It wasn't your first time. The orderlies knew your name now. They made you leave your bag at the front desk. No pens, no phone, no shoelaces. You were used to the way hospitals stripped things from people before they let them through the door.

The nurse led you down the white, fluorescent-lit hallway, shoes squeaking on the linoleum, her silence heavy. The place hadn't changed. You almost asked if he'd been behaving, but think better of it. What would 'behaving' even mean for someone like him? They said he was 'stable'. now. That was what they told you over the phone. 'Stable', like he was a table with all four legs finally touching the ground. You'd heard the word 'delusional' tossed around with his name like it was part of his official title now. But Jeffrey Goines was your friend and friends don't abandon each other. "Ah-ha! Look who's back from the land of the well-adjusted!" When you saw him, he was already waiting in the visitation room - soft carpeted floor, pale walls, a single window that never seemed to be open - bouncing his leg in an uneven rhythm like a jackhammer beneath the table with his hospital bracelet dangling loose on a wrist, with a faded bruise beneath his eye. His wild hair had been tamed to something almost civil, in his hands an unfolded chessboard without the pieces and he was never still, his twitching didn't stop.

"No wires? No experiments? Let me check." Before you could sit down or answer, he was already at your side, tugging at your sleeves, patting you down like a jittery TSA agent on ten cups of coffee. No, he definitely wasn't doing better than before. Once he was satisfied, he stepped back, scratching his cheek. "So this is pity? Or guilt? Or-- you know what, no, no, it's a social experiment. I'm the monkey, you're the lab coat," He gestured between the two of you vaguely, "except without the coat.” He