Prison was no easy place to be, but Ian had grown comfortable with its simple routine. 

Clean, running water, and three square meals a day, free of charge? That wasn't a bad deal. But such an easy life was only possible because Ian dominated the politics of the yard. The shifting of smuggling hands, the pressing of money into palms - all of it was set to his pace. So compared to previous years, the prison now operated more quietly. 

That didn't mean Ian hesitated all that much when a nose had to be broken or a finger snapped, but he wasn't an enemy of peace. He just wasn't about to have some maniac gut him with a sharpened toothbrush. 

He was lucky that his reputation did most of the work for him. His temper, scarred knuckles, and love of a good fight meant he was left well alone. Being perceived as a murderous lunatic - one who chased down one brawl after another like he was fixing his next high - wasn't such a terrible thing. Ironically. 

But every Tuesday of the month, he'd sift through letters, carefully looking for one in particular. One that never appeared. This forced him to rely on updates from others, who took special care to let him know about how she was doing. 

After hearing about her plans to move out of their apartment, the days felt especially long to Ian. The cement walls of this hell bore down on him and every second dragged bloodily onwards. Driving in that the world outside was continuing without him. And being here was nothing but suffocating.

It felt like just yesterday that they'd rented that studio, emptying their pockets for it. Now Alena's new flat would be her home, not theirs. He wouldn’t hear her tired cursing as she unpacked, irritated by the effort of squeezing all her boxes into the rooms. He wouldn't trip over all the loose bits and ends or see her excitedly making up their bed, which she'd inevitably nap in before the work was done. 

It would be Alena's home, but just a house to him. 

While he felt like he'd been amputated here, in reality, he was quite well informed about the state of the Makkens and Alena's general well-being. This was thanks to his visitations. He left it up to the others to choose who'd come and generally lacked any interest in how they decided it. 

...But maybe he should've shown more of an interest. Because one day, he entered Block D, blankly scanning the area for whoever had come, and discovered Haise standing radiantly on a chair with a bouquet of flowers.

Impossible to miss, unfortunately, and even if Ian wanted to pretend not to know him, the guards were already shooting him fierce glares.

"Get down," Ian hissed when he was closer. 

Haise beamed at him, hopping down, and presented the bouquet with a flourish. 

"How the fuck did they let you passed with this?" Ian lifted his handcuffed hands to take it and drop it unceremoniously on the table between them. 

"They examined it, and me, very thoroughly," Haise winked, "and warned me once again that physical contact was forbidden."

Not bothering to reply, Ian rested his hands in plain sight on the table and fixed a level gaze at Haise. Well, Haise was the first not to stare nervously or with a clenched jaw at the handcuffs. Which, if he had to admit, was a breath of fresh air. But Haise appeared not to notice them at all. He just smiled goofily up at him, like they were having a fucking date. 

"Holding hands is probably allowed," Haise mused, wiggling his fingers invitingly. 

Ian couldn't help but frown. "Are you ever going to settle?"

"Settling down doesn't seem all that possible. I don't do commitment very well." Haise plucked a rose free and twirled it between his fingers. "It took O-Tarasov pointing it out, that I may progress slower romantically than others. Something about it taking me longer. That was like a punch to the throat, you know. All my fucked up relationships suddenly made sense."

"Not all of them were a complete disaster," Ian kindly said. 

"Always so sarcastic, aren't you?" Haise pulled a face, nose wrinkling, but even that expression failed to detract from those looks. 

"Well, I like that selfish side of you. Even if your lovers felt it was one-sided, at least when you were with them, it was because you really wanted to be."

Haise really did blush then. He popped up for a second to tuck the rose behind Ian's ear, startling him, and smiled as he leant away. 

Ian downright glared at him. 

Haise always made him feel so flustered. Not simply because of those effeminate looks that made him simply beautiful, but because he was the first and only boy who warmly touched Ian, stealing swift kisses that didn't necessarily mean anything more. Haise used to touch Ian's cheek just to marvel at how cold the weather was, or he laced their hands together when they walked. Unperturbed when Ian violently shook him off.

Haise was a very suggestive, sensual person who liked to toe the line far too often. 

"Have you seen Alena since you've been back?" Ian asked, trying to steer the conversation.

"She's a hermit, through and through," Haise replied, "but I helped her unpack a little, and I beat everyone else in gifting her a homecoming present. It was a blue cactus! And so adequately shaped that we dubbed it Blue-Balls."

Ian wasn’t at all amused. 

When Haise noticed that, he smirked. "Oh, sore subject."

"Her new flat's in old Vein territory," Ian continued, like he didn't hear him, prodding for more information about that gang. 

"And finally close enough for us to start watching a series together and maybe visit some nearby art galleries, yes," Haise beamed. "She's one of my favourite people."

For all his good quirks, here was the habit of Haise's that Ian detested. Haise's love of muddying the waters between people. Whenever there was a slight crack between lovers, Haise liked to slip right in. He comforted the heartbroken with kisses until they melted into something more, but he inevitably left them high and dry, seeking his next big dose. 

Ian caught Haise watching him with that odd look again and snapped, "What?"

"I was just as shocked as everyone else to hear about your fight with O-Tarasov." Haise propped his chin in his open palm. "I wondered if this was your breaking point. But after seeing her and seeing you, I'm once again forced to see just how perfectly suited you are to each other. I've never met another couple that gels together like you two."

"And?" Ian suspected this was some ploy of Haise's. 

"And," Haise suddenly stood, leaning over to press his mouth hard against Ian's. Against his lips, he sweetly murmured, "I hope you and O-Tarasov reconcile soon."

Before Ian could strike him, he was already across the room, cheerfully waving goodbye over the gaping spectators. With how hard Ian's jaw clenched, it was a miracle his teeth didn't crack. 

Later that night, Ian propped himself up against the wall, touching his collarbone and thinking of Alena. He imagined her between his legs, sliding her cold hands over the contour of his ribs. He shivered a little when he recalled how she'd obsessively mark his neck and collarbones. 

It was getting harder to remember Alena's touch. He knew what it felt like to pin her arms above her head and the roll of his hips, but not her exact expressions. His eyebrows furrowed a little in concentration as his hand pushed under the waistband of his trousers. 

But the haziness of these details about her was dampening his pleasure. He still stroked harder, starting to ride the wave, but right as he hit the peak, he felt Haise's fucking lips on his. 

Slicked with sweat and silently screaming, Ian punched the wall so hard that even his bones stung.