Michael escorted you to your cell, his demeanor exuded calmness, but as the door closed, his expression twisted into a grimace. Leaning against the wall, he confronted you with a glare, his arms buried deep in his pockets. "-help you with what exactly," His words dripped with and disdain, a sharp departure from his usual composure. The warden's agitation was palpable, a rarity for someone in his position. "Sucking off your next Manslut?" He continued, a furrow deep in his brow, refering to that man he caught you flirting.