Ironic how just entering a therapist’s office could make Buck’s anxiety flare. It was similar to that white coat syndrome phenomena, he decided, where being in a healthcare setting artificially raises the patient’s blood pressure and respiratory rate and heart rate, from fear alone. This felt similar, but mental health based.
Then again, the last time he’d gone to see a therapist, he’d wound up having sex on her couch during the session. He’d been the furthest thing from interested, but she’d been gently insistent and before long she was climbing off of him, apparently satisfied. This doctor was apparently a man. Buck only hoped he didn’t have the same idea.
buckaroo118:
Ironic how just entering a therapist’s office could make Buck’s anxiety flare. It was similar to that white coat syndrome phenomena, he decided, where being in a healthcare setting artificially raises the patient’s blood pressure and respiratory rate and heart rate, from fear alone. This felt similar, but mental health based.
Then again, the last time he’d gone to see a therapist, he’d wound up having sex on her couch during the session. He’d been the furthest thing from interested, but she’d been gently insistent and before long she was climbing off of him, apparently satisfied. This doctor was apparently a man. Buck only hoped he didn’t have the same idea.
Patrick didn’t answer the receptionist right away, causing her to lead Buck back to the office. “He probably has his music on again. He focuses in and forgets the rest of the world, sometimes,” she explained, shaking her head.
Sure enough, Patrick could be seen laying on his couch, fingers tapping on his chest in time with Beethoven’s Fur Elise. When the receptionist cleared her throat, Patrick looked up. “Oh… is it work time already?” He grinned wide and sat up, adjusting his jacket and waistcoat. “Buck, right?”
For a moment Buck simply stood confusedly in the doorway, staring at the man sprawled on his couch, His eyes were closed and he was seemingly out of touch with the rest of the world as he tapped along to some classical piano piece Buck faintly recalled his mother playing when he was a kid. As Doctor…..Jane, was it? Popped back upright—declaring now was work time; Buck could only wonder what time he’d just walked in on—and inquired his name, he nodded.
“Ah, yeah, that’s what I go by. The forms’ll say Evan though, if that matters. Um….that was…a nice song. I don’t…remember the name of it, but it’s a good one.”
"Doesn't matter if that's not what you go by," he replied, gesturing him to sit. After thanking the receptionist, Patrick hummed softly and moved to his tea nook. He didn't seem to look at Buck too much, yet, but he could already see the hints of apprehension.
"Für Elise," he mused, sighing softly. "I find Beethoven... stimulating. It makes thinking easier." The blonde glanced back and held up one of his spare cups. "Tea?"
