Page 45 of Freshman

“Arsehole!”

“I heard that,” the guard yelled back.

Queenie turned his attention back to Alfie. “I’m needed in the art room, the mess they make. I think they do it on purpose, especially Nate.”

He stood, grabbed his bucket, then flashed Alfie a smile and carried on down the corridor.

Queenie strutted like a model on a catwalk, then pulled his pose as he waited for the guard on the gate to let him through.

Alfie went back to staring at his letter. The ink had smudged from his sweaty hands, and the envelope had torn at the edges. Gates opened and closed, but the door directly in front stayed closed. Alfie wondered whether Ryan was doing it on purpose, dragging out the experience of resigning until the tail between his legs became a permanent fixture.

“Freshman?”

Alfie jerked from his seat and took two steps away. Nate had been let through the gate. His stride was strong and commanding, and Alfie gulped when he saw there was no one flanking him. One guard was on the first gate, and the other guard was at the gate at the opposite end of the corridor. Alfie was left in no man’s land, with Nate fast approaching.

“Queenie said he’d seen you. I was jealous, so here I am.”

He smiled, but Alfie didn’t return it. He pressed his lips together, and soon Nate dropped his amused expression and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

Alfie flicked his chin out. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Aren’t you meant to be somewhere?”

“I was in the classroom, but Queenie mentioned you were out here and I said I felt like shit. They let me go back to my cell.”

The back of Nate’s hands had splashes of paint, and his fingers were grey from what Alfie assumed was pencil lead. He looked younger in the daylight, less manic. His hair, a dirty blond, was swept over his head, and his facial hair was a few shades darker. Alfie remembered the feel of the hair, the tickly sensation over his skin, and the softer touch of his lips.

His teeth.

His tongue.

Alfie’s face grew warm, and he dropped his gaze as he toed at the floor.

“Now it’s your turn,” Nate said.

“My turn?”

Nate smirked. “I told you why I’m here. Now you tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “No need for that tone, I’m being nice.”

Alfie flicked his gaze up and startled when Nate wagged his finger at the letter. It was strange seeing Nate’s hands, seeing his shoulders at their correct angle. He could grab if he wanted. He could clutch Alfie and tug him to his hard chest, but he didn’t, and Alfie’s confusion increased when he found it disappointing he didn’t.

Nate stood a few feet away, more distance than the cell door and the times they had come face-to-face before.

“What’s that?”

Alfie dropped his gaze to the letter and swallowed. “It’s for Ryan.”

“Better not be a love letter.”

“No, it’s—it’s to say I want to leave.”

He tensed, expecting Nate to do something, but he just shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The words hurt, but Alfie didn’t know why. He realised he wanted a protest, wanted Nate to fight for him to stay.

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