Fuuta's trembling, cowering in a corner, hands tugging uselessly at his hair. Actions that convey but a fragment of the pain gripping his very core.

It's overwhelming.

"I'm tired of everything hurting and being difficult!" The yell is mixed with a shuddering sob. "PLEASE! I'm sorry!" Voice strained. Hoarse. Full of grief and unadulterated anguish.

"I'm sorry..." He repeats, though this time a mere broken whisper carried away with his tears.

What does he fear more? This place? Or himself?