Katsuki waits silently in the clean room, one he hasn't ever been in before. He thinks he's given a new one every week. The arm chair he sits in is a plain blue color and the couch across from him sinks in when you sit in it. A clock ticks somewhere behind him and books line the shelves to his left. A window with three layers of glass is to his right, the sounds of cars driving and birds chirping being lost in the thick panes.
He holds on tight to his clipboard, staring at the door as if it might come off its hinges and run after him. His knee shakes, something it doesn't usually do. But today is special, today he's nervous. Today, he's terrified, more than just scared, that he'll fuck up. He doesn't really know what to do, and he wishes he had a guide book or something. But, there's no time to ask for one as the door slowly creaks open and big green eyes meet Katsuki's intense red ones.
It's only for a split second though, because his eyes shoot down again as he slips into the room. He looks just like him, Katsuki thinks, his lungs squeezing all of the air out of his body until he has to force himself to breathe in. He stares, because it's like he's in the same room as him again, being pushed into a corner by the sheer amount of sadness surrounding the boy.
He's scrawny and his lips are chewed up, with red and white blisters. His clothes hang off of him like they're five sizes too big, even if Katsuki is sure those clothes must've fit him weeks ago. His cheeks look like they used to be round and full, but they sink in at the place they're supposed to stick out. His tiny fingers grip at the shirt hanging in front of his stomach, his stance tense and anxious. His brows are sad and dip in at the middle and clash together sooner than you'd expect. His hair is messy, but it's brown, instead of black, or blue, or green.
Once Katsuki realizes he's staring like he's just seen a ghost he clears his throat and looks down at the clipboard, an empty page clipped onto it.
"Please, have a seat."
The boy stays standing and after only a few moments Katsuki's eyes snap back to the boy. He's shaking now, and he's looking at the ground like he thinks he'll be murdered for looking anywhere else. Katsuki's knee stops shaking and he sits up straighter.
"Are-"
"No," the boy mumbles, Katsuki hardly hearing it over the ticking clock that seems to be a thousand times louder now, "you'll send me away, just like she did."
Katsuki frowns and stares some more, because he can't say that he won't. It's not his job to decide whether or not the kid gets sent off to some hospital, he only gets to talk to him and turn in a report on his mental well-being. Therapists didn't usually work like this, but Katsuki didn't get paid for his work and these sessions that changed settings every time were paid by wealthy people's health insurance.
Katsuki clears his throat again, trying to sound calmer than he feels, "I just want you to sit down for now, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
The boy looks up from the ground for a split second, his watery eyes finding solace in Katsuki's only for a moment. Before he nods and trudges over to the too-comfortable couch and takes a hesitant seat, sitting on the edge where he won't sink in as far. Being this close up to a living, breathing copy of him was wrong, it didn't feel right at all. Katsuki had to use all of his strength not to back away.
He had freckles, but they were in all of the wrong places. His eyes had specks of gold in them, which wasn't normal and didn't match the perfect picture Katsuki had in his head. His bangs hung heavily on his forehead, instead of floating as if they were weightless, and his hair overall was the wrong shape and color, even if it was curly and messy. His nose didn't have a bump at the top and his cupids bow was too pronounced. His bottom lip was as thin as his top lip and they were two shades too pale, not the pink shade he remembered them being.
