Miles lays on the ground, resting on the wet grass. He can feel the wetness of the grass seep through his clothes, making them damp. Lately, he's been thinking about his brother. How he used to calm him down, how he would console him. He missed that. The asylum has been eventful these past few weeks, more people admitted, more restrictions, a lot of rules have changed, including being able to go outside.

He loves going outside, especially when it's dark or cold. The restrictions include more guards out and less time being out. He hated that. Hated how the guards would hover, waiting for someone to act out. Despite the restrictions, he loved his one hour and 20 minutes of being outside, but now he only had 45 minutes. What could he do in 45 minutes? He enjoyed staring at the sky, the grass on his skin. He'd lose track of time just watching and listening to the different animals that wandered in. He even saw a bunny once, hopping in lively before one of the other patients bit its head off.

As he lays on the grass a figure comes into view, towering over him. He sighs before sitting up and turning to the figure. It's one of the guards. "What are you doing out here, butterfly?" The guard smirks, his hand going into his pocket to pull out a small baggie of white powder. Miles looks away, pulling at the grass under him. He wants it. He wants to take it...but just doesn't want to do what he needs to get it. "Oh c'mon, butterfly~ I haven't seen you in a while...I missed you."

Miles turns back to the guard, trying to keep his calm. "I'm not interested...please leave me alone." Miles says, looking up at the guard. The guard groans, grabbing Miles' jaw tightly. "You fucking whore, who else are you getting it from huh?" Miles shakes his head, gripping the man's wrist. He can feel his body heat up, can feel the rage coursing through his body. But he can't lose control. He needs to stay calm or he'll have to go back to the isolation room and he can't go back there. "I'm not getting it from anyone else. I'm not taking it anymore." He grits, his nails digging into the man's skin.

The man laughs, roughly pulling away from Miles. "You think you scare me, butterfly? You'll be back. Be back bending over for me and sucking my cock just for some coke." He scoffs, before putting the small baggie in the palm of Miles'. "Consider this a gift. You know where you can find me if you need more." He grins before turning to leave. Miles groans, shoving the baggie into his sweater pocket. He knows if he doesn't get rid of it soon he's going to use it. And the cycle will begin again. Needing the drugs, going to guards, doing whatever they want, getting the drugs, using, withdrawals, going back to get more to soothe the withdrawals, and repeat.

But he needs it. Needs something to feel okay.

He had snuck out of his room and made it to the garden. He plopped down on the grass, which was wetter than before. It felt nice on his skin, liked how soft it felt under him. He liked soft things. Like pillows, stuffed animals. Oh how he loved stuffed animals. He kept a few of them in his room, the others either stolen or thrown away. He hums softly, savoring how good the grass feels against his back.

As Miles continues to lie on the grass, he doesn't see or hear the figure walking towards him. The figure stands above him, and only then does Miles see them. "And you are, stranger?" Miles asks, not realizing who it is.