, have you?"

Shaw's eyes twitched. "How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"I'm glad you asked." Bull slipped his hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, then opened it up for Newt to read.

My words.

"Here you are," Bull said, handing it over.

Shaw stared down at the piece of paper, then up at Bull. "You can't honestly expect me to eat this?"

"You're the top dog." Bull shrugged. "If you don't stick to your word, no one will… There will be uprising and anarchy. What kind of lesson is that to young folk like Newt and Scott if you don't do as you say you will?"

"Fuck's sake," Shaw groaned, then he scrunched the piece of paper into a ball and shoved it in his mouth. He started chewing. Riley clapped his hand to his mouth, trying to muffle his laugh.

Bull eyed Shaw. "That's not the first ball you've had in your mouth, is it?"

Shaw mimed slitting Bull's throat. He swallowed the piece of paper with a gulp, grabbed Bull by the top of his shirt and yanked him until they were nose to nose. "Yours will be my last, though."

Bull mouthed, "What the fuck," Riley stopped laughing, and Shaw let go, growled into his palms, then lifted his head enough to mutter, "That was supposed to sound threatening, not sexual."

Scott winced on his behalf. "It definitely sounded sexual, and if said to the right person with a soft voice and a sincere smile, romantic even."

"I certainly don't want to be romantic with Bull."

Bull spoke through his smile. "But we all know who you do want to be romantic with…"

Shaw punched him in the ribs. Bull fell off his chair, collapsing to his knees as he groaned and fell to his side. He curled up in the foetal position.

Leo sighed to the ceiling. "Remind me why I agreed to this again?"

"Yes," Riley said, leaping in. "Dr Fawks, do you want to tell everybody what the session is about?"

Mel jumped and flipped open the folder on her lap. "Yes, of course… Let's begin."

The course had moved on from how their crimes had directly impacted themselves to how it affected their loved ones.

Newt knew he was supposed to feel guilty, but all he could remember was hearing that Stone was hurt, seeing Mickey injured and eager to be involved in a rushed revenge plot, and Jude spaced out and hurrying from the room when he heard Luck had been found in the wreckage.

Newt had killed the man responsible for their pain.

He didn't feel guilty, and the worksheet stayed empty.

Leo put N/A in every box, and Scott scribbled down a ‘She's too high to even know.'

When Mel read Scott's sheet, she slid her chair closer to him and stroked a hand up and down his arm. Scott stiffened, eyes glued to her hand brushing up and down his skin.

"I'm sure that's not true," Mel said. "She cares about you."

"She wasn't at my sentencing, and she hasn't written to me once."

Mel's brow creased. "Sometimes it takes time for loved ones to come to terms with?—"

"Read it again." Scott flicked the page. "She's too goddamn high. I imagine she's in some dirty squat, semi-conscious on a dirty mattress with a needle in her arm, and she'll only realise I'm in this place when she comes looking for more money."

"Christ, Pretty Boy," Shaw muttered, glancing up from the essay he was writing. "Keep it light, yeah?"

"Stay at the end," Mel whispered. She covered Scott's clenched fist with her dainty hand and squeezed. "We can discuss your relationship with your mother."

Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about my mother, but my sister, and no, I don't want to stay at the end to talk about her with you, not unless you're willing to pay me for my time." He leaned away from her. "And can you stop touching me."

Mel snatched her hand away as if burnt. "I was trying to be nice."

"Yeah, Pretty Boy." Bull huffed. "It's not like your body is off-limits to anyone."

Scott's breath caught.

"Hey, Bull," Thomas hissed. "Do you value your windpipe?"

Mel stood and dragged her chair away from Scott until she was closest to Bull, whose jaw dropped at her proximity.

"It's a good day for Bull," he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Shaw," Mel said. "You seem to be taking this seriously. Would you like to share what you've written?"

Shaw exhaled towards his worksheet. "Okay, but I don't know if you'll approve."

"Please."

"I put that I feel guilty, like a failure, like a really shit son."

"Are you willing to elaborate?"

"My mum, she's a good woman, the best. She brought me and my brother up, sometimes holding down three jobs not just two, and she always made sure we never went without. She was always there." Shaw gnawed his bottom lip. "Kyle is dead."

Newt lowered his gaze. He saw Leo stiffen in his peripheral.

"He's dead," Shaw continued, "so he can't be blamed for not being there for her, for not making sure she has everything she doesn't just need but wants too. He's not here to work a good job on her behalf and let her rest her sore heels. I am, though." He glanced around the room. His eyes were wet. "But I'm here. So yeah, I'm a failure. I'm a bad son, and I'm stuck here for the next seven years."

"Possibly six if you complete the course," Mel said softly.

"Six years." Shaw laughed, but it was hollow. "I've already been here three."

"This guilt, this failure, it doesn't feel like it, but it's a good thing?—"

Shaw flapped his page. "I'm not done yet."

Mel gestured for him to continue.

"That's how I feel when I think of what my crimes have done to my mum, but she's not the only person I care about. There are people I care about in here too, and when I saw the error of my ways, when I realised the man I looked up to in here was nothing but a tyrant, I had to stop him from hurting anyone else I cared about again. I don't feel guilty about what I've done when it comes to them. I feel proud, important, like I did something worthwhile."

Newt lifted his eyes from the floor and felt his own eyes burn at Shaw's admission.

"I killed a guy in here because I couldn't stand the thought of him hurting anyone again, and I will sit here every month and fill out these worksheets, but they won't change how I feel about that. I feel bad for my mum because I'm not there for her, but she doesn't know what happened in here, not yet. One day I'll explain it all, and she'll understand."

Bull clapped a heavy hand against Shaw's back. "She will."

"Jesus, Shaw," Scott muttered. His lips twitched. "Keep it light."

Shaw tipped his head back, laughing, and the sound cut the tension in the room.

Mel shook her head while she gathered her folders to her chest, and Riley scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes as he turned his back on all of them.