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Chapter Text

Simon Keyes was in Pod A for only three days of his prison sentence. He wasn’t sure he could have survived a fourth.

After the fifth instance of sexual harassment from another inmate—including one rape threat—he decided to convince the corrections officer on duty to let him switch pods.

“You don’t look very cheery,” Simon said, frowning and approaching the C.O.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly Disney World,” the C.O. said.

Simon nodded in sympathetic understanding. “It must be so hard on you. It’s like you’re doing time here with us even though you haven’t even done anything wrong.”

The C.O. huffed. “Tell me about it. Pod A is the worst. The whole place just… reminds me of death and decay.” The man glanced away. The corners of his mouth twitched down in a frown.

“I recently lost my sister, and this place just makes it so much worse when there’s nothing else to think about,” Simon lied. He sighed and willed tears to come to his eyes. “It feels like no one understands.”

The C.O. made eye contact with Simon and nodded sadly. “I’m… so sorry for your loss. I lost my uncle recently, so I know how you feel.”

Bingo.

“I haven’t lost an uncle, though I’ve recently lost contact with an older friend of mine, and I have no idea whether he’s even alive or dead,” Simon said, pulling his face into the perfect expression of sadness. “He’s getting on in years, wasting them away here… I’m worried he’ll die before I can see him again, just like my sister… I don’t even know which pod he’s in.”

The C.O. raised his eyebrows. “What’s his name?”

“Sirhan Dogen.”

The C.O.’s fingers flew across the keyboard. His eyes flitted across the screen. “He’s alive. He’s in Pod B.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. “The pod right next to this one!?”

The C.O. nodded.

“I miss Dad—I-I mean, Dogen—so much,” Simon said, frowning and forming tears in his eyes. “He’s like a mentor to me. I can’t believe he’s right next door and I can’t even see him.”

The C.O. bit his lower lip. “Would you want to switch over there?”

Simon let a tear roll down his face before he nodded. “Yes. I miss him terribly.”

The C.O. looked in a database on his computer. “Looks like we have a bed that just opened there. You’ll be rooming with a handicapped guy, so you need to agree to help him with whatever he needs. And you’ll need to be on the top bunk.”

Simon quickly agreed. He didn’t mind being some disabled guy’s assistant if it meant getting the hell out of this pod and being able to see Dogen.

“Pack your things,” the C.O. said. “And… sorry for your loss.”

Simon smiled through his crocodile tears. “Thank you… and sorry for your loss… just know that it gets easier…”

Simon could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on him as he made the painfully awkward walk back to his cell. He heard some of the men laughing at him.

“It ain’t gonna be any better wherever you’re going, baby,” one of the inmates teased.

“Snitches get stitches,” another inmate said, cracking his knuckles. “You better not’ve given that damn C.O. any names, ‘cause if you did…”

Simon did his best to ignore their jeers as he packed his things with shaking hands. All he had was his thin foam mattress, his even thinner blanket, a roll of toilet paper, his intake papers, and a bar of soap.

“Leaving already?” one of his cellmates asked, quickly putting out his smoke at the sound of guards approaching. “You just got here. Didn’t like us?”

Simon shrugged. “Nothing personal.”

“Heh, watch them put you in Pod B and treat you like a princess,” his other cellmate snorted. “Shit, if they put you in there, I’ll bitch and whine about feeling scared, too, and join you.”

Simon didn’t know what was so special about Pod B, but he learned not to ask too many questions in prison for fear of seeming like he wasn’t in the know. Everyone was already suspicious of him for being a first-time offender with all of his teeth and no tattoos. Asking questions would only make him seem even more like a cop. He most definitely was not telling them that he was going to Pod B.

“Keyes, hurry it up!” one of the guards bellowed from down the hall.

Simon huffed. Without another word, he finished balancing his meager possessions in his arms and walked out of the pod to the sound of several inmates shouting obscenities at him.

Simon took a deep breath as he followed two officers out of Pod A. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him.

“You’re going to B,” one of the officers said. “We don’t usually put first-degree murderers in Pod B, but you…” He eyed Simon and glanced up and down his lanky body. “…You’ll fit right in.”

“What’s so special about Pod B?” Simon finally asked.

The officer shrugged. “It’s just different from the rest of the prison. The inmates there are… easier to deal with.”

Simon snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Watch your tone,” the other officer snapped. “Any more shit out of you and we’ll march your ass right back to A.”

