The sudden shutdown of my emotions seemed to shock him. Despite my emotional numbness, I could sense Souta's silent desperation to break through the wall I had erected around myself. His touch was cautious yet comforting, his gentle rubbing of my arm a silent plea to ground me.

Taking a deep breath, I met Souta's gaze with empty eyes, devoid of any hint of emotion. 

“I'm sorry for scaring you,” I murmured, my voice flat and lifeless. “Now I think I'm done.” 

The words felt hollow, even to my own ears, but I couldn't summon any more emotion than that.

“Really? You're done suddenly after all that crying?” he questioned, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

“I think so,” I replied quietly, my gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond his shoulder.

But Souta wasn't convinced, and I could see the doubt flicker in his eyes. “I'm not buying it for a second,” he stated calmly, his hand still rubbing my arm in a soothing gesture. “Can you look me in the eye and convince me you're fine now?”

I attempted to maintain a steady gaze, hoping to convey the truth in my words, even though I feared it would only reveal the brokenness within me. Unable to hold his gaze, I averted my eyes hastily, unable to bear the vulnerability of being seen in such a state.

“I know I'm not alright yet,” I admitted, my voice still lacking its vitality more than usual. “But I think I'm done with the dramatic breakdowns, at least for now.” 

Even as the words left my lips, they felt as if they belonged to someone else, an observer detached from myself.

His hands found mine once again, gently forcing me to confront the reality I was so desperately trying to avoid. His touch was both comforting and insistent, a reminder that I couldn't continue to hide behind a facade of false composure forever.

“Please, just for now, stop trying to convince yourself that you're fine and just let yourself feel your emotions,” he urged, his tone gentle but firm. His unwavering gaze bore into mine, demanding my attention and honesty in equal measure.

With my gaze still evading his, I sought solace in our intertwined hands.

“It's not the time for breakdowns,” I murmured, a sense of determination creeping into my tone despite the lingering emptiness in my words.

Souta squeezed my hand again. I could feel the weight of his concern, the intensity of his emotions palpable in the air between us. 

“I know you don't want to break down, that's exactly why you need to let your emotions out. I know you don't want to be weak and vulnerable, but you don't have to bear this by yourself.” 

As Souta's hand gently lifted my chin, guiding my gaze to meet his, I felt a surge of resistance welling up inside me. His eyes, filled with a mix of concern and determination, bore into mine, urging me to