Chapter Text
The engine makes a low popping noise as it cools; the late morning radio host falling silent with the turn of the ignition key. Outside of the window, a row of gray cinderblocks seems to reach up to the bright sky, the top decorated with a coil of silver barbed wire set to spiral around a long electric fence. There is a sign staked into the ground to the right of the walkway, it's font crisp white against a fading blue stating boldly - Vesuvius Penitentiary.
Easing his seatbelt off his shoulder, Nasir draws in a slow breath through his nose and holds it, easing it out through his barely parted lips. He does it four more times before he manages to uncurl his hands from around the steering wheel. There is an empty Dixie cup in the holder against his thigh, and Nasir begins the slow process of removing his rings. He starts at his left pinkie and works his way across his hands, dropping each one in with a soft click, hesitating for just a moment on the one wrapped around his right middle finger. It’s too big for him, the fake diamond in the middle set against a silver band, now wrapped in the back with a string. It was a birthday present that was given away nearly the next day, placed on a sweaty hand with a whispered promise in the dark.
There is a quiet ritual in this, Nasir not letting his gaze move to the rearview mirror, doesn't need or want to watch as he eases the small, silver hoops from his earlobe, the mental sunglasses from the bridge of his nose. Finally, the last is a long chain from around his neck, the end swinging with a silver pendent, before it gently gets placed down into the paper cup.
He checks his pockets again, leaving his phone in the glove compartment nestled beside a few gas station napkins and the faded car manual, pulls his ID out of his wallet and shoves it in there too. The last to go is the hoodie, Nasir slipping the oversized black fabric down his arms and neatly folding it in the passenger seat. It doesn't belong to him, but Nasir can't return it to its rightful owner now.
The September air whips around him in a frosty sort of breeze as Nasir makes his way up the long walkway and into the queue. There are a few other people in front of him, all ages, and they avoid eye contact with one another as they wait to be processed. They’re all here for the same reason though, all waiting to pass the test and be let inside. Nasir finds himself awkwardly pulling on his shirt sleeves, tucking the long fabric over the palms of his hands, swaying a little before he finally gets called forward. It never gets easier, even if the process is always the same.
For all the procedure and fanfare, the whole thing feels oddly quick and before Nasir knows it, he's been shuffled through the metal detectors, the quick pat down, before he’s led to a large room filled with tables. They’re all chrome and round, bolted to the floor with matching chairs. Nasir settles into one and waits, loosely folding his hands together before him. It's hard not to look around now, glances at couples huddled together, old men talking to younger ones that look eerily similar. A woman in the far corner holds a baby to her chest, showing its face to the openly weeping man before her. And all around them stand guards in standard gray uniforms, black hats pulled down to cover their forehead, waist heavy with a fully armed belts, their black boots shining in the fluorescent lights.
Cutting through the soft chatter is a loud buzzer and from the large door on the far wall, a heavier armed guard comes out. This one is wearing a different colored hat, a long gun held aloft across his chest, the barrel pointed down. It doesn’t slow him down, heels clicking loudly on the tile floor. With a sharp nod to another man across the room, he moves to the side and Nasir has to fight the urge to move, tenses his knees and grips down hard over his knuckles, palms suddenly clammy.
He's taller than the guard, broader in the chest and back, shoulders rolling back a little as they stop him just past the threshold, letting the security door close. It’s like the whole room changes when he’s inside, the sun a little brighter, the silver of the tables gleaming, everything more in focus. Nasir wants to see if other people notice but he refuses to tear his eyes away. The moment he’s in the room, Nasir is on a countdown. He only has so much time to drink in his fill. Once the room is closed off again, the guard pulls out a set of keys and undoes the metal handcuffs around his wrists, unlooping the hip chain and finally allowing the prisoner to move with a slight nod of his head.
Nasir can't take his eyes off him, lets his gaze drink in every detail, recognize every inch of the man slowly approaching the table. It feels like a millennium since Nasir has been able to see him, been close enough to drown in every detail again. Agron is still tan from the summer, his skin glowy bronze against the stark white of his t-shirt, his nondescript gray pants hanging loose around his legs. There is a ring of violet and red around the curve of his left cheek, bruise fresh and still a little puffy. It seems to only highlight the color of his eyes, bright and a little wide even under the harsh glare of the fluorescents above them. He’s still the most beautiful thing that Nasir has ever seen though, butterflies in his stomach the closer that Agron moves, pausing at the edge of the table.
