when the sun goes black (old- will probably revise)

5

google.com how to write proper progression of emotions instead of just rushing everything because you dont want to bore people and also dont really know how to write

It was only about an hour after the lights had turned on- to his best assumption, maybe around 8 in the morning, when the door to Party's cell opened again. He was wide awake, sitting cross-legged in his bed and wallowing in boredom.

He'd progressed far past the point of pounding on the walls or screaming or making threats at the masked figure that dropped off the meals he didn't eat. He felt broken, weak from hunger. Eating a meal after days without food had seemingly just fired his metabolism back up and made him even hungrier than before.

He'd never thought that the worst case scenario would be this much of a drag. Perhaps he'd overestimated BL/IND's threshold for mercy- they seemed to be dead set on making this slow, boring, hopeless, and painful.

He expected it to be a guard leading him out to a bathroom break or bringing him more drugged food when the door opened, but that wasn't the case. Frank stepped inside, a plate in his hands, just like the previous night.

Party blinked a few times. "...Hi?"

"Hi." He parroted. He stood still for a few moments before awkwardly stepping over and holding the plate out to him. "Here."

Considering he had his feelings left after the previous meal, he didn't have any reason to be suspicious. In all honesty, he didn't care much. He grabbed it out of Frank's hands, staring as he backed away. He didn't leave like he had the previous night, opting instead to take a seat on the ground. He folded his hands in his lap and watched Party as he began to eat.

That plain toast, bacon, fruit, and overbooked eggs may as well had been a 5-star meal. He tried to keep composure, but he couldn't help but scarf most if it down in a few bites.

"You're here early." He commented through a mouthful of food. "And you haven't started yelling at me yet. You a morning person or something?"

"No." Frank replied bluntly. If was a rhetorical question, which he apparently hadn't gotten.

Party was finally getting a good look at him. Usually, they stood firm at opposite ends of the room like kid rivals that'd been assigned the same bunk at summer camp. Sticking to their side of the tape. Given the calmer nature of the conversation so far, he actually took in what he was seeing, too.

The way he carried himself, while formal and controlled, had this air of exhaustion to it. At any given time, he might throw his hands in the air and tell everyone to fuck off so he could take a damn nap, if he didn't just crumple first. His hair was trimmed enough but long and noticeably scraggly, one of the only finer details that reminded Party of the boy he'd once known. He'd been too busy with a million things to take care of his hair. He was slight, almost alarmingly so, especially for his age. And here he is, handing over his food to a prisoner.

Doing his best with his hands chained together, he tossed a slice of toast his way with a sloppy flick of the wrist. He jolted slightly as it fell into his lap, glaring at Party. "Did you just try to attack me with your breakfast?"

Party snorted. "No, dingus. It's for you. It'd be pretty ironic if you starved because you keep giving me all of your food." He faked a moment of deliberation. "But it would be a pretty cool power move if I managed to cause the death of a BL/IND employee while actively locked up, I suppose. So really, do whatever suits your fancy."

He picked it up, glancing from the soggy piece of bread to Party and then back again as if trying to psychoanalyze his toast. "...Why do you care?" He scoffed. "You need it more than I do."