"See you tomorrow, Connor."

The words felt hollow as they hit his eardrum, ricocheting off the soft flesh of his inner ear until they finally burrowed their way into his brain. Everything seemed duller, glazed over with a layer of sardonic lachrymose.

He looked at the business card in his hand, the tiny letters mocking him as he took a deep breath in and out. He'd promised a friend he'd give it a try.

Connor arrived at the clinic in a haze, not having realized that he'd moved at all. His feet had simply carried him here, with no concern for whether he wanted to be there or not.

The clinic was quaint. A tiny cottage really, with welcoming shrubs that led up the sidewalk, onto a tiny stoop of stairs and then planted on a sprawling porch. There wasn't much of a yard, considering it was built in the middle of a city, but you could tell there had been sincere effort to get the place to look like it was a place you belonged. Connor felt nothing for it. It was cute enough, but the queer uneasiness that sat in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

Was he supposed to knock on the door, or just walk in? He felt a heat rising in his cheeks- just because he was a grown adult didn't mean that this didn't still feel awkward. Honestly he was waiting for one of his parents to make the first move and usher him in the door. It was funny how no matter how old he got, he still never felt in charge.

After a hesitant moment, he twisted the iron knob, pushing the wooden door inwards until it cracked open. When he stepped inside he was greeted with a bouquet of flowers and a tiny desk. A few chairs sat against the wall, with magazines on the racks next to them. A small table fountain bubbled next to the bouquet, springing up a rather strange combination that was somehow pleasant to the eyes and the nose. There was a receptionist sitting at the desk, who smiled as he approached.

"Hi, welcome," she said, gesturing him closer. Connor offered a half-heartedly smile and a nod, but didn't say anything. "What can I do for you?"

This was where Connor debated leaving altogether. Maybe he could escape now, get away without embarrassing himself. The business card stung in his pocket- Luke would kill him. Well ********. "Yeah. My friend recommended I come here. I've been feeling ... well I wanted a consultation."

The receptionist seemed unsure, but a look of recognition crossed her face as she analyzed Connor. "Ms. Linda? Well sure, hon." She picked through a few papers. "Lucky for you, we're pretty empty for now." Connor wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but didn't say anything. "Can you just fill out these forms?" She handed him a paper, a lease it looked like. Medical busywork.

He nodded and took a seat on one of the chairs. This seemed surreal- Connor had always been a cheery person. Loud to the point of being obnoxious, always with a friend or two. He nearly felt like giving up seeing what a sorry state he'd fallen to. Look at where he ended up.

Clinically depressed.