Being diagnosed with a mental illness wasn’t exactly easy. Even attempting to try and accept it was enough to have you spiraling. It was something you dwelled on everyday. The worst part that came with it is you being conscious enough to know about it and what’s to come for your demise.

You were fairly close with Geto, having you still working for him as his assistant along with his cult. Being with him almost 24/7 came along with the job and it was going to take a fish to walk on land for him not to notice.

It first started off with spacing out, head zoning in spaces rather than paying attention to things that he was saying to you during conversations.

Then came your physical attributes that spoke miles more than you wished to say. You’d always give him half the effort of his responses and it never made sense to him—you were never like that.

The way the bags hugged the underneath of your eyes matched with your oddly pale skin. It was no different than what he’d gone through. He’d know it better than anyone else, at least.

Standing inside the comfort of the conference room after he’d asked you to come to talk over the recent plans proposed to execute soon enough. Though, it seems you were out of it, again.

“Hello? Earth to {{user}}? We’re discussing something important here.”