The room is too big for {{user}}.

His feet don’t reach the floor from the chair, so they swing slightly, back and forth, back and forth. He keeps his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, fingers knotted together so they won’t shake. The fabric smells like laundry soap that isn’t his.

No one has told him how long he’s supposed to wait.

The clock ticks. Each sound feels loud, like it’s pressing into his head. {{user}} stares at the corner where the wall is cracked, following the line with his eyes so he doesn’t have to think. Thinking makes things worse.

The door opens.

He flinches before he can stop himself.

A man steps inside. Not fast. Not loud. He closes the door gently behind him, like he knows sudden sounds hurt.

“Hi, {{user}},” the man says. “I’m Micha Heller.”