@requiemcount:
There’s fresh tea on the table.
As well as snacks, the sort of small, homely kinds you find in the old-fashioned shops hidden in the corners of Little Tokyo, laid neatly on simple, unadorned plates. This is still his office, but made accessible; the leather armchair is resting idly at his desk, while Yagen himself is sitting in a low and comfortable chair. Next to him is a window looking out to the cityscape below, slightly ajar to let in a warm breeze.
Across from him sits a boy with raucous purple hair and a high-collar jacket. Compared to Yagen’s simple dark browns and whites, he seems much louder even when he hasn’t spoken a word.
'Chamomile,’ Yagen says as he pours a cup and pushes it to Gaito’s side. Today, (as on all other days with this particular patient), he isn’t wearing his labcoat.
‘I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard it has soothing properties. Try a taste?’
Their session starts out quiet, calm, and relaxed--as always.