Standing silently in front of his cell while having it overturned was not an experience Alfred thought he'd be able to forget. He could hear the carefully stretched sheets being torn away from the mattresses. Something hard hit the floor with a loud thud- yep, that would be his book. Alfred flinched. It would be his luck if his newly purchased novel from Amazon was torn before he could even read the back.

Antonio caught his eye from the other side of the bars and winced sympathetically at him, followed by a small smile. He had spent a few weeks longer than Alfred had spent in prison and it so happened that this was not his first search. Alfred smiled back, but his palms felt sweaty even after he wiped them against his pants.

He knew there wasn't any reason for him to be nervous. The guards were running a routine search for smuggled goods and Alfred was pretty sure that Lord of the Rings was mostly legal. His room would be a mess, sure, but it wasn't anything a few minutes of organizing wouldn't fix. He wasn't being singled out. The guards would finish going through his and Antonio's things, nod gruffly at them as they'd leave and go on to the next cell.

The sound of chaos stopped abruptly and a low voice mumbling 'gotcha' made Alfred's breath hitch in his throat. Antonio had been halfway into a thumbs up with his hand already curled into a fist when he was roughly grabbed from behind by one of the guards. Another guard followed him, walking out of Alfred's cell with a small bag in his hands and a grim smile on his face.

Alfred's eyes widened as he saw the content of the bag. White powder. After all of the months he had spent with Antonio, he'd recognize crack anywhere.

He immediately turned his head to stare at his cellmate, who had lost some of his coloring and was shaking his head fervently as the guards confronted him. There wasn't much he could say in his defence, though, the guard who held the bag pointed out. Not when they had found the drug underneath his mattress.

The next moments passed in a blur. Antonio, protesting loud enough to draw a number of curious looks from nearby convicts, was being led forcefully down the hall to what no doubt was solitary confinement. Being left with no instruction, Alfred waited until he couldn't hear his friend's frantic voice anymore before relaxing his shoulders and walking back into the cell, assessing the damage.

His room looked as if a strong gust of wind had passed through, but all Alfred could see was Antonio's shocked face as he was grabbed from behind and shown the little white bag. Alfred had never seen the other so scared, not even when he had seen him during the trail. It unnerved him. Nothing but a wide and lazy smile suited Antonio's face. Anything else was discomfortingly unnatural.

With the way the man had craned his neck to look at him as he was being led away, Alfred couldn't help but believe it, that "I have no idea how it got there, I swear! I was framed!".

One thing he knew for certain. Antonio would never have lied to him. Not about smuggling drugs. A stolen kiss, a quick fling in the showers? Yes. But not about this.

It left only one option, that the man was telling the truth. That he had been framed.

That didn't make any sense either. Antonio was about the most well tempered and easygoing man Alfred had ever known. He was friendly, open and generous. Who would want to frame him? What could they possibly gain from it?

It felt as if his energy had been sapped from his very veins, gone with the adrenaline rush from the previous commotion. Suddenly, setting the cell in order didn't seem to matter anymore and it was all Alfred could do to lift his mattress back onto his bed and sit down, running his fingers through his hair.

It just didn't make any sense.

.x.

The empty table at the end of the room had the only available seat Alfred could find. Spending the night agonizing over Antonio hadn't done him any favors, but never had the thought occurred to him that Antonio was not the only one affected by the recent turn of events.

If bad luck was contagious, Alfred was being treated like the plague.

He had tried to sit down at multiple tables but the glares and firm shakes of the head told him that, well, he wasn't wanted. Not with Antonio's crowd, with whom he usually sat during meals. Not with the other groups of whites. Hell, even the rejects table made a point of crowding the bench so that he wouldn't get any ideas.

Dejectedly, Alfred had found a small unoccupied table in the back and resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating alone until Antonio was released from solitary. He set his tray on the dull white tabletop and picked up his fork, twirling it absently in the day's pasta special. How the prison cooks managed to even ruin something as relatively simple and tasty as that was beyond him.

"Is this seat taken?"

Alfred looked up to see Arthur standing at his side with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. He was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for permission to join him, but Alfred had a hard time saying 'yes'.

It felt wrong, even as he nodded his head grudgingly and watched warily as Arthur inclined his head and seated himself opposite him at the table, taking his time to arrange his utensils.

He felt guilty. Antonio was wasting away in some dark room while Alfred was eating a (relatively) normal lunch with someone the man strongly disliked. Still, after being rejected from every other group in the room, Alfred was in no position to say no. Especially since somehow, he felt like he didn't really have a choice.

"Where are your cronies?" he finally ventured, putting down his fork and glancing down at his yoghurt, wondering if the kitchen staff had managed to ruin it somehow as well. Alfred couldn't stand the silence. Not when he knew that there must have been a reason for Arthur to choose to sit at his table.

Arthur, who didn't seem to be in any hurry to answer, raised his eyes from his tray and shrugged. "I do not need them with me at all times, you know. I'm quite capable of managing by myself."

No, he had better avoid the yoghurt as well. "Bullshit. You don't go anywhere without that giant trailing after you."

A languid smirk formed on Arthur's lips. "You mean Ivan. I'll admit, he does come in handy when certain people need... persuading. I do not spend my whole life plotting, though, contrary to what you may believe."

Come to think of it, that was exactly what Alfred had thought. He frowned. "What do you do when you aren't making plans to dominate the world, then?"

Arthur actually chuckled. "I'm human, Alfred. I do what I fancy. Currently, I am sitting and talking to you."

"Human? It wasn't very 'humane' of you to cheat on your boyfriend."

