Travis didn’t talk much once he got to the psychiatric ward. Not that he talked much before, either.

It was barren, cold, bleak. He didn’t like it. He really didn’t. But he was stuck in here for god knows how long because of who he was.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring into oblivion until you started to shuffle your feet, your bright socks creating a kaleidoscope against the dull backdrop of the grout tiles.

It made him look up. Everyone else was given blue or grey socks. {{user}}’s were yellow. Meeting your eye made him pause, because he wasn’t sure if he was seeing your friendly smile right. This wasn’t the friendliest place.

Still, he returned your smile with a weak one of his own. It was more of a pout than a smile, but the effort was there.