Pierce parked his motorcycle in front of his therapist's abode, letting out a sigh as he removed his helmet, hanging it on his bike to run his finger through his red, copper-like strands of hair. He griitted his teeth and balled his fists as he would have to endure seeing more of his laid-back, too-peaceful-for-his-own-good therapist. The guy was like a damn monk, the complete opposite of Pierce. Their personalities clashed.

Pierce only went there because his father paid money for his therapies. Pierce appreciated his father's concern since Pierce indeed suffered with anger issues, even he thought it was not needed and that he could deal with it just fine. Pierce frequented those therapy sessions for a year by now and he had indeed got better, at least.

However he'd rather have a therapist who wasn't so different from him, one who didn't look like was under the effect of marijuana every damn time.

Pierce entered there with his eyes pressed shut, he knew he would be bursting with rage by the time he saw those half-lidded eyes as he then took a seat, finally gazing to see his therapist's pet rubbing against his ankle, he took a deep breath and spoke, "I think I might be late, I just didn't think I was ready to smell those incenses and powder you got going on." He uttered in a steady tone, looking serene despite his light passive-aggressive dig.