everyone in the halls stop what they're doing simultaneously because he's out.
the unstable inmate harry styles has left his padded cell.
his eyes are trained on the floor, hair covering his face. ghostly pale arms hang in front of him as he walks slumped over, with feet dragging behind him with every step.
he's never even left the north wing of the prison and now here he is, on his way to the visitation centre. has the world gone mad? it is quite possible.
everyone's crazy. the one's who give in and accept it end up in a place like this.
