a/n: originally written in 2014 and reworked in 2022. yeah idk, i suddenly remembered this fic and so i pulled it from the pit of my old tumblr and rewrote most of it. BIG SHRUG. i don't know how anything prison works.
Manjoume has lost count of how many times he's sighed since he arrived in his cell, and they're less sighs of woe than sighs of exasperation. Of course he got put into this concrete box with some weirdo lying on the lower bunk of the bed, shuffling cards without looking at them...of course he did. He crosses his arms around the bars and leans his forehead against the cool, hard rods.
It's been quiet in this cell for minutes too long, and Manjoume can't stand it. "So, what are–"
"What're you in for, buddy?"
Manjoume prickles. Goddammit. He wanted to be the first one to get a word in. He grumbles. "Manslaughter. It was fucking accident..."
He digs his head into the bars, forcing the memory of a body rolling over his hood, smashing into his windshield—
"Man, bad luck." His cell mate's voice is uncomfortably friendly, soft unlike the sound of someone rolling over the top of a car.
Manjoume snorts, shifts his weight. "Sure. What about you?"
"Hm? Oh, murder."
Manjoume squints at the wall across from him. "You say that so casual—"
"Ten counts," his cell mate interrupts. "Mm, allegedly."
Manjoume turns towards the beds so fast his back pops. "What?"
The serial murderer he's going to spend the next however-long with shrugs and continues shuffling his deck of cards while staring at the bottom of the bunk above him. "Well, that I'm suspected of. They can't really get me on anything without the bodies, y'know?" He lifts his head up just enough to smile at Manjoume, and it's genuine enough to elicit fear.
Manjoume swallows hard and holds onto the bars with a tight, white-knuckle grip. "You're…joking, right?"
The laugh that overcomes the shuffling of playing cards is happy and bright, nonchalant even. "Nope! But don't worry about it, alright? We'll be friends, I promise."
He sighs, and Manjoume's instincts are screaming at him to run-but where can he go? "What do you mean by that?"
The card shuffling stops. "…I won't kill my friends anymore. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to be friends with you." He sits up finally, and Manjoume hates how charming he looks while he ruffles his mess of fluffy two-toned hair and the way his clear brown eyes glimmer up at him as he holds out his hand for a handshake.
"Anymore?" Manjoume presses.
But he's ignored and shut up with a smile that burns like the sun. "Name's Judai! D'you know how to play King's Corner? I can teach you if not."
Manjoume wonders if the moment he lets go of the bars to snatch Judai's hand in a firm shake will be the end of him.