oikawa got caught in the purgatory between sleep and consciousness, drifting on the tail wave of an unremembered dream. He couldn't remember where he'd been in the dream, but now he was home, curled up on the couch in his living room, the early light of dawn brightening past his closed eyelids. There was a distant sound, and he assumed it was his cat, hopping around on the kitchen counters again. If Oikawa got up and walked in there she would be in the floor, all big eyes and innocence, regardless of the messy spray of silverware she'd knocked out of the dish drainer. Oikawa hated that cat, almost as much as he loved her.
"Yo, newbie."
Oikawa's nose scrunched. He burrowed closer into the pillow, wondering who was in his house. Had he brought someone home last night? He didn't remember that, and he didn't think he'd gotten drunk enough to make any bad decisions.
A pillow thumped over Oikawa's head and he sat straight up, eyes wide open and breath caught in his chest.
Iwaizumi frowned down at him. "You sleep like the fucking dead."
Oikawa blinked, the scattered threads of his memories pulling together like loose stitches. "Oh," he said. He dragged his attention away from Iwaizumi, studying the walls of the cell. "I'm here."
"Huh?" said Iwaizumi.
"Nothing."
"Whatever. It's roll call. Get up." Iwaizumi stepped through the door of the cell, standing just beyond with his arms crossed over his chest.
Oikawa rolled to his feet and followed. He reached up to arrange his hair, realized how oily it was, and dropped his hand down again. He took up his post at the opposite side of the entryway, too aware of the other inmates eyeing him from the other cells down the hall.
It seemed the guards had switched shifts. The one who paced past them was different, his hair bright silver. "Morning, Suga!" chirped one of the inmates. Oikawa recognized him from the night before, when he'd been laughing with the other guards.
"Morning, Suga," echoed another inmate, who still appeared half-asleep.
The guard didn't respond to them, but a slight smile pulled at his mouth. He paced past, visually tallying the inmates, and paused for only a second to study Oikawa. Then he was gone again, dismissing them with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
Iwaizumi went back inside to step into his shoes, and Oikawa followed.
"Never touch my stuff when I'm not around," said Iwaizumi, not looking at him. "You have your own space so stay out of mine."
"Right," said Oikawa. "Sure."
That seemed to be an acceptable response. Iwaizumi started for the door again, and Oikawa scrambled to fish his shoes from beneath his bed. "Just a second."
Iwaizumi didn't even pause. "You've been to the cafeteria before. I'm not going to hold your hand."
Oikawa bit down on a protest and stared after him, shoes dangling from his hand. He watched over the low wall of the cell as the two talkative inmates fell into step beside Iwaizumi, striking up a conversation. Oikawa half-expected him to snap at them, but he didn't seem annoyed.
Oikawa supposed it was only him. He was new, after all. These people didn't know him. Of course they wanted nothing to do with him.
At least Block One had been a bit more accommodating.
"Umm, Oikawa-san?"
Oikawa refocused and realized another inmate had approached the door of his cell. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed immediately. The man wasn't easy to miss. He was ridiculously tall, and his hair was even taller.