Simon gritted his teeth. “M-My apologies.”

If Pod B was better than Pod A, then he didn’t want to lose his temper and screw this up. Besides, Dogen would be there.

The officers led him to another heavy, metal door and opened it. The moment Simon stepped into Pod B, his heart stopped. He felt the same anxiety stepping into Pod B as he had when he’d first arrived in Pod A, sure, but it quickly wore off, and he had to force himself to keep a plain face, biting his lip to keep from breaking out into a grin.

Because sitting right there close to the entrance at a table with his big, black dog was Dogen. Dogen stared blankly at him and smiled. Various other inmates milled about, talking loudly, some sizing Simon up and some not.

“You’re in Room 1 on the top bunk,” one of the officers said, giving Simon a little nudge.

Simon held his ground, careful not to stumble. “Top bunk, huh. The one on the bottom’s taken?” But I prefer being on the bottom.

“You were told you’re rooming with a guy in a wheelchair, right?” one of the officers asked him.

“…Right.” In his excitement of seeing Dogen in the pod, he’d forgotten all about his cellmate. Simon quickly brought his things to his new cell, the first room on the bottom floor of the two-story pod.

On the neatly made lower bunk was a yellow-crested cockatoo pecking at a small pile of sunflower seeds. It stared at him.

He glared at it.

It squawked at him and flew out the extremely tiny window near the ceiling.

Simon heaved a heavy sigh. It would take him a while to get over his trauma with animals. Seeing an animal—besides for Anubis, that old reliable dog—brought him back to that fateful day when the animals sensed the darkness lurking within him and attacked him.

As he set up his bed on the top bunk, he looked around the cramped cell. It was cluttered, but it was still cleaner than his old cell. On top of the metal desk screwed into the wall was a short stack of books—a Bible, a dictionary, and an encyclopedia—all of which almost definitely had pages torn from them. The desk didn’t have a stool.

Next to the desk on the floor were several packages of sunflower seeds, condiments and seasonings, a pouch of tuna chunks, two bottles of painkillers, a small bottle of hand lotion, and a large bottle of ointment.

Against the other wall was the toilet. It was remarkably clean, and it looked taller than most toilets he’d seen. There was a metal bar drilled into the wall next to the toilet on one side, and there was a sink on the other side. The sink was much lower than the one in his old cell.

All of these things were ultimately irrelevant to him. He didn’t mind if an accessible room took some getting used to. The best thing of all about the room was that it only had one cot before Simon arrived. He’d only have one cellmate to deal with instead of two.

Simon quickly finished setting up his meager possessions and left his room to go sit by Dogen. The moment he sat down, Dogen greeted him with a pleasant smile.

“I knew I recognized your voice, young acolyte,” Dogen said.

Anubis trotted over to Simon and rested his head on his lap. Simon couldn’t help but smile. Everyone was right—Pod B was the best. It had Dogen in it.

Before Simon could say anything to the man he trusted the most, Simon was swarmed by other inmates. Many of them had old, faded tattoos on their faces and arms. Some of them had long beards. Some of them were missing teeth. Some of them, he was surprised to see, used crutches, canes, and walkers. There were too many people all over the place to see them all, but he was pretty sure he also saw a wheelchair or two.

“How do you and Dogen know each other?” one of the inmates asked.

“Are you white or Asian?” another asked.

“What are your charges?” another asked.

“Show us your papers,” another demanded.

“Give my young acolyte some space,” Dogen interjected.

All of the men took one small step back.

“I’m Simon. And Dogen and I go way back,” Simon said. He prayed Dogen hadn’t made any enemies in Pod B. Associating with Dogen meant inheriting his enemies, too. “I’m Asian. And my charges… first-degree.”

One of the men’s eyes narrowed. “Murder? You? A healthy guy like you? I know you’re fucking lying.”

Simon shrugged and handed the man his crumpled intake paper.

As the man read it, his eyes bugged out of his head. “N-No way…”

The other inmates crowding them gathered around the one holding the paper in order to take a look.

“First-degree murder… Two acts of child endangerment… Two kidnapping felonies… Why the fuck did the C.O.s let you into the pod?” one of the men asked aloud.

“What crimes have you all committed, then?” Simon asked, his face a very calculated expression of boredom.

“Stealing, doing, dealing,” one of the men rattled off, listing them off on his fingers like items on a grocery list.

