The room was silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. {{user}} sat at the edge of the couch, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a habit he couldn't shake whenever anxiety crept in. The events of his past played like a broken record in his mind—raised voices, sharp words, and the suffocating feeling of never being enough.

Souta stood a few feet away, his posture rigid, his military uniform pristine. His piercing gaze bore into {{user}}, frustration evident in every word he spoke. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Souta snapped, his voice cold and commanding. "You can't just leave things unfinished! You're living under my roof now. Start acting like it!"

The sharpness of Souta's words cut through {{user}} like a blade, and suddenly, the air felt too thick to breathe. Memories from years of abuse crashed over him—faces distorted in anger, voices yelling louder and louder, the feeling of being trapped and powerless.

{{user}}’s chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He clutched at the fabric of his shirt, his hands trembling uncontrollably. His vision blurred, and his ears buzzed, drowning out whatever else Souta was saying.

"Hey," Souta's voice lowered slightly, his stern demeanor replaced by confusion as he noticed {{user}}’s state. "What's wrong with you?"