“I’m sorry,” Miyamura tells you, eyes bloodshot and fingers shaking as he looks up at you, “You must hate this.”

He tries to force a smile, the expression unfamiliar to him after crying for so long. He cries every time he comes to his sessions with you, he is not sure why. Maybe it is because the teeth of your eyes biting into his heart is the only way for him to feel shame for all that he has done.

Hori sent him here, a long time ago, and he sees you every other day at most and every two weeks at least. It’ll help him, she said. He is not sure he believes her anymore ~~but really he never did~~.

He wonders how long you have been a psychiatrist when you don’t respond to his self-loathing. He wonders if you have already lost your capacity to feel.