“There are others in here with the same charges as you and I,” Dogen said, resting a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “As I’m sure you’ve already noticed, young acolyte, many of us in here have disabilities. For me, blindness. Others have other illnesses or impairments. Most of the disabled inmates in here have much heavier sentences than the abled ones. This is the only accessible unit in the facility, so the disabled inmates have a wide range of offenses. Everyone is… surprised to see a healthy man like you with charges like that put into the one accessible pod.”

“Why’s that?” Simon asked. “Why the disabled inmates have heavier sentences, I mean.”

“Usually, able-bodied inmates come here when they’re feeling threatened but don’t want to go to the hole,” Dogen explained. “The idea is that disabled people are nonthreatening.” Dogen’s smile held a twisted mirth. “Not that that’s ever stopped me.”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t know why they let me in here if I’m healthy and have a heavy sentence. I wanted a transfer, and they told me I could move as long as I agreed to help take care of my new cellmate. Some guy with a wheelchair.”

All of the guys “ohhhhh’d” and nodded in understanding. “You got damn lucky, then. You must be rooming with Acro,” one of them said.

Simon’s eyes widened. “…Acro?”

“Yeah. You know him?” one of the guys asked, nodding to the other side of the room. “He’s over there. Wheelchair, white face paint. He’s got similar charges to you, serious ones, but he’s got a heart of gold. He don’t bite.”

Simon looked across the floor only to see the exact man he’d seen before in so many pictures at Circus Big Top.

Back when Simon still worked for the circus, he’d begged Regina to tear down Acro’s pictures, but she’d refused.

“He’s still family!” Regina had insisted.

How on earth someone could consider her father’s murderer family—especially because Acro had intended to kill her instead—was beyond him. He hated the thought of anyone trying to hurt Regina. She was the only authority figure he’d ever liked. Instead, he’d glared at Acro’s photos hanging on the walls whenever he’d pass by them on his way to circus practice.

He recognized Acro. Acro didn’t recognize him.

Acro was in the middle of a deep conversation with an inmate wearing a visor, not even sparing Simon a glance.

“I know of him,” Simon said.

-

Once break time was over, Simon patted Dogen’s shoulder goodbye, gave Anubis a scratch on the head, and returned to his new cell filled with dread. The only worse people he could think of that he could have roomed with were Max Galactica and Benjamin Woodman.  

When Simon stepped into his cell, Acro was already at the metal desk sitting in his wheelchair, reading the Bible.

“You must be Acro,” Simon said, putting on his biggest, brightest smile the moment the door closed behind him.

Acro put his Bible down and turned his wheelchair to face Simon. Acro’s face had three lines of some white substance on each side, and he had a handsome face with dark, stormy eyes. “I take it you’re Souta Sarushiro. Simon Keyes.”

Simon’s eyes widened. “You… know my Japanese name?”

“Regina visited me the day you were booked,” Acro explained coolly. A bird landed on his shoulder. Simon winced at the sight. “She told me about you… described you… and I promised her I would keep an eye out for you. She wasn’t sure which name you’d be going by.”

“She always pointed out your picture hanging up on the walls in the circus,” Simon said. He hugged himself. He felt cold. He had no idea how Regina could forgive so easily. Acro sickened him.

Acro gave him a sad smile. “I can’t imagine what she’s said about me.”

Simon smiled. “She said you were like an older brother to her and that she looked up to you a lot,” he said, delighting in the way Acro’s face fell. “I thought, ‘nowaynowaynoway, there’s no way this teenage girl talks to a prisoner.' But she calls you every week, right? She’s so kind that way. So forgiving.”

Acro looked absolutely miserable listening to Simon. “I don’t suppose she told you what I’m here for.”

“She did,” Simon said. “Child endangerment and first-degree murder. You and I aren’t so different, I suppose!” Saying it was painful.

Acro awkwardly laughed. “We all have our sins. Right now, the sin I’m committing is keeping you from reaching your bunk. I wish they had a stepladder in here or something.” He took his books off the desk and placed them on his bed, letting Simon climb up to the top bunk with his gangly, monkey-like agility.

“Wouldn’t it be a ladder, not a stepladder?” Simon asked once he reached his bunk.

“I have no idea,” Acro said. He chuckled. His laugh was annoying. The sound of it was fine, but the fact that it was his made it annoying. “You think of some interesting things.”

Simon gritted his teeth. He wanted to strangle Acro. He balled his fists at his sides and said nothing.

Simon was a patient man. He’d wait for the right time to strike.

