The taste of blood welcomed him back to consciousness. Its dark, familiar tang was pooled up against the left side of his mouth, mixing with his saliva and swirling against his tongue. Twitching, he tried to move. Pain seared through his body but he managed to find a hard surface with his hands. Was that the floor, or the wall?

He’d need to open his eyes to find out, but they felt like they’d been glued to his cheeks with melted plastic.

What happened…?

His throbbing brain had barely managed to complete the thought when something bright smothered the darkness behind his eyelids. There was a heavy metallic clang, followed by a commanding, muffled voice.

“Yue Shantao. Get up.”

Uh, I would, but… He couldn’t even say that out loud. Grimacing, Shantao opened his mouth and let some of the blood trickle out past his lips. There was a heavy sigh, then a shadow passed over his eyelids and the next thing he knew he was being dragged to his feet.

“Get up. You missed the morning rollcall. Breakfast will be over in ten minutes.” The same, muffled voice barked sharply at him.

“Breakfast?” Shantao groaned, managing to squeeze open one eye. Squinting at the light, he slowly realized that he was being dragged through a white hallway. “Well why didn’t you say so…” he grumbled, putting a little bit more strength into his limping ankles and attempting to pull away from the arms supporting him. But the thick hands only tightened. Confused, Shantao blinked blearily at the man beside him, realizing that it was actually a prison guard. They were easily recognizable – the guards were dressed in white, full-body padded suits with a darkened mesh hole for breathing and speaking.

Why am I with a guard again? What happened to that pretty guy? Head pounding, Shantao felt a sloppy smile appear on his face as he turned to the guard. “Hey man. I like your uniform. You look like an astronaut.”

As expected, the guard ignored him, instead quickening his pace and forcing Shantao to stumble forward. “You won’t receive this treatment again. This is only because it’s your first day,” the man grunted, stopping outside a metal door in the wall and pulling it open. “This is the cafeteria. Find your cellmate, it’s his duty to take care of you for the first week.”

Wincing as he was shoved hard into the room, Shantao glanced back. “Yeah, cause he’s a really caring guy, huh!” he shouted hoarsely – but the door had shut already. Shit. Huffing, Shantao swore under his breath and turned around, rubbing his sore arm as he raised his gaze warily to assess the scene in front of him.

He was reminded of the food court in the basement level of that mall, across the street from the park where he used to sleep. Except this cafeteria was much larger, with better lighting and metal tables instead of blue plastic ones. There were lots of men – all of them older and most of them haggard looking. One man, sitting at the table closest to him, was coughing violently into his hand.

Food first.

Rubbing his stomach as it growled, Shantao spotted a window in the left wall where the food was served. A man in a blue prisoner uniform was wiping down the metal counter, and as Shantao limped over the man looked up, glanced at him, and did a double-take.

“Morning,” Shantao said, grabbing a piece of bread from inside the window and stuffing it into his mouth before skirting past the man. Oh, they have soup. He hadn’t had a decent meal in at least three days – the mere texture of the rough bread against his tongue was enough to create waterfalls inside his mouth. Spooning out two bowls of red chunky soup, Shantao grabbed both bowls, set them on a blue tray, and turned to face the cafeteria.

Okay, now where is he…

Flower-boy wasn’t hard to spot. His was the only light-coloured head in a sea of black. The man was sitting to the far left, away from the black tinted windows at the back of the room. As Shantao got closer, he noticed with surprise that there were two other people at the table – a thin boy, looking not much older than himself, and a tall Chinese man with short black hair and thick eyebrows.

“Mm.” His mouth was still stuffed with bread, so he couldn’t talk. Stopping behind the light-haired man, Shantao said hello as best as he could.

Across the table, he caught the eye of the boy and the Chinese man. The boy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. The man gazed at him with an unchanging expression. In front of him, Flower-boy stiffened but didn’t turn around.

Oh, well, I guess that means I can sit.

