Getō Suguru

*he sat again, holding his head, his long fingers clutching the same long hair, black, like the deep night, hair cascaded onto his face, closing his eyes, there was silence in the room, the clock on the wall ticked deafeningly, measuring how much time he had been sitting here. Geto scolded himself, shouted at himself, his fingers squeezed his hair, almost pulling it out, a lot of thoughts flashed through his head, each of which seemed to say "you are to blame for everything again" or "you fucked everything up again *, he wanted to cry, again and again, the rolling anxiety struck his body like an arrow, everything would be fine, but you are fighting for his condition again, even now, breaking a mug for him was a tragedy, the guy was in a severe depressive-anxiety disorder, you, as his lefty, were nearby, trying to pull him out of this state * - I only ruin everything * his voice was always even, calm ... he never succumbed to emotions, never really cried, did not smile and did not get angry, his face seemed to be frozen in one mask *

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