Chapter Text

The next day, when Simon entered the pod floor, he made a beeline for Dogen’s cell. He couldn’t get away from Acro fast enough.

Simon barely spoke to Acro. Acro seemed comfortable with the silence, but at night, Acro sung some sort of lullaby in another language, and it had taken every ounce of Simon’s self-control to keep from mocking him.

The door to Dogen’s cell was closed. Simon peeked in through the small window. He could see Dogen standing in front of two other prisoners, but they were all speaking too low for him to hear. In any case, they were probably conducting business. He had heard Dogen was something of a ‘deliveryman’ for the other inmates, giving them access to outside goods at exorbitant prices. He wondered if Dogen would let him in on the business. He did still need funds to buy shampoo.

Simon sighed and sat down on an empty bench by the communal television screen. A few other inmates sat on the other benches. The TV had begun airing a rerun of an old football match if the disappointed groans of the prisoners around him were anything to go by.

Almost immediately, three inmates approached him and sat in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. One man was extremely tall, one had teardrop tattoos by his eyes, and the other was missing his top left front tooth. These were their most distinguishable features. Other than that, Simon wouldn’t have been able to differentiate between them. They looked like the most generic skinheads he could think of.

“Is that your real hair color?” Toothless asked, reaching out to touch Simon’s hair.

Simon immediately smacked his hand away. “No. It’s dyed.”

“’Course it’s not his real hair color; you can see his roots,” Teardrop said.

“Guys, leave him alone,” Tall said, laughing.

In his childhood, Simon met many children who had bullied others out of boredom, and these men reminded him of those kids at the orphanage. In fact, so far, prison felt just like the orphanage but with slightly more drugs. But only slightly.

“We just wanted to know if you’d agree to a little… you know… arrangement,” Tall said. He seemed like the leader of the other two. “We’ll fight your fights for you, and you’ll bring in a little bit of cash for us to put on our books. We’ll even split the money with you. Good, right?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t have any money,” Simon said, smacking away Toothless’ wandering hand yet again.

“You could make money,” Teardrop said. He smirked. “You ever put on makeup?”

Simon tilted his head to the side. He wondered if they recognized him from one of his circus performances. “…Makeup?”

“Do we really have to spell it out for you?” Toothless asked, laughing. “We wanna pimp you out. You already look like a girl, and makeup would finish the picture.”

“If you’re a homo and gonna suck cock anyway, you may as well make some money,” Teardrop said.

“Well?” Tall said, his smile bone-chilling. “Interested?”

“Nowaynowaynoway.” Simon stood from his bench and put on a winning smile. “And I don’t think you should suggest something like that again. You might make my friend Dogen mad.” He began walking away, hoping that the name-drop would end it, when he heard Tall’s voice:

“Don’t complain when you drop the soap, then. We coulda saved you.”

-

Time in the common room finished. As Simon entered his cell, he found his cellmate staring at him inquisitively.

“Is something wrong?” Simon asked.

“I could ask you the same,” Acro said, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Simon pulled on his strands of long, red hair that had already turned black at the roots. “G-G-Ghosts? Nowaynowaynoway! I don’t want to deal with ghosts, too…”

Acro didn’t say anything. He just stared at Simon, sizing him up.

Simon wrung his wrists. He tried convincing himself his fidgeting was a conscious decision to look weak.

In truth, Simon’s encounter with the neo-Nazi three musketeers had shaken him. His clever brain helped him out of most situations, but as one of the scrawniest inmates, his intelligence would only get him so far. When push came to shove, no brain could beat brawn.

Then, in addition to that, Simon was very obviously gay, with his long, dyed, red hair and bubbly yet meek persona. He wondered if the move to Pod B had done him any favors.

“You’re already getting picked on here,” Acro deduced.

Simon gritted his teeth. It bothered him that Acro saw through his lies so quickly.

“You could request seg,” Acro offered weakly.

“Nowaynowaynoway. Everyone will think I’m a rat.”

If he requested solitary confinement, Simon knew he would be labeled a snitch, and that was a fate worse than death. Worst of all, it would be a sign of weakness. Simon didn’t want to be weak. He also didn’t want to leave Dogen, his one ally.

Simon covered his eyes and pretended to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually cried, and he’d never cried in front of another person, at least not seriously. Crocodile tears were another story.

