It was only a matter of time until they would stumble across each other. Alfred knew that at some point, he'd turn a corner and walk right into Arthur what with his brilliant luck.
He dreaded it.
As someone who usually threw caution to the wind with a smile on his face, Alfred felt exhausted from his constant worrying. He wasn't used to running scenarios in his mind, wondering how each one would play out in reality.
Agonizing over how Arthur would react was the worst part of the worry package.
It was one thing to come up with various attitudes for himself to use during the inevitable encounter. He even thought of one liners ranging from furious accusations to heartfelt sobs, widely depending on his mood at the time. Some of his own reactions didn't even include conversation- the 'ignore and walk away' strategy was rather popular in Alfred's mental cinema for the first few days. There had been a moment, though, when he had contemplated strangling the man.
But again, Arthur's reaction remained an alarmingly unknown factor.
Would the man ignore him? Would he even remember him? One would think that after playing hockey with Alfred's tonsils he would vaguely recall him, but Alfred couldn't be too sure. It had been a few years, after all, and he obviously hadn't meant as much to Arthur as the man had meant to him.
There was a possibility that Arthur would laugh in his face id Alfred said anything vaguely emotional (be it in anger or in pain), but Alfred chose not to dwell on that particular option. He didn't think he'd be able to stand it, which was why he didn't bother to plan any kind of counter move. Immediate rejection would be a reenactment of their breakup, which was painful enough to simply remember.
However much he dreaded their meeting, after a week in prison with neither hide nor hair of Arthur, Alfred couldn't take the waiting any longer. The emotional turmoil he had brought on himself the moment after he had seen Arthur walking down the hall past his cell was driving him mad. All of that on top of his awkward adjustment to prison life equaled to living hell as far as Alfred was concerned, even with Antonio showing him the ropes.
As the second week progressed, Alfred found himself wandering down empty hallways when the prisoners were allowed a walk outside. He recalled how Arthur preferred to have his own space and tended to distance himself from the crowd when he felt like it. During meals Alfred would walk around the tables, deliberately running his eyes over the bent heads and stalling whenever he came across blond.
He even told the guards that he would be interested in learning how to play a musical instrument, if possible, as he remembered how Arthur would strum his guitar absently as he smoked.
Despite his efforts, Arthur was nowhere to be found. Alfred would have been forced to believe that he had imagined seeing his ex walk past him if not for Arthur's name being tossed around so frequently among the other prisoners. As the man himself was apparently scarce, Alfred made a point to learn as much as he could about him just from listening to conversations.
Allistor, a Scottish man in his late forties who had been sentenced to life for murder, told Alfred passingly as they were playing cards that he was lucky that he wasn't playing Arthur, or else Alfred would have surely lost.
From an Italian with a bad temper Alfred learned that Arthur was an utter bastard who had ratted on the man's friend who had been smuggling shanks in order to be on the warden's good side. Apparently, a drug lord needed a well bribed guard to smoothly run his operations.
Alfred had not been expecting the last bit. He had known Arthur to be a violent drunk and to wear studded leather jackets, but a drug lord? A gang leader? That was taking it too far. Sure, Arthur had been somewhat involved in gangs while they had been going out, but he had avoided confronting him about it.
Now that Alfred looked back, he didn't think he had ever met Arthur's friends. Aside from his lone encounter with a ragged group of people (who Arthur had fought with for him), Alfred's experience with gangs was extremely limited.
Apparently, Arthur had been very busy during the last few years judging by his repertoire. In fact, he had somehow managed to establish himself as a local legend. Nobody knew for sure what Arthur was in for. Some whispered that he had been apprehended with a quartered body of a prostitute in his car. Others waved off the rumors and claimed that he had been caught cheating with false tax returns.
Whatever it was, Alfred was left with more questions than with answers. The Arthur he used to know was a different man from this cold, calculated and cruel leader who was imprisoned within the same walls as him.
If all of what he had heard was true, and that Arthur was indeed a changed man, was there any point in facing him?
Alfred might have worried about being humiliated after an encounter with Arthur, but he had never thought that he would have to worry about his safety as well.