【 𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬. 】〖 𝚂𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂. 〗
❝𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵.❞
In which Phoebe helps her best friend break his innocent brother out of prison.
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THE NEXT DAY when Phoebe woke up, Michael was already awake. He was sitting in the same spot he'd been sitting in a day before, continuing the tedious activity of scraping down the bolt against the concrete floor. He was looking outside the cell, not even noticing that Phoebe had woken up. She slowly pushed herself from the bottom bunk, catching Michael's attention as he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Michael turned to look at Phoebe.
"Morning." Michael greeted a bit awkwardly, almost as if he were greeting a stranger. Phoebe sighed and pushed herself off the bed, making her way to the sink.
"Good morning." She replied with the same awkward energy as Michael. "How'd you sleep?" She asked, putting a small dollop of toothpaste on her toothbrush and brushing her teeth.
"I didn't." Michael deadpanned. Phoebe turned to face him, head tilted as she looked for any signs of tiredness in his eyes. She found those signs in the shape of dark circles and bags under his eyes.
"Why not?" She questioned through a mouthful of bubbly toothpaste. Michael gulped, turning away to look out of the cell again.
"I don't know what we're gonna do without that pugnac." Michael admitted sullenly, giving the bolt a violent scrape against the floor as he spoke. Phoebe turned back to the sink, remaining silent for a while as she finished brushing her teeth.
"I can try to convince him to give you the pugnac." Phoebe suggested, wiping her mouth with the hem of her shirt after rinsing her mouth out with water. Michael cocked an eyebrow and turned back to face her curiously. Phoebe lifted her brows and lowered her head a small bit, as if telling Michael she knew how to get C-Note to give him the pills. Michael's face softened a bit and he shook his head.
"No way. You're not doing that." Michael refused, shaking his head as he went back to scraping. "He could hurt you, or do something to you." He said as he gave the bolt another scrape on the other side and then paused, searching his arm for a specific tattoo.
"Which one are you looking for?" Phoebe asked knowingly, crossing her arms as she ignored Michael's comment. Michael sighed.
"The size the bolt has to be." He said, finally finding said tattoo and holding the bolt in his free hand over his tattoo. "Found it." He mumbled, placing the bolt on his arm. It fit perfectly into the small black circle.
"It fit?" Phoebe asked excitedly. Michael nodded. He quickly pushed himself to his feet, squeezing past Phoebe and to the toilet in the corner of the cell. He crouched down besides it, his eyes scanning the side. He then brought up the bolt and put it into one of the screws, turning it. The screw started to come loose, and Phoebe couldn't help but squeal excitedly. "Oh my god. It worked." She whispered.
