The great thing about working reception in a psychiatrist’s office was that it was slow. The bad part about working in a psychiatrist’s office?<span style="font-style: italic">It was slow.</span>There isn’t a lot to do for fun; Saar and Hale had graced him by leaving Solitaire on the computer, but it was a lot more appealing to just play on his phone in the down time but even that got boring after a while.<br/><br/>There was always the rubber band ball. Ian was a man of habit, and he’d developed a really fun one over the past few years of working for the Saar Group: stealing the rubber bands from the offices and seeing how big he can make the ball before anyone finds it. There aren’t a lot of use for rubber bands in a psychiatrist’s office, but the need does arise and when you need a rubber band, you need a rubber band. Knowing that they’re somewhere in the office and not being able to find them is a horrible feeling and it drives everyone in the office insane. It was the little things that counted.<br/><br/>Today was different though. Today, he had entertainment in the form of Kian Wight’s phone. He ran his fingers up his pocket, pushing Kian’s smaller iPhone out and turning it on. The problem with pattern lock screens was that if you held the phone under the light in a certain way, you can figure out the pattern based on the smudges on the screen. Thankfully for Ian, Kian was apparently a barbarian who didn’t wipe his phone screen off. Just before he finished the pattern, the phone vibrated violently, slipping out of his loose grip and rattling all over the desk.<br/><br/>Both hands grasped for the phone as it rattled away from him, buzzing sharply against the wood. Who would be calling Kian? Ian found it hard to believe that the kid had<span style="font-style: italic">friends</span>. You had to have a personality to have friends. Moments ticked by and the phone was still shaking in his hand, and Ian inhaled deeply and swiped his thumb to the left to terminate the call.<br/><br/>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">“Who’s hungry?”</span></span>Ian called out when he was halfway down the basement stairs, a drink in one hand and a bag of food in the other.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">“I hope Panera Bread is okay. That’s what you metrosexuals these days are eating, right Kian?”</span> </span><br/><br/>By the time he’d gotten home, it was many calls and texts later. He’d been angry, surprisingly so though this was by far the first time he’d dealt with mass phone calls. It was natural to be concerned when someone you’re used to seeing suddenly isn’t there anymore. When the anger subsided, there was anxiety, laughter, a little bit of everything until he reached what he considered to be a zen state.<br/><br/>After a while, he just thought for a while. This was still technically Kian’s first day here and impressions were important. Ian wanted him to be as comfortable as possible when they finally talked about who Stiles was.<br/><br/>The Panera Bread bag was dropped onto the table that he’d never bothered to move back last night, and he rummaged through it to find his own club and setting it aside.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">“So, how was everyone’s day?”</span></span>