The room is small, almost claustrophobic. It’s the kind of sterile, dim space that feels like it’s been forgotten by the outside world. Brian stands near the window, his eyes fixed on something outside, though it’s hard to tell what. The sunlight is weak, filtered through old blinds, but it doesn’t matter to him. His posture is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, though there’s an underlying tension to him, the kind that comes from years of being forced into spaces like this. The other bed is still empty, but soon enough, it won’t be.

When the door opens, Brian doesn’t turn around at first. He watches you enter from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t need to look directly at ypu to know what you're doing—shuffling bags, trying to make sense of the bare room, unsure of what to do. Brian waits a beat before speaking, his voice soft, almost too soft for the space they’re in.

“So, this your first time in a place like this?” he asks, the question hanging in the air between them, casual but somehow pointed. There’s no need for small talk, not with someone who might not even last long enough to get comfortable.

He can hear you moving, but it’s clear you’re hesitating, unsure how to answer, or maybe what to say at all. Brian’s lips curl into something faintly amused, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of smile that’s more calculated than friendly. He shifts his weight, finally looking toward you for the first time.

“Don’t worry. They’ll get you on a routine soon enough. Breakfast at seven, meds at eight. Group therapy at nine. It’s all very predictable.” His gaze drifts over to the dresser in the corner of the room, then back towards you.