“I haven’t talked to anybody yet,” Chico finishes, “cause we still got a few weeks, and I figure McManus’ll eat it up a little better coming from you. Since you’re his golden boy or whatever.”
Miguel snorts. “Yeah? That what you think?” Chico just shrugs.
“You more than me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, you been doing the drug counseling and shit, right? Taking your meds, meeting with Mukada, walking the straight and narrow and all that.” He says it casually, but there’s a hint of an actual question in there, like maybe Miguel’s been letting things slip on the sly, and that’s why –
Miguel shakes his head. Stop it.
Chico ain’t throwing accusations, that’s his own demons talking.
“What, no?”
Shit. “Nah, man, I am,” Miguel reassures him. “I’m just thinking.”
“What’s there to think about?” Chico drums his heels on the floor. “Perez moves out, you move in. Seems like a no brainer to me.”
“Yeah, well, what about…” Miguel wracks his brain for an excuse. “Torquemada,” he finishes lamely, and Chico rolls his eyes.
“Tch. What about him, man? He ain’t gonna have a say if McManus agrees. Besides, he’ll probably be cool with it anyway. Move O’Reily’s flat ass in.”
Miguel smirks. “Leaving Beecher all by himself, is that right?”
“Fuck Beecher, he’ll figure it out.” Chico’s brow is beginning to furrow, looking up at Miguel with suspicion. “What’s your problem, Miguel? You don’t want to?”
“Nah,” Miguel replies immediately, “it ain’t that,” and it isn’t, “It’s just, you know,” he’s had a minute to think, now, “we move into the same cell, that’s gonna make shit kinda obvious, right?”
“So?”
“So, like –”
“You just said the other day you didn’t care.”
“I don’t.” He doesn’t. “But you said –”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” Chico casts his gaze downwards, now – picking at a fingernail. “I like you, Alvarez,” he says after a long pause. “Maybe – well, whatever.” He shrugs again. “Point is, you’re right. People want to say shit, let em say shit.”
“Maybe what?” Miguel asks with a smirk. “You like me, or maybe – ?”
“Nothing,” Chico mutters, looking suddenly flustered. “Don’t worry about it. Look, you gonna talk to him or what?”
Miguel bites his lip. “I’ll think about it,” he says finally, and watches Chico’s shoulders droop.
“You’ll think about it,” Chico echoes; gives him a long, hard look for a moment before cutting his eyes away. “Alright,” slapping his hands on his thighs as he gets up. “Think about it, I guess.”
“Wait, Chico –”
“Nah, man, you wanna think about it, like we ain’t been fucking nearly six goddamn months – ”
“Carmen,” and the edge in his voice makes Chico stop, linger in the doorway. Miguel swallows hard. “Yo, all I’m thinking is, like…” Fucking lump in his throat is still there. “What if you get sick of me, huh?”
Chico stares at him. “Sick of you?”
“Yeah, like...you know, the meds and shit help, but it isn’t...it doesn’t all go away, right. And at night…” He looks away. “At night it gets bad, sometimes. Like, fucking.” He trails off, shrugs. “Bad,” he repeats – steals a look back at Chico, who’s still just staring, his expression unreadable.
“And what? You’d rather Torquemada be there than me?” he asks quietly, and Miguel feels his guts twist.
“I mean…” His mouth is dry. “Not like – I don’t care what he thinks. So, kinda. Not really,” he could be such a fucking asshole about it, sometimes, “but. I don’t know.” Miguel shakes his head. “Just don’t want you to have to deal with it.”
Chico laughs dryly. “What, I don’t got a choice?”
“You don’t want to, man. I’m telling you. You can ask Alonzo if you don’t –”
“Man, fuck Alonzo. Alonzo ain’t – is Alonzo sucking your dick, huh? Alonzo got your back the way I do? Why the fuck would I –”
“I’m just saying, man, he’s seen it. It’s fucking ugly.” Miguel barks a laugh, short and bitter. “Why do you think he fucks around with O’Reily now, huh? Got sick of my shit real fast.”
“You saying you wish he didn’t?”
“No, it’s just the fucking truth. Guy was all over me and after two weeks sharing a cell he didn’t want nothing to do with me anymore, and I don’t want –”
“Miguel, come on. You forgetting we shared a cell already? There ain’t nothing –”
“That was before. I had – it wasn’t so bad then, I could keep a handle on it, but now –” Miguel clenches his fists. “See, this is what the fuck I’m talking about,” he hisses. “It’s stupid. And I gotta deal with it, and I am dealing with it, but it – ain’t your problem.”
“It is.” Miguel opens his mouth to counter, but Chico cuts him off. “Nah, man, it is my problem, because you’re my problem, alright? Like, I signed up for this shit. All of it.” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “You think I’m gonna get sick of you? In your dreams, Alvarez.”
Miguel blinks rapidly, ache in his chest, and Chico sort of leans forward and then back, swearing under his breath as the call for count sounds. “I mean it,” he says instead. “I wanna be with you. All of you. All the time. Alright?”
“Alright,” Miguel echoes, his voice breaking – clears his throat. “Alright.”
“Talk to McManus,” he says, turning to leave.
“Chico,” Miguel calls, and he pauses.
“Yeah?”
“I like you too.”
Chico grins. “Yeah?”
“Maybe, you know.” Miguel shrugs. “Whatever.”
Chico doesn’t reply, just laughs as he heads off to his cell – bumping Torquemada’s shoulder on the way out – and then Alonzo’s saying something to Miguel, probably complaining or some shit, but Miguel isn’t listening, head full of thoughts of the future – the next couple weeks and beyond.
Maybe –
He’ll talk to McManus tomorrow, first thing.