Acro seemed like someone who liked playing savior, and getting him on his side meant seeming weak. Maybe he could use Acro to his advantage.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help however I can,” Acro whispered, putting a hand over his heart. Simon felt joy bubble up inside him; he’d pegged Acro for exactly what he was. “You’ll be alright.”

Simon quickly climbed on the desk and up to his bunk. “I-I’ll be okay. Th-Thank you.”

He had Acro hook, line, and sinker. Acro seeing him as weak and defenseless was a good thing, what with his savior complex. Plus, if Acro thought he was weak, he would never see it coming if Simon ever decided to exact revenge on him for killing Regina’s father. Simon decided then that he would do his best to seem weak in front of Acro but not in front of anyone else. Weakness, shown to other prisoners, was exploited. When it came to Acro, it exploited him.

Simon’s eyes widened when one of Acro’s pet birds suddenly fluttered up to his bed. The bird flew to his hand and perched itself on his fingers. A parakeet.

The parakeet preened itself. Simon held his breath, shocked the bird didn’t peck him. Animals didn’t exactly get along with him.

Simon took a chance and very, very slowly pet the bird. The bird was content to just sit there, perch on his finger, and be petted. The bird was a strange comfort in the freezing abyss of the prison. It was nice and soft, its downy feathers brushing against his fingers.

“I’ll do my best to teach you to defend yourself,” Acro promised. “It’ll take time to build muscle, so let’s start now.”

“Are you calling me weak?” Simon snapped.

At his outburst, the bird pecked his finger and flew back down to Acro. Simon cursed and held his bleeding finger. Damn bird. When faced with his fears, he forgot how to present himself properly. He was slipping.

“It doesn’t matter what I think of you,” Acro said. If he’d noticed anything unusual about Simon’s outburst, he didn’t show it. His voice was low. “Either you start working out now, or you get attacked later.”

Simon winced. He hated Acro—hated him—with every fiber of his being. He hated his good guy persona and savior complex. He hated that Acro had tried to murder Regina, the one person in Simon’s life who had never abused her position of power over him as his boss. He hated how Snow White-esque Acro acted to cover up his dark side.

But Simon couldn’t judge Acro for covering up his dark side when he did the exact same thing with his own persona, and Acro was right that Simon didn’t have a choice. If Simon was physically weak, he’d be taken advantage of and forcibly made into a prostitute for a gang. He needed to start working out.

Simon sighed and, without warning, jumped down from his bunk. The bird that had perched itself back on Acro’s hand squawked at Simon and immediately flew away via the tiny hole near the ceiling.

Acro looked at Simon’s hand. His eyes went wide. “Did she peck you?”

“Yes.” Simon trudged over to the sink and washed his finger under the running water. The water was cool against his skin, but not cold. “Animals just don’t seem to like me.”

“I thought you worked closely with my old friend, Money the monkey,” Acro said, head tilted cutely to the side.

Cute. A murderer, cute. Simon shook the thought from his head. “Money the monkey… I thought he and I got along, but animals can be unpredictable.”

“Hmm.” Acro didn’t sound too convinced. It sounded like there was baggage there, but Simon didn’t ask.

Simon wiped his hands dry. The bleeding had mostly stopped. “Well, what do you think I should do to work out? I really need your advice.”

Acro’s whole face lit up at that.

He definitely has a savior complex, Simon thought. I’m his damsel in distress.

“How about push-ups?” Acro suggested.

Simon got on the ground in a push-up position, his feet facing the door and his head facing the bunk. His long hair touched the floor, which disgusted him, but he didn’t have any hair ties. It couldn’t be helped.

Oooooooooone. Simon’s arms trembled. He tried to remember to breathe through it. It was hard to remember to breathe when his arms already felt like lead.

Twoooooooooo. Simon went all the way back down, but he couldn’t make it back up. He collapsed onto the floor and sighed. Unwillingly, he was making himself look terribly weak in front of Acro. Ah well. At least Acro would feel sorry for him.

Acro glanced over at him and frowned. “Maybe you can try lifting weights first.” He reached under his bed and rolled a two-liter soda bottle towards Simon. “Here. This should work.”

Simon regarded the soda bottle. It just looked like a piece of trash. The soda bottle had been repurposed into a makeshift dumbbell, filled with various scraps of paper that had been meticulously smashed down. “Oh, no, I could never use this. It’s yours. You worked so hard on it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re just borrowing it.”

“No really, I couldn’t, you worked so hard to make it, what if I ruin it—”

“You don’t owe me for using it. Please don’t worry.”

