(No real trigger warning; scene is in a rehab facility)

"Hello, Mr. Bauwens."

"You can still call me Orion, Kendall."

The woman sitting behind the large, curved counter smiles at me. The thing that I like about Kendall--the thing that I have always liked about Kendall--is she didn't make anything weird. I had run into plenty of people previously who had let their gaze take on a sympathetic tilt. Granted, that might have just been imagined, purely a swirling physical manifestation of my own shit I was projecting onto others.

Even so, I was pretty sure some people here pitied me. I'm not one to be pitied. I'm not one to be fucking coddled. Kendall was never anything but genuine. If I were to consider any of the staff here a "friend", it would be Kendall.

"I know, it just still feels--"

I raise my eyebrows and cut her off with a laugh. "Wrong? Come on, you've known me for damn near four months. That's a long ass time."

"I know," she replied as she grabbed the bin from behind the desk and set it in front of me. She then shot me a playful grin. "Still swear like a sailor, I see."

"But of fucking course!"

I knew the drill. I shifted my belongings and reached inside of my pockets. Into the bin went my cell phone. In went my wallet. In went my pack of cigarettes and lighter (those would be given back to me after processing). I wasn't wearing any rings this time around, but I slipped my expensive black watch off my wrist and put that in.

As Kendall took the bin back, and I reached into my back pocket for my folded referral paperwork, I grinned at her. "If you palm that watch, I'll know."

Kendall laughed, and then gave me a mischievous look. "I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Bauwens."

I rolled my eyes, giving her my paperwork. "Orion, Kendall. It's Orion."

She merely laughed at me.

Even though I had been here already, I was given the tour again. It was a really nice facility; Gloria had spared no expense finding this place for me the first time around. As I walked behind the facility employee giving me the tour, I couldn't help myself from frowning.

Gloria. Ben. Jake. Olivia. Amy.

Tristan.

Fuck. Tristan.

I hadn't been paying attention to the tour, but now I invested myself full-throttle to try and stop the acute stabbing and twisting sensation I felt in my heart when thinking about...Him.

"In the mornings you will be able to start the day anyway you'd like," the tour guide, or whatever the fuck he was, told me. He was dressed in green scrubs, but then again so was all the staff, so I didn't know. "We have a rec area right down this hallway--there's some gym equipment, and an area for yoga. We'll provide you with your own yoga mat, sanitized, for your personal use, if you choose."

I nodded as we walked past the grey door. I peeked in for just a moment, hoping I wouldn't recognize anyone using the gym equipment. I didn't.

"We also offer guided meditation classes," the large man continued. "When we go to the basement I will show you our spiritual area--we have various religious clergy available. While we deeply encourage a sleeping schedule where tenants don't sleep in, and are expected to go to sleep at a reasonable hour, we do have spiritual guides on hand twenty-four seven should you find yourself in crisis in the middle of the night."

I nodded as we turned the corner. I couldn't help myself; I smiled brightly. This was my favorite hallway. It was curved, the walls a light and friendly grey. Various pictures hung from them, all pretty generic. That wasn't what I liked about this hall though.

I looked to my left. The entire curvature of the hallway on this side was a huge window. It overlooked the pool which was partially indoor, partially outdoor. Grass had been laid down, and a grounds crew kept everything neat and manicured. There was brick edging, behind which sat palm trees, tropical plants, and flowers. Off to the side I knew, even though I couldn't see it, was a (free) dry concession stand which served virgin drinks, coffee, tea, and water.

The pool was one of my favorite retreats. Yeah, I had one at home, but the way they set this up made it feel like you were on vacation. They even had lawn chairs and tables, encouraging patients to converse with one another. At first I refused, choosing to use the pool at night when I would be the only one. However, by the time my first four months was up, I had collectively spent more time at the pool than any other free range area. Because of that, I actually ended up talking with my fellow patients.

As I looked at the pool fondly, I was a little surprised to see someone swimming. I went to check my watch but forgot I didn't have it yet. I felt like it was still really early, not even time for breakfast yet. When I glanced back in curiosity to get a better look at who was swimming, I nearly tripped in surprise.

In general, there is an unspoken rule of thumb in these sorts of facilities is; you leave your stature at the door. As such, it was deeply frowned upon for patients to make a big deal over any possible celebrities they might run into. So I wasn't Orion Bauwens (rockstar, jazz hands!) here. I was just Orion.

Even so, I had run into that sort of behavior myself during my first stint. No one was overtly weird towards me, but I knew a couple people recognized me by how their eyes lingered on me for just a fraction longer than they should have. I knew a couple people didn't speak to me directly unless it was part of the therapy session for the day, and even then I was usually met with tripping words and flushed cheeks.

So having experienced that, you could imagine my chagrin when I couldn't help but gawk at who was swimming. It was Scott Davis. The Scott Davis! I knew he had issues (who didn't?), but Scott Davis was here? In the same rehab facility as me?

I wondered what he was here for this time. I quickly did the math; this would be his fourth stint (that is, if he hadn't kept other stints secret from the public, like I had). I wondered if he would be in any of my therapy sessions. I wondered if we'd be paired up at any point.

As I stumbled along behind the tour guide, I wasn't listening to a damn thing he was saying. If I ran into Scott, would it be weird? Would he even know who I was? Did he even like my music? Would he even like me?

I couldn't help myself; I chirped my nervous laugh at the thought of speaking to him. And as the tour guide paused and looked over his shoulder at me in confusion, I could feel my already pink cheeks turn a deep, dark red.

"S-sorry," I stuttered.

I was being absolutely ridiculous. It was like I was thirteen again, crushing on some guy (or girl) from school. Even so I couldn't stop my knees from turning to rubber as I quickly glanced over my shoulder, only to catch Scott climbing out of the pool, perfect muscles rippling as he flicked his blonde hair out of his eyes.