[Anyone looking for an open RP, heads up!]

Josh sighed and sat on the edge of the sink in the guys bathroom. He wasn't exactly up to anything today, surprisingly, he just wanted a little bit of privacy. For one that liked their space, living with the fact that cameras were always directed at you, watching every second of your life pass by was rather irritating, not to mention disturbing. Thank god the guards had no desire to peep at you when you were taking a good old piss, so the bathrooms had freedom. However there was some sort of a smoke detector system, so unless you were careful it was pretty hard to get high in here, even if you could get a hold of the drugs. He had finally went through the whole painful withdrawal stages, and he'd been clean since he arrived. He'd made a mental decision to keep it that way, because he had wanted to break away from the addiction for a long time, it was just too hard when the drugs were his only comfort.

Josh was wearing a lime green shirt and black skinnies today, having felt slightly expressive when he woke up. He'd gotten a lot of negative comments on his color choice, because apparently people couldn't appreciate how rad lime green was. Josh just told them to go fuck themselves and learn the definition of unique. He had always been the type to shock people with his rapidly shifting moods, and his style was just something to match that. One day you'd see him in all black, looking slightly Gothic, the next he'd shock you with a sudden outburst of color you'd never expect in a million years.

He smiled to himself suddenly and crossed over to the last stall on the left, pulling open the door and taking his guitar in his hands. He'd nicked it earlier from them, then hid it in here so they wouldn't find it. Then came back for it. Running his hands across it's beautiful red surface, he strummed the strings once, gently. Home. This guitar was as much a part of him as his hands. He returned to sitting on the sink and started to play it, lost in his favorite place, his fantasy world, with his music.

Music had forever been Josh's one safe haven, the one place he could truly lose himself in without risking his life, such as the result of taking drugs. He was glad that all of that could be over with now, that he could leave his addiction behind, because he knew it had been killing him. But music, music would never betray him with such a cold act. It was always there for him, soothing and calming in the most heart shattering moments. It took but one stroke of his fingers against the strings to sedate the angry or depressed feelings. And yet in his first month or two, they'd locked it away from him, kept him from being around the one thing that made him feel human again. He wasn't a monster when he played, you could sit and insult him over and over again while he held his guitar, and you'd probably get a knife thrown at you. But he wouldn't black out.

He was lost in such a world when the sudden scratching of nails against the stall he was concealed in pulled him out of the dream lapse. It was a horrid sound, and it interfered with the bliss he'd been feeling a moment before. He turned his head to look at the girl, recognizing her to be a fellow high risk patient, but not knowing anything else about her. Not even a name. She asked to join him, and he thought about it for a moment. If she loved music, he was sure they'd be fine around each other, maybe even go so far as to get along. Many people in this wretched place let the beauty of music slip away, let themselves forget. Josh would never, could never forget.

Hm, well the chick was pretty hot too, so he wouldn't mind having her around for a while. He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he replied. He flipped his black hair back from his eyes. "Do you play?" he wondered. If she was a guitarist, she wouldn't even have to consider what he meant, she'd probably just know.

Josh nodded in agreement to her words, relating with that wholeheartedly. Without his music, he would have given in and killed himself already. Listening to the thrashing beats of Alesana, he could convince himself not to give up, to keep going and fighting, if only to prove everyone that doubted him wrong. "Same here," he asserted with words. He usually would have attacked anyone that dared so much as brush a finger across his precious instrument, he was very protective over the guitar, but he didn't make any move to hurt her. She was a fellow player, she wouldn't do any harm to it, and plus, he would probably do the same if he was in her position. How could you see an instrument as appealing as the guitar and not want to reach out and touch it?

"Josh," he replied upon the inquiry about his name. Hopefully she didn't call him Joshua, else he might just end up hating her like all of the rest. He despised the name Joshua with a passion. It just sounded so proper and formal. He liked Josh, though. His name was one of the only things his parents couldn't fuck up. They'd screwed up everything else about him. They were the reason he was spending his life cooped up in an asylum rather than spending the night/day (you seriously couldn't tell the time of day in this place) with family and friends. He wished he could be normal at times, but he never spent long pondering it. It wasn't going to happen.

Ever.

So why obsess over the impossible? "How long have you been in this hole?" he asked, obviously indicating the asylum.