Offering something up without asking for anything in return is weak, Simon thought. But whatever. He got up and sat with his legs crossed on the floor. He grabbed the bottle with his right hand. The bottle weighed down his arm.

He started lifting the bottle. He squeezed it tight to see if he could bend Acro’s hard work out of shape, but it didn’t budge. The papers inside stayed perfectly still. The bottle was filled to the brim.

Lifting weights was boring and repetitive. He remembered why he hated working out so much.

Still, it beat the alternative. If he kept at it, he figured, he’d survive.

After a little while, Simon switched arms.

Acro nodded in approval and went back to reading his Bible.

Simon gritted his teeth. This smug bastard.

“Have the C.O.s told you about my needs yet?” Acro asked. He closed the Bible and put it on the desk. “As my cellie, you need to help me with certain accommodations. I just need help with some day-to-day tasks here and there.”

“I can do that,” Simon said, beaming. So the savior needs some help, too, does he?

Acro sighed. “I’m warning you now that some days are better than others. Some days, I have almost no pain, but there are days that I can barely move. I’m going to need a lot of help on bad days.”

“Help doing what?” Simon asked. He switched arms again.

“Getting my medicines,” Acro said, pointing to the ointment and painkiller bottles under his bed. “If I can’t move because I’m in too much pain, I need you to apply the ointment to my calves. Either roll up my pants or take them off, whichever’s easier. If I’m screaming in the middle of the night because my legs feel like they’re on fire, I need you to put it all over my lower legs right away and sit with me until I calm down.”

“You scream in the middle of the night?” Simon asked in disbelief. Prison was already so loud, and Acro already sang at night; he couldn’t possibly imagine living with someone who screamed in the middle of the night. He was already sleep-deprived as is.

“Sometimes during the day, too,” Acro said. He sighed. “I never know when it’s going to happen, when my legs tense up so badly that I can’t move. It usually happens once every other week or so, but the cold makes them tense up more. And it’s already fall, so… get ready.”

Simon frowned in a way that he hoped was sympathetic. He didn’t exactly love the idea of getting up in the middle of the night to help a man he didn’t particularly care for.

“And, Simon,” Acro said, bringing his voice down to a murmur. He locked eyes with Simon. Acro’s eyes were stormy. “You will help me. If you don’t help me when I need it, you’ll regret it.”

Simon smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Acro. I’ll do whatever you need and then some!”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” Acro said, frowning. “I just need you to promise to help me with the things I need, nothing more and nothing less.”

“I already promised I’d do it.”

“You promised the C.O.s, but I need you to promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll even pinky promise.” Simon hastily dropped the makeshift dumbbell on the floor and held out his pinky to Acro.

The storm in Acro’s eyes cleared away. He gave him a little smile and laid down in his bed again. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a pinky promise, but I think I should let you finish your workout.”

Simon continued lifting weights. He was fairly certain Acro didn’t totally buy his little act.

Not yet, at least.

-

During night chow, Acro was using one of the phones. Simon sat with Dogen at a table nearby, eating quietly, eavesdropping when he saw Acro’s face shift to one of shock.

“R… Really?” Acro said. His knuckles were white as he clutched the phone in his hand. “Regina, please… put the phone to his ear… let me talk to him…” Acro began crying.

By then, a few inmates were staring.

“Sean? Can you hear me? It’s me, your big brother. It’s Ken. I love you. Please wake up soon. Please. Regina and I care about you so much.” Acro wiped his tears. There was a pause. “…Yeah. Thank you. Thank you so much. …Okay. Talk to you soon. Be well. Love you too. Bye.”

The moment Acro hung up, he turned to face the few people staring at him.

He smiled through his tears and wiped them away. He smudged the white marks on his face. “My brother might wake up.”

Several inmates cheered. They clapped him on the shoulder and immediately bombarded him with questions and congratulations.

Simon scowled and pushed the food around on his plate. “I can’t believe she still talks to him after everything he did.”

“Hmm.” Dogen scratched Anubis behind the ears. He didn’t say anything else. It was something of a comfort for Simon to speak to someone in Japanese, his mother tongue.

“Why do they like him so much?” Simon asked, watching Acro freely smile and talk to the other inmates. Simon stabbed his plain, bland chicken with his plastic fork. “They’re so nice to this corrupt man who tried to kill a little girl and destroyed her family. I don’t get it. And I don’t understand why the hell Regina calls him every week. How can she forgive him for killing her dad and trying to kill her?”

