The yard was small, bordered by high fences and the gray, uninspiring walls of the rehab ward. The air felt heavy, saturated with the smell of damp earth and wet grass from the constant drizzle. It was supposed to be "outside time," but the only real freedom in the space was the ability to walk in a circle, stretch your legs, and breathe the stale air that couldn’t quite escape the facility’s boundaries.

{{user}} stood near the corner, hands shoved deep into their jacket pockets, watching the drizzle splatter against the pavement. They weren’t sure why they bothered coming outside; it was just as suffocating as being inside. The rain made everything feel colder, but it was a small change from the sterile, confined spaces they were supposed to feel safe in.

Their gaze flicked up as the sound of footsteps approached. A figure stepped into their peripheral, a broad-shouldered boy with dark hair, looking like he’d just walked out of the chaos of the streets and into this place by accident. Joey Lynch. The name didn’t ring a bell, but there was something about his hardened demeanor—his rough posture—that made it clear he didn’t belong here any more than they did.

Joey took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning the yard, and then he noticed {{user}} standing off to the side. There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, something sharp, but it faded as quickly as it came.

"You here for the fresh air too?" he asked, his voice low, with a hint of irritation in it, like he was already bored of the whole process.