Arthur's smile disappeared and was replaced with a heavy silence weighing down on them both, or so Alfred thought. He had half a mind to just pick up his mostly full tray and dump the contents in the trash bin on his way out when Arthur reached over to grab his arm, stopping him from standing up.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" he pursed his lips, quickly running his eyes over Alfred's tray. "You haven't eaten anything. I do not know if you have decided to adopt some silly diet fad, but not eating is sooner going to land you a trip to the hospital than on the front page of GQ."

Alfred pulled his arm away. "What I eat is none of your business. If you must know, I'm just not really hungry."

It was almost comical the way Arthur's brows shot up his forehead. "Alfred Jones, not hungry? I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Fuck you," Alfred grit his teeth and stood up, ignoring the stares as he unceremoniously emptied his tray and placed it with a bang on the rack next to the bin.

His ex boyfriend insulting his eating habits was the last thing Alfred had needed on what was already turning out to be a pretty screwy day.

.x.

As it turned out, meals weren't the only times in which Alfred found himself alone. He had been convinced that he had made friends but he must have done something wrong because no one was willing to play cards with him or sit next to him in front of the t.v. Inmates he had shared smiles with before now refused to meet his gaze and on top of it all, he was hungry.

For the life of him, Alfred couldn't figure it out. Had he been so reliant on Antonio for fitting in that the moment the other was gone, he had to start over?

Judging by the chill he was getting from the mass of cold shoulder treatment, it looked like he would have to hone his people's skills.

Socializing had never been hard for him. In fact, spending time with a group of friends always left Alfred feeling energized and buzzed in the very best way. Approaching strangers in Starbucks and leaving with their Whatsapp contact info had been his specialty.

How different could chatting up newcomers waiting for the coffee machine to work be from getting to know people sipping at their designer lattes?

.x.

Well, at least he tried.

Flashing smiles and engaging in conversation was apparently not the best way to make friends in prison. It had worked for him before, true, and it sure as hell had worked for Antonio, but for some reason his bright eyes earned him more lewd remarks than friendly handshakes. In fact, Alfred could have sworn he had heard Romano sniggering behind him just before Alfred pushed away a burly man with an anchor tattoo.

Honestly, from when did 'how is your day goin' translate into 'please fuck me over the table'?

Still, he hadn't expected to be shoved against the wall. His head knocked against the plaster with a thud and screamed bloody murder at him. Alfred tried to pull away from the hands clutching his collar in a choking grasp, but the small semicircle which now surrounded him blocked any possible exists.

"What the hell," he gasped, scratching at the constricting hold. "Let me go!"

The gruff laughter which followed didn't bode well. He was slammed against the wall again, hard enough for Alfred to feel nausea pooling in his stomach. Just fucking great. If he ends up puking on the guy, it wouldn't be his fault.

"You're in no position to be making any kind of demands, fag," the man pressing him against the wall slurred, the humor gone from his voice. "Not after what you did."

Breathing was slowly growing into a struggle for Alfred, who glared with watery eyes at his assailant. "What are you talking about?"

The man clicked his tongue. "Don't play coy. You should be thankful if anyone ever sticks their dick in you after all of your whoring around lately. Of course," he added, cutting off Alfred's cry of denial, "you wouldn't need to be batting your lashes at everyone if you still had your boyfriend. He's not here to cover for you no more. Not after you snitched on him."

Alfred didn't even bother to reply. Instead, he stared in confusion, furrowing his brows and coughing when the hold became even more constricting. Maybe if he just blacked out he would be left alone.

"What, not going to argue? Figures. Fucking weak, that's what you are," spittle hit his cheek. "What did you get for telling on Antonio, eh? He was nice to you, and you repay him by framing him? If my buddy gets extra time for this little stunt of yours-"

"Terribly sorry, gentlemen, but I must ask you to unhand him immediately."

The hand at his throat went rigid and Alfred looked up above the ring of men to see who the speaker was, though he'd recognize that voice anywhere. And yes, there Arthur was, flanked by his men and wearing a fake smile.

Anyone with a bit of sense would have apologized and backed off at that smile, but the man holding Alfred must have felt the need to fight, as he refused to budge. "What the fuck do you care, Kirkland? This has nothing to do with you."

"On the contrary, this has everything to do with me," Arthur replied cooly, nodding at (Ivan, was it?), who stepped forward. "Now, unless you wish to spend the rest of your life eating through straws, I suggest you let him go and walk away."

Alfred could feel the hold slightly loosen. "You're bluffing."

"Do you really want to find out?"

A pause. Then, ever so slowly, the man released Alfred and took a step back, squinting at him before turning around and making his way out of the room. As if on cue, the rest of the men followed him, leaving Alfred and Arthur's party alone.

Alfred's hand immediately went to his neck, massaging the sore skin and swallowing thickly. Aside from a few bruises and a scratchy throat, he imagined he'd be fine. Better off than the state he would have been in if Arthur hadn't stepping in to intervene. Who knew how long it would have taken the guards to show?

"Are you alright?" Alfred raised his eyes to see Arthur standing in front of him, frowning.

He shrugged and turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "The polite response would have been to thank me," Arthur snapped, shaking his head. "I just saved you from a pretty heavy beating."

It was Alfred's turn to shoot the man an agitated frown. "The guy was right, it was none of your business. I could have managed it on my own."

Arthur raised his brows and looked like he was about to quip one of his witty answers, but Alfred beat him to it. "Look, next time I want your help, I'll fucking ask for it. Just... leave me alone."

He didn't get a chance to see Arthur's expression before he turned on his heel and left, but something told him that it would have been disturbingly similar to when Alfred had slammed their apartment door and swore that he would never see the man again.

But somehow, the thought didn't make him feel any better.

Here you go, an update for one of my favorite verses :) This wasn't beta-ed aside from my own editing, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of you found some mistake I missed, but overall, I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think about the recent developments.

Either way, have a wonderful day, and a very happy 4th of July to all of you American readers!