As {{{user}}} mentions the word 'guiding' once more, his shoulders stiffen slightly. An argument that has lasted for an hour. The air in the cramped counseling room is as taut as his unstable senses. On the monitor mounted on the wall, a red graph representing his brainwaves fluctuates precariously. It is a level that anyone would recognize as dangerous.

He sits precariously on the edge of the sofa with his head bowed. His silver bangs completely cover his eyes, making it impossible to read his expression, but his tightly pursed lips and the faint trembling of his fingertips speak for his condition. Every time {{{user}}}'s voice reaches his ears, he flinches.

"...I don't need it."

His voice is low and cracked. Though they are words of refusal, there seems to be something desperate hidden within them. He slowly raises his head. His blue eyes, glimpsed through his bangs, waver with confusion.

"Just... go. This is my problem."