Plopping himself down on the bench next to the light-haired man, Shantao pulled the piece of bread out of his mouth with a happy gasp and grinned at his two new companions across the table. “Morning.”

The Chinese man nodded curtly in response. The boy’s eyebrows rose even further. Instead of replying he turned his wide eyes to Aris and leaned forward.

“Uh, Aris? You never said your new cellmate was this cute.”

“Aris?” Shantao felt his grin stretch wider and he turned to look at the man’s side-profile, noticing with pleasure that his green eyes were narrowed in intense irritation. “Is that your name, Flower-boy?”

“Hah!” The boy let out a shrill laugh, slapping his hand down on the metal table. His dark brown, chocolate-coloured hair fluttered as he threw his head back. “Hey Fang, looks like your wits aren’t as sharp as your teeth are. You don’t want to be calling this guy Flower-boy.”

Puzzled, Shantao ripped a piece out of his bread, chewing contently as he blinked back at the boy. “Fang?”

The boy grinned, reaching out a hand over the table. His eyes, a surprising light amber, blinked in delight. “Yeah, that’s what Aris called you. I’m Rai.”

“Cool.” Swallowing the rest of his bread, Fang spared a moment out of his breakfast to shake the boy’s hand. “Fang. What does that mean?”

“It’s English.” A low, silky voice caught his attention. At first he thought it was the quiet, dark-haired man sitting on the other side of the table – but that guy was in the process of spooning soup into his mouth. Surprised that Aris had spoken up, Fang tilted his head up to meet the man’s gaze. The glint in Aris’s green irises sent a strange shiver down his spine. “It means ‘sharp tooth.’ You have one that really stands out.”

“Oh, yeah.” Fang grinned, baring his teeth. “My mom calls me that too, but in Chinese.” Across the table, Rai laughed again. It was a high, sneering sound, but instead of fanning him with embarrassment, the sound planted a warm glow in his chest. “Are you Aris? Can I give you a nickname too?”

“You really should stop, Fang. Your mommy’s not here to save you from bad guys like him,” Rai chortled, reaching over the table and grabbing onto the edge of his tray.

Fang stiffened, eyeing the boy’s hands. They were way too close to his soup. But the boy seemed to notice, and after a small pause he let go of the tray, a musing smile on his face.

“Hungry? I’m surprised you even made it to breakfast,” Rai said, leaning back in his chair and pushing his empty tray forward idly so that it bumped into Fang’s tray. “Considering the size of that bruise on your pretty face and your obvious lack of brains, it looks like Aris gave you a super warm welcome.”

“Hm, this?” Words muffled, Fang reached his oily finger up to nudge his bruised cheek, wincing as it stung. “It’s okay, it’s not that bad. Trust me, I know what a real punch feels like,” he said dismissively, pausing to swallow the mush of bread in his mouth and then proceeding to lick the crumbs off his fingers.

“Oh-hoh.” Rai grinned, his gaze flickering over to Aris’s stony expression. “I like him. Can we trade cellmates?” Beside him, the tall dark-haired man’s eyes slid over in an exasperated look.

Aris scowled, grabbing his tray and straightening to his feet. “What’s the point?” he growled, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Briefly, he met Fang’s gaze and a dark shadow flickered through his liquid green irises. Then his eyes narrowed and the man turned away, leaving Fang blinking at the orange fabric stretching across his broad back as he tossed a parting remark over his shoulder. “The kid won’t last a week.”

To his surprise, Rai’s grin faded almost immediately at the man’s words. Puzzled, Fang lifted one of his bowls of soup and drained as much as his cheeks could fit, then swallowed with some difficulty and gasped out his confusion. “What does he mean?”

Rai opened his mouth, then stopped short and exchanged glances with the Chinese man. Curiously, Fang leaned over the table a little, trying to read their gazes.

