You're name is Karkat Vantas and you are far too young for prison.
You'd imagined yourself doing a lot of things in life, but never time in jail. In fact, you shouldn't even be here. It should be your piece of shit roommate walking down the hall to his cell accompanied by two brute guards, but that's a whole different topic entirely.
How did you come to find yourself in this position? Well, it all started because your roommate was out of drugs. It couldn't have been something acceptable such as marijuana. Oh, no. It was crystal meth. Forty grams of it. His addiction is so bad that if he doesn't have it daily, he goes into serious withdrawal. Your roommate, Gamzee, normally buys it in bulk. His provider often gives him a deal when he does. Needless to say, Gamzee was sick in bed from all the withdrawal symptoms and you were given the task of getting him more. Perhaps if Gamzee had gone himself, he'd have known it wasn't his usual guy and had stayed away. Unfortunately for you, you fell right into the undercover cop's trap. Because of your accidental crimes, you're stuck serving two years in this hellhole. Not only are you kissing your freedom goodbye, you're also saying farewell to your life.
"Cell 612. Karkat Vantas," the guard to your left grumbles as he unlocks the cell.
"Hey! Strider!" The one to your right snaps, "Get your lazy ass up and say hello."
The left guard shoves you in and closes the door behind you, locking it again. "Oh. And play nice this time, yeah? He's still a kid."
As they walk away, you begin to panic. You won't be stuck in here the whole time, will you? You begin to hyperventilate when a voice behind you chuckles and says, "Relax. Dinner's at 6. They'll come back for you." You jump and quickly turn around, backing against the cell door as far as you possibly can. You're sure you look as pathetic as a rabbit cornered by a hungry fox. If you had a tail, it would be between your legs.
You frantically look over the male before you to find a tall, tan, muscular, platinum blonde hunk. He's wearing a white wife beater, which works wonders for his body, and the orange prison pants you're currently wearing yourself. He wears them much better than you. And his eyes? They're the most brilliant shade of red you've ever seen. You'd call him hot if you weren't so terrified of him.
"You know," he continues, "The first rule of prison is that, if you don't want to wind up somebody's bitch and you want to keep all these dicks away from your ass, you need to look... Well... Not like that," he smirks, motioning to your trembling form.
You've never been a kiss up, but this guy could beat the shit out of you and fuck your concussed body in less than five seconds, so you decide to drop your pride and do a little groveling. "I-I'm sorry I just- I'd never even been to the principal's office back in school let alone jail so-"
He cuts you off, leaning against the wall. "You serious? How old even are you kid? What're you in for?"
"I just turned 19 in the summer... I uh... I'm in for possession..." You stammer, looking away.
He barks out a laugh, which makes you jump yet again as you glance up at him. "Possession of what? Pharmaceuticals?"
"Crystal meth... Forty grams..." You murmur.
He immediately stops laughing, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Damn. Forty? That's a lot, kid. You don't look like a methhead."
You chuckle nervously. "I'm not. My old roommate and ex best friend is. He was going through withdrawal so..." You shake your head, looking up at him shyly. "What're you in here for?"
He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "Grand theft auto and shoplifting. I got 90 days of jail time and a $300 fine for the shoplifting, but then I stole a car and got another 3 years and another $5,000 fine. That was a year and two months ago. A little over two years and I'm free to go."
"How old were you?" You ask timidly, beginning to relax a little.
"Just barely 20, so about your age. I turned 21 in December. It's a difficult life, what with being stuck in here and all, but I'd be more than happy to help you through it. Teach you the ropes, y'know?" He offers you a small smile.
You blush before realizing that you never caught his name. "Oh. I um... I never did get your name."
He smiles fully and holds out a hand to you. "Strider. Dave Strider. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Karkat, though maybe not under these circumstances."
You cautiously take his hand and shake, quirking an eyebrow. "How did you-"
"-Know your name? The guy said it before you came in. Karkat Vantas, right? You look Latino. That'll help you, even though you're a short stack. Mexicans and blacks don't normally get fucked with. I'm not racist, by the way. That's just how it is here. If you're a scrawny little white boy, you're probably gonna be the first one to get fucked. That's just the way things are."
You nod slowly, retracting your hand. "So which bunk is mine?"
"Either one. After all, it's only polite to let the guest chose." Dave motions for you to set the few belongs you forgot you were carrying down on your desired bunk.
You carefully set your stuff down on the bottom bunk, glancing up at him. "Thank you."
He nods. "Are you normally this quiet?"
You snort, shaking your head. "Normally I'm loud. Very loud. I actually have a bad tendency of running my mouth and getting into trouble. Especially with big dudes," you admit sheepishly.
The Strider plops himself down on your bunk and grins. "I guess I'll have to keep you on a short leash, huh?"
It slowly begins to dawn on you that he might want something in return for his kindness. "You're not... Going to make me your bitch now, are you?" You ask nervously.
Dave bursts out laughing, holding his sides as he looks up at you with a lopsided smile. "You've got a lot to learn about me, kid."
That's the story of how you befriended your new roommate on your first day in prison.