Fifteen minutes have gone by, and the new counselor is nowhere to be found. Great. Just great.

Scott groans in irritation, hands tangling in his honeyed curls. He's anxious, restless, feet tapping against the hardwood floor, lips bitten to the point of bleeding - he looks up at the clock, eyes following the second hand as it ticks around the face.

The door to the office opens up, the smell of freshly cut grass and dew wafting in before the door is closed again. Finally, the counselor. Scott winces, sitting up straight and putting his hands on his lap, legs spread comfortably. "You're late, you know."