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Lyle couldn't sleep. He was flushed and sweaty. It was too damn hot in the cell, too damn hot everywhere. He grunted and opened his eyes, sitting up on the bed.
He looked over and thought that he saw Erik sitting on the toilet. He blinked a few times and Luke's familiar, lanky frame came into focus.
“Oh, hey, Lyle. I hope I didn't wake you up?” Luke started to stand up, and slipped, falling backwards onto the toilet seat with a loud smack.
The bewildered, agonized expression on his face didn't escape Lyle’s notice. Luke sniffed and slowly stood up.
“It's alright, Luke. I can't sleep anyway. It's too hot.” Lyle reached his hand down to Luke's elbow to help him stand up. Luke fidgeted and tried to ease off of the seat, but Lyle’s grip held him tight.
“Hey, um, Lyle…”
Lyle’s expression stopped him. He was looking down at Luke's briefs where they hung loosely around his ankles, the reddish brown stains showing in the dim light from the hall outside.
Lyle snorted and pulled Luke up a little, and saw dried tracks of blood on his butt. “Luke, what the fuck? Sweet, suffering Jesus! Who did this? Was it Muñoz?!”
Luke shuddered and nodded. He was terrified. “Y-yeah, he did it. B-but Lyle, don't do nothing, he's really b-big and mean. He's built like a brick! Lyle, please, don't!”
“Hush, Luke. He's not going to hurt you again. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again!” Lyle turned and threw his whole body weight against the cell door, forcing it open. He laughed bittetly and ran out into the hall, slamming a balled fist into his other hand.
“Muñoz! Make peace with your Maker, you miserable son of a bitch, I'm coming for you! You've crossed the line, motherfucker! You are a dead man!”
Luke wrapped his arms around his stomach and ducked his head, shaking all over. “Lyle, no, please!” he begged. His blood-stained briefs were still around his ankles. “Please…”
“Aha, there you are! Don't look so smug, those cheap little flimsy metal bars aren't going to protect you!” Lyle snarled. His voice was barely recognizable.
There was a loud crashing noise, a thud, and the sound of a shrill, frantic scream. “I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Lyle yelled.
Crashing, thudding sounds came from down the hall. After a few minutes, Lyle staggered back to their cell, his lips busted, his nose bleeding, one eye swollen. Lyle grinned and wrapped an arm around Luke's neck.
“Aw man, I might have to go to the infirmary. That bastard is gonna have to go to the hospital. I doubt it'll happen, Luke, but if he ever comes near you again — if anyone hurts you like that again — I'm going to cut his balls off with a dull butter knife and shove them down his throat!”
Luke sniffled and looked up at Lyle. His eyes were dark and glittery. His mouth was open, his lips drawn back from his teeth, the muscles in his neck high and tight.
His chin wobbled as if he was trying not to cry. “You'll be alright, Luke,” Lyle murmured. “He's never going to touch you again.”
Luke sat dumbly and listened to the noises Muñoz was making down the hall. He was groaning, weeping, his cellmate stuttering. Luke put his fingers in his mouth and bit them.
When he looked up, his face and Lyle’s were almost touching, both men shaking and holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it.