"Hi." Nasir isn't even sure there is sound to his voice, gasping as he gets to his feet. He sees the guards turn their head but Nasir can't help it, all but throwing his arms around Agron's waist.
"Hey schatzi." Agron's response is lost in Nasir's hair, swallowed up as he cups the back of his head, dropping a kiss to his forehead before forcing himself to take a step back.
It's cruelly short, not nearly as long as either of them would have liked, but it's better than nothing. It's the closest they've been in over a month, sitting down across from each other at the table, arms outstretched until just the tips of their fingers can brush. The guards can be lenient at times, but it seems Agron doesn't want to push them too far.
"What happened? Are you okay?" Nasir feels foolish for asking, his gaze drawn once more the mark on Agron's face. Spartacus hadn’t mentioned it when he’d seen Agron, so that must mean it’s fresh.
"Oh this? Yeah. Just making friends." Agron shrugs a little, noncommittal and seemly satisfied without explaining more. "How are you? How is school? You look good. You always do."
"I'm okay, busy as always. Semester is starting with a lot of work but I'm managing." Huffing a little, Nasir's can't help noticing that Agron isn't smiling at him, just stares with this sort of vacant look even as his eyes seem unable to stop roving over Nasir – from his face to his throat to his hands to his mouth. "Duro is doing good though. I gave him a campus tour and helped him find his classroom the first week. He really seems to like it so far."
"Good, that's real good. Keeping himself out of trouble?" Agron asks, his eyebrow raising just slightly. It's a ghost of an expression, something that makes Nasir ache. How long since he's seen Agron give that look? That cocky, teasing smirk of his. Those dimples that Nasir has pressed thousands of kisses to.
"Yeah. Spartacus and I have been making sure. No running around. Focusing on his homework. He's even started volunteering down at the youth shelter a bit with Mira. She said she might be able to get him a job there too, just some custodian work but the pay seems good." In his chest, Nasir's heart is racing. He knows they're on limited time, but there is so much he wants to say. And it won't ever be long enough, not with the way Nasir misses Agron, the way he feels going home to their empty apartment, laying in their too big bed.
"That's great." Agron ducks his head in a brief nod. "Thank you for that. You're very kind to him."
"Of course. He's your little brother. He's family." Nasir hates the way his nose is suddenly burning, the urge to cry warm and coiling in his chest. The whole drive over here, Nasir had sworn to himself that he wouldn't do it in front of Agron. He'll save the tears, the gut-wrenching sobbing, for the journey home. Not right now.
"Well, ya know." Agron glances at Nasir again, full on, and there is something in the way his eyes squint. It's a micro expression that reads so much.
"And you? Are you doing anything here?" Nasir powers through how ridiculous he feels saying that. "Did you make it to the library yet? Anything good to read? Your lawyer said we could send you some if you want, if they'll allow it. Maybe some puzzle books? That was Mira's idea. They wouldn't deny you something as simple as a word search, would they? It's just something to enjoy and pass the time."
"I'm not here on vacation, babe. I don't think they give a shit if I'm comfortable." Agron rubs an errant hand down his jaw, stroking over his barely there stubble. They made him shave it when he was first incarcerated. He lessens the blow by gently pressing his fingertips to Nasir's, murmuring softly. "You all can write to me though. I can still get letters, even if they're read beforehand."
"I'll tell them. They send their love. All of them. Spartacus told me to tell you that he's coming to see you on Tuesday. And Duro might come on Friday. We've all chipped in and put some money in your commissary. Are they letting you have it yet?"
"Uh, yeah. I think so." Agron does that careless shrug of his again, only this time, it's paired by him dropping his eyes. "Listen, Nasir-"
Nasir hates the way Agron says his name like that. Like they’re strangers, like they’re about to have a conversation that will cut Nasir into shreds. He can’t let Agron continue. He doesn’t think he’ll make it out of here in one piece of Agron starts calling him by his name. Even in the beginning, before they were even friends, Agron’s always had some cutesy, ridiculous nickname for him.
