He's not mad, he only looks that way.

I hesitated at the door, studying the metal sign on it that read "Dr Ballato". I'd been stood there for much too long now. Sighing, I lifted a hand and rapped my worn knuckles against the wood.
"Come in!" chimed a voice from inside.
I cracked the door open, and timidly stepped into the office. Dr. Ballato looked at me curiously. "Gerard?" Her voice was coloured with surprise. Not that I blamed her. I'd never really responded to her attempts at speaking with me, so I could imagine the shock she felt when I purposely sought her out. Not that I needed to imagine very much; her expression gave most of it away.
"Hi, doc," I murmured, slipping into the chair positioned in front of her gleaming, organised desk. She didn't respond, she simply looked at me with questions in her eyes. O sighed. "I... I wanted to ask you for something."
This had definitely piqued her interest. She sat forward in her chair, setting down the pen she'd been holding. "And what would that be?"
I met her eyes. "I want to be allowed to draw. If I could have a sketchbook, pencils, just basic drawing stuff..."
She frowned. "There are things like that available to you."
I sighed. She wasn't lying, exactly. The facility ran workshops regularly designed to give us things to do, such as book clubs and workout classes and, in the context of the conversation, art and design sessions. "I know, but... I was wondering if I could be allowed to have some more personal equipment?" Manners are key. "So I could draw, like, in my room?"
Dr Ballato frowned. "I'm not sure i want to encourage that kind of solitude, Gerard. Its not good for you to spend all of your time in your room."
Damn. "Well then, maybe we could compromise?" I pushed.
She sat back, clasped her hands and raised her eyebrows. I didn't blame her. I'd gone from silent and sullen to making demands and compromises. "I'm listening..."
"Can I have some of my own art supplies if I promise to use them only in social places?" We had a number of rooms in the building that were used as social areas, where we could spend what little free time we got. They were, of course, supervised, and it meant I had to sit with other patients while I drew, but I'd take that over nothing at all. I watched her as she mulled it over. She looked a little doubtful so I decided I needed to lay it on a little thicker. "Please? Drawing is my passion, its one of the few things I have that keeps me sane." I cringed inwardly at that last word, but it seemed to sway her.
"Well, alright Gerard. You can have the drawing stuff, as long as you sit in one of the social rooms while you do it. And... You have to promise you'll participate more in out group sessions too."
I felt my face wrinkle in disgust, but I nodded. I really, really needed to draw.
And that was how I ended up walking the corridors with a lady named Natasha. She was one of those modern-artsy people, with short blonde hair, bright clothes in contemporary styles and colours, and glasses that i didn't doubt were the height of the current fashion trend. She was the member of staff who ran the creative workshops, and had been allocated the mission of acquiring my art supplies. She had a nasally voice that annoyed me a little, but i couldn't complain since she had done me one huge favour. When Dr Ballato asked her to find me a sketchpad and some pencils, she insisted i go with her, explaining that a true artist should be able to select materials they were comfortable with. So she took me with her to a storeroom. It was closer to the front of the building than i had been since i was escorted/dragged through the doors. I couldn't help but reach up to look through some of the windows, catching various glimpses of the roads, paths and gardens out front. I couldn't deny that it was beautiful, trimmed hedges, stone pathways and flower bushes and beds. Sprawling trees were planted around the edge, and I knew that the grandeur of the place was evident in the front exterior of the building itself. I wouldn't have minded being able to paint it. Not that I'd get that opportunity. I may be striking a few deals with my doctor but i highly doubted I'd get chance to go outside, so i settled with wistfully looking out at the world from my prison. We arrived at the storeroom and I quickly picked up the things I needs, noting Natasha's approval of my selections. Really, did she expect anything less? I held my tongue against all the sarcastic comments I could have made. She took me back a slightly different way, claiming she had to make a stop at the main reception. Again, I was content with looking through windows. This time i could see the administration parts of the building. I let my imagination run free a little, picturing Frank in one of these rooms, demanding to see me. His small, cute body filled with rage and pain as he begged for them to let us be together, even if only for a moment. Standing at the reception desk, speaking to the woman sat... Wait. Had i let my imagination go a little too far? Because I could swear in that moment he really was there. Standing before the desk with a look of desperation in his clear, pretty eyes. Eyes that were suddenly staring straight into mine.

Notes

So, yeah. This is basically the same as the last chapter through Gee's eyes. I kinda realised that a patient in a place like this wouldn't be allowed so close the exit without a reason. Sometimes I plan details in my head and forget that no-one else can see them. Oops. I promise super extra mega fluff and angst in the next part. The kind where i make myself cry. Thank you, all of you. Since my last update, there have been some wonderful comments. Also, since I posted the last chapter the story gained 1.5 thousand more views, which is un-fucking-real. I'm so thankful for the support, you don't even know. As always, head to my profile if you wanna look me up on various social media stuff, I'd love that. I'm rambling now, sorry. Paranoia Violence out xø