Shawn catches a glimpse of his reflection and stiffles a sigh. He looks absolutely horrible. He runs his hands through his hair but it is no good - with no hair gel around it will keep falling floppy and messy around his head.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to survive this for the next six months. His attempt to smuggle hair products inside had already gotten him into trouble but seeing that his hair was already lacking it's usual healthy shine? He'll probably try again.

There is something tight and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach and the closer they get to the visitor's room the more he realizes that it's a growing knot of tension and nervousness. He hasn't talked to Gus since they brought him here.

Actually, he hasn't talked to Gus since long before any of this happened, two days before his fatal date, to be exact. He's glad his friend hadn't been at the hearing, that horrible, horrible hearing where his dad had made his statement and the looks from the people, the "is he seriously talking about his son like this" looks had been worse than anything else.

How is Gus going to talk about him after this?

There is a moment of actual fear, plain, ugly fear and Shawn takes a deep breath, trying to leave it behind, in the cell, together with all the other negative vibes. Bracing himself he follows the jailer and slumps into his seat.

He grabs the phone first, pressing it to his ear and then looks up to face his best friend.