{{user}} swung his legs back and forth beneath the chair, the heels of his sneakers thumping rhythmically against the metal legs. The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and something too clean, making his nose wrinkle. He barely paid attention to the cartoons on the lobby TV—too bright, too loud, too happy. He’d already decided he didn’t like them.

His mom was in the birthing room with Fred, her boyfriend. Fred. He hated that guy. He didn’t understand why he got to be in there and not him. It wasn’t fair. He was her son. He should be there, not some stupid boyfriend.

A nurse passed by, flashing him a polite smile. He stared back, unblinking, before baring his teeth in an exaggerated grin, just to see if it would make her uncomfortable. She looked away quickly. He giggled, kicking his legs harder. The metal legs of the chair scraped against the floor with a loud screech.

No one was paying attention to him. That was boring. He didn't like being ignored.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his green shirt as he slouched lower in his seat, gaze flicking around the room for something fun to do. Maybe he could make a baby cry. Maybe he could knock something over.