“Does he think I’m that easy?” He grinned, hoping to bring a smile back on Rai’s face. “Okay fine, I lied, his punch was insanely strong. But I can throw a pretty good one too, you know?” He was tempted to point out that Rai was just a flimsy little thing, but he bit his tongue. He’d made enough enemies this week.

Rai turned back to him, lips stretching in a faint smile. But this one was patronizing and didn’t reach his round eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Fang. Just stick with us and you’ll be fine,” he said airily, lifting his tray and stacking it haphazardly onto the man’s tray beside him. Noticing the dark-haired man’s eyes narrowing in faint irritation, Fang turned and smiled at him.

“Who are you?”

Rai waved his hand dismissively. “My cellmate. Don’t bother, he’s boring and quiet –”

“I’m Zhu Han,” the man interrupted in a deep voice, reaching his hand over the table. His expression was amiable, but he wasn’t exactly smiling. “Your name is?”

Oh, how proper. Entertained, Fang also reached over and shook the man’s very large hand. “Yue Shantao.”

“Would you believe it if I told you this guy was a doctor?” Rai snorted, slamming his hand on the table a little invasively between them and ignoring Han’s exasperated sigh. “He used to be a rich boy. Son of some hot-shot hospital director. One of the patients was pregnant and the boyfriend murdered her, then framed him for it.” Rai shrugged. “Lucky man, ain’t he?”

“Damn,” Fang said, casting Han a wide-eyed look and setting down his second bowl of soup for a moment of respect. “I’m sorry.”

Surprise lit the man’s dark eyes, his head tilting towards Fang in sudden interest. “Shantao, how old are you?”

“Me?” Pausing to reluctantly swallow only a small mouthful of soup, Fang glanced at the man and saw a flash of pity in his otherwise stony face. “I’m eighteen.”

Han’s lips twisted into a crooked frown. “You’re too young to be here. They must have made a mistake.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rai said in a loud voice, leaning down over the table lazily and grabbing both sides of Fang’s tray. Ignoring Fang’s instantly bristling shoulders, the light-haired boy gazed challengingly up at him. “I was seventeen. My brother was fifteen. We were both placed in the high-security wing too. They make ‘mistakes’ all the time.”

Forcing himself to relax once it looked like his food wasn’t in any danger, Fang returned the boy’s hazel gaze warily. “What did you do?” he asked, voice muffled as he lifted the plastic bowl to his lips and drained the last of the soup.

“None of your business,” Rai replied snarkily, straightening with a heavy sigh and elbowing Han. “Hey, take the trays away. I feel gross whenever I look at them.”

Seeing a flash of complaint in the man’s eyes, Fang got up, grabbed his tray, and stacked it on top of theirs. “I’ll do it,” he said brightly, grabbing all three.

“It’s alright –” Han began, but Rai’s chortle promptly drowned out his voice.

“Good boy, Fang! Maybe we can get Aris to tolerate you after all.”

Grinning to himself as he turned his back to them, Fang searched the cafeteria and spotted multiple gray counters against the opposite wall where the other trays had been returned. Although it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since he’d arrived, the cafeteria was already a lot less crowded. Most of the inmates had left or were in the process of leaving. A few were still sitting and chatting, two beefy-looking guy were arm-wrestling at a table nearby, and that man near the doorway was still coughing his lungs out.

As he was looking around, Fang caught a couple people’s eyes. Most of them gave him the same general reaction – a raise of the eyebrows, a widening of the eyes and a slight straightening of the torso. Back in the streets he rarely got this much attention, and though he had a feeling he shouldn’t be enjoying it, he did. So much that he didn’t even notice that there was someone blocking the way until he was already standing in the guy’s shadow.

Stopping so that he wouldn’t stab the trays into the man’s abdomen, Fang blinked up and caught the heavy-lidded gaze of a large Asian man. He had a thin layer of black fuzz covering his head, was heavily muscled but on the rounder side, and was covered in black and red tattoos right up to the back of his skull. And he was at least a head bigger – in all directions.