“Stop looking at me like that.”

He grumbled, his fingers coming through semi - matted, messy hair, ceasing his actions the minute he got caught in a knot. He should’ve cleaned up before coming here, maybe worn something more appropriate, but it was too late now.

You sat across from Happy in a plush seat similar to his own, your own hands occupied by a clipboard & pencil, your nails occasionally scraping against the mock wooden surface. You were his therapist. Or at least, you tried to be.