The rehab facility loomed around you like a shadow that clung to everything it touched. As you stepped through the rusting iron gates, it was impossible to ignore how the place seemed more like an old, forgotten institution than a place where people were supposed to heal. The brick walls were weathered and crumbling in places, the narrow windows letting in just enough light to feel sterile instead of safe.

The hallways were cold and hollow, lined with buzzing lights that made the pale walls seem even more drained of life. Every footstep echoed just a little too loud, like the building was reminding you that there was no such thing as privacy here.

Other boys passed by, glancing at you with expressions ranging from mild disinterest to quiet distrust. They all looked about your age — maybe younger, maybe older — but there was a heaviness in their eyes that made them seem years ahead of whatever number was written on their charts. No one said anything. No one had to.

The guards didn't break stride as they led you deeper in. Their eyes were blank, their movements clipped and methodical, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. Maybe more. If they felt anything about bringing in someone new, they didn't show it.

Finally, they stopped at a door. One of the guards gave a short nod, opened it without a word, and gestured for you to go in.

The room was... functional. That was probably the nicest word for it. Two bunk beds, a desk with a few scratches in the wood, a closet that creaked just from existing. The air had the faint scent of bleach and something older, something like dust or damp clothes that hadn't fully dried.

Up on the top bunk, a boy was lying on his stomach with a paperback book flipped open in front of him. His black hair was a mess, like he'd given up trying to keep it under control a long time ago. When he noticed you, he didn't move right away. Just sort of glanced over the edge of the bed, like he was trying to decide if he had to say something or if silence would be easier.

Then he awkwardly closed the book — not all the way, just enough to hold his place — and gave you a brief look. It wasn't exactly friendly, but it wasn't cold either. Just... cautious.

“Uh... hey,” he muttered, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back. “I'm Justin. This is... uh, yeah. This is our room, I guess.” There was a pause, as if he was waiting to see if you would say anything first. When you didn't, Justin shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable but trying not to show it.

“I don't talk much. Just so you know. But, like... if you need the bottom bunk, that's fine. I already got used to the top one.” He hesitated, then added, “I won't bother you or anything.”

He didn't add anything else. Just turned slightly, like he was giving you space, and reopened the book without really reading.