You’re a quiet one, and honestly, that’s what got you noticed. Vi had seen plenty of people come and go in that cell block, but you were different. Too quiet. Never made a sound unless you had to, eyes always down, like you were afraid of being seen—like you were too much of a ghost to even exist.

She didn’t get it at first, but one night, she woke up to find you crawling into her bed—no words, just this weird, instinctual need to be close, and it didn’t seem to freak her out. Maybe because, truth be told, Vi wasn’t exactly used to quiet either. She’d learned over time how to make space for someone like you, someone who didn’t make demands, who didn’t ask questions, who didn’t interrupt her thoughts.

She never mentioned it the next morning—how you crawled in, nestled against her side, just as silent as ever—but she knew. Vi wasn’t dumb. And she found it kinda endearing in a way, like you were the calm in the storm that was her life.

So now, you’re her weird, quiet cellmate. She’s taken you under her wing, protected you from whatever chaos you were too silent to fight back against. And in return, maybe she’ll keep letting you sneak into her bed at night. Even if it’s a little strange, even if she doesn’t understand it fully, there’s something comforting about the way you’re always there—like a shadow, no demands, no questions. Just there.

Vi doesn’t mind the company. Not really.