Dogen shrugged. “Perhaps she believes people can change.”

Simon snorted. “Yeah, right. Murder. Just a simple mistake. If you’re going to kill someone, you need to be intentional with it. It’s his fault he fucked up who the victim was. If I was him, I’d be embarrassed.”

Dogen shrugged again but said nothing. His silence only annoyed Simon.

-

Back in his cell, Simon climbed up to his bunk. He didn’t want to talk to Acro, but there was nothing else to do. He despised boredom more than Acro. “What was that phone call about earlier?” he finally asked.

“My brother,” Acro said. He sighed. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but Regina said he’s begun showing signs of brain activity. For this to happen to someone who’s been in a coma for so long… maybe I should start praying for his recovery. Maybe it really is divine intervention.”

Simon giggled. “You’re a Christian, but you don’t pray?”

“I’m not a Christian.” Looking down, Simon saw Acro’s muscular arm reach out and grab the Bible off the desk. “I just take an interest in religion. Last month, I read the Torah. This month, I’m reading the Bible.”

“I’ve never understood religion,” Simon said, trying his best to keep his voice light and airy. “Religion was made up to control women and conquer land. …A-At least, that’s why I think it can be bad.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, of all people,” Acro said with an awkward laugh. “I just like learning about different views on sin and forgiveness.”

Sin and forgiveness. So he feels remorse, does he? Simon thought. Interesting. I wonder what remorse feels like.

“And what do Christians believe?” Simon asked. He laid down in his bed on his stomach. “That they can murder, cheat, steal, and lie, but that they’ll get to heaven if they pray enough?”

Acro paused. “You’re not too far off the mark,” he admitted quietly. “It’s not my religion, but I can see why many of the guys here are Christians. It must be refreshing to have a clean slate.”

“What’s your religion, then?” Simon asked. He knew the answer before Acro said it.

“I’m just spiritual,” Acro said.

Of course you are. “That sounds really nice and peaceful.”

“What about you?” Acro asked. “What do you believe?”

“I’m an atheist. Buddhist. Maybe something like that, but I’m not sure,” Simon said truthfully. He’d never cared much for religion. If something divine was out there, he didn’t care one way or another.

“Buddhism. I only know a little about it,” Acro said. He sounded genuinely curious. “Much of it revolves around reincarnation, right?”

“Yes.” Simon stretched in his bed and yawned. If you’re a shit person, you can’t go to heaven. That’s why you, Acro, are going to be a bird in your next life, and you’re going to fly into a window at your own reflection and fall and die. “I hope I get to be a monkey in my next life. They’re super cute.”

Acro chuckled, but his laugh was dry. It wasn’t the reaction Simon had been expecting. “I see animals as spiritual beings, too,” Acro explained. “That’s why I feed the birds. They’re a part of nature, and I like feeling connected to nature.”

“Why?” Simon asked.

Acro went quiet. After a little while, Simon thought he wasn’t going to respond.

“It reminds me where I come from,” Acro finally said, his voice soft and nostalgic. “The earth is especially important where I come from. I moved away when I was young, so I don’t remember much, but nature was always important in my community. And I can still remember a few of the songs about nature.”

“Oh,” Simon said. He sat up on his elbows. “Are those the songs you sing at night?”

“Yes.” Acro had a nice speaking voice, and his singing voice wasn’t horrible, either. “The other guys understand that it’s a part of my culture, but they treat it like a lullaby. It helps everyone get to bed.”

“It’s pretty amazing that everyone gets quiet when you sing,” Simon said. “When I first heard everyone get quiet, I thought, ‘nowaynowaynoway, it’s always loud at night.’ But they really do listen to you. Your voice saves people.”

“Saves people? I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Acro said, chuckling. “But if it can help calm everyone down, then I’m happy.”

Happy. Simon wondered if Acro felt happy when his savior complex was fulfilled. Was it really a savior complex, or did Acro get off on seeming morally superior? Was there even a difference? Being in prison and pretending to care about others was absolutely bizarre behavior.

Simon thought about himself. He wondered what his motive was besides survival. Did he care about anything? What would make him happy?

That night, when Acro sang his nightly lullaby, Simon let himself enjoy it. Acro’s voice was deep and soulful, and it helped him relax.

Simon still wasn’t happy, but maybe it was worth keeping himself from feeling miserable if he could.