"I heard you have to buy coffee. That's just ridiculous." Nasir gives an uneasy laugh, categorizing the way Agron's eyebrows are coming together, his mouth turning down. He can feel it, the mounting tension, sees it in the sharp line of Agron’s shoulders. "I'll happily supply as much money as you need for that. Can't have you going without caffeine of all things. I mean, I get prison is supposed to be like punishment but that’s just a crime."
"Nasir-" Agron starts again, shifting in his chair.
"Are there - Are there other things you can buy that you would want? I don't exactly support you picking up smoking, but I read once that it's basically currency among inmates. So, do what you need to do." Nasir's voice has gone a little frantic, rushing over his words. If he just keeps talking, if he just doesn't stop, then Agron won't ever be able to force the words out. Nasir doesn't even know what Agron wants to say but by the look on his face, Nasir never wants to know.
"I'm sure the food is terrible here but maybe they have snacks. Or like, at least a protein bar every once in a while. Just a little something-" Nasir gasps out but the air doesn't come back in his lungs. It all just leaves him as Agron's gaze snaps up to him again, brilliantly green and devastating.
"Nasir, stop it."
"I'm just-" Nasir gives a short shake of his head but Agron isn't done.
"Look around. Look at where we are. Where I've made you come." Agron raises his hands to either side. "I mean, what the fuck? You're in a fucking prison right now, Nasir. You've never even gotten a parking ticket and now you're in a fucking jail."
"It's okay. It's just temporary." Nasir reassures, reaching his palms out over the table. He just needs Agron’s skin on his, just a brush of their fingers and Nasir swears he could breathe again. "Remember? It's not a long sentence. You only got ten years. And with the option for parole. That's what the judge said. You could get out early. You could."
"Nasir," Agron shakes his head slowly. "No."
"No? No what?" The tears that Nasir has been fighting so hard to keep down suddenly burn across his nose, eyes beginning to blur. "Stop calling me that. You don’t call me that. I promised you-"
“I know you did. I know.” Agron’s finger suddenly latch around Nasir’s, entwine until they’re palms are touching. “You’re so good, schatzi. You are. Better than I ever deserved. But this was never in the plan.”
“Things change. Shit happens, isn’t that what you always say? We’re handling this. We are.” Nasir leans forward, hates the way the movement has one of the guards turning. They’re pressing their luck with just the minimum way they’re touching now, if Nasir gets up from the chair, there will be repercussions.
“Nasir.” Agron’s eyes close briefly and it looks like it physically pains him to pull back, to yank his own hands away. He’s never recoiled from Nasir, never needed to until now. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t. I can’t do this to you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Nasir gasps, the horrified dread in his stomach twisting sharp and acidic as he shakes his head. “I chose this. I choose you. I love you; you know this!”
"I can't sit here and watch you do this to yourself. And I know you would, which makes it worse. No, Nasir. My answer is no. You're twenty years old." Agron recoils, moves his palms onto his knees, beginning to stand. "I won't let you do this. You're too smart and too beautiful to be sitting around for ten years, hoping I make it out of here, wasting your life for me. I can't let you."
"Agron, wait, stop." Nasir can see the guards eyeing them again but Nasir breaks the rules aways. His fingers snag on Agron's forearm, hold tight as he can as he pulls them close. He has to crane his head back to look at Agron, but he does it with all he can, pours the truth into his watery gaze. "I love you. I told you I'd wait. I don't care how long-"
"I love you too. Fuck, I really do." Agron looks down at Nasir, fingers gently cupping his jaw as he tilts his head up. The kiss is brief, a soft caress of their lips lining up, firm and sure, before Agron pulls back with a soft sigh. "But I can't let you do this. I won't."
Nasir doesn't even get a chance to respond, arms still up, hands grasping even as they come up empty. Agron pulls away, voice echoing around the room as he calls for a guard. The other people at the tables turn to stare at them, openly gaping at Agron’s retreating form, his head down, holding his wrists out in front of him. Nasir tries to call out to him, his name echoing around the large room, Nasir’s sobs loud and shattering as the conversations around them dull down. The line of Agron’s shoulders goes up tight, forces himself forward into the painted box on the floor, waiting. He doesn’t even turn back once he’s been reshackled, led towards the door as another guard breaks off and goes to Nasir’s side, gently but firmly ushering him towards the visitor exit.