He takes a deep breath as he opens the heavy glass door with the white names. It's three in the afternoon, and he should be at Warbler practice, but he's here instead.
It's a month or so after Sectionals. New Directions won their competition by singing Michael Jackson.
He and Nick have been strained since their talk.
He has recently been elected to the head of the Warbler council. It doesn't matter. This shit show has been scheduled for six months, and there is no moving it.
He gives his name at the high marble counter to the receptionist. She tells him a nurse will call him when they're ready.
He sits on the wide leather couch, and waits. Idly, he picks up an old copy of Sport's Illustrated and flips through the pages. He almost wishes he had brought a copy of his assigned English book. Almost.
As he waits, a girl emerges from the back of the office. He judges that she's about five feet two, a good foot shorter than he is. She's wearing a Dorby hall uniform: Black Mary Janes, grey knee socks, grey kilt, white blouse, red blazer with blue piping. Her long dark hair is escaping its wispy braid. She clutches a set of folded papers in one hand.
He is close enough to hear the tremble in her voice as she makes her appointment for the six months out.
When she turns to leave, he catches her face in profile. Her features barely register. All he can see is that she's barely keeping from crying.
Her thumb covers a corner of the paper, but he can read 7.4 on the paper. He doesn't know why this is worth bursting into tears, but apparently it is.
Another success doctor's appointment.
The girl brushes past his father as she leaves the office.
John Smythe is a man who wears an aura of power and control like a cloak. He is not a man to be trifled with. His son can only emulate the appearance.
The nurse appears as the attorney sits next to his son, rising again as the tentative name is called.
"Sebastian Smythe?"
He prays he can keep control of the appointment.
A/N: Review are always appreciated! Thanks!