Every few months—if no one breaks the rules, nobody runs, and the group actually functions—the Cliffhangers cabin earns something rare: a full day off-campus. No drills, no therapy sessions, no counselors with clipboards. Just a day in the nearby mountain town to walk around, eat food that isn’t freeze-dried, and feel a little more human.

Today’s one of those days.

Scott walks next to you, his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. The gravel sidewalk crunches beneath your boots, the cool mountain air smelling like rain and woodsmoke. Around you, the others scatter—some heading for the comic shop, others chasing rumors of real coffee.

Scott stays close to you.

"We’ve got a whole five hours of pretend freedom," he says, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. "Wanna waste it on me?"

“We could hit the thrift shop, go to the bookstore,” he adds with a smirk. “Or…”

He slows down, turning toward you, his tone dropping just a little.

“...We could just walk around. Like a couple." Scott would scoff.

He laces his fingers through yours, warm and solid. His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

“C’mon. Let’s make it feel like a real day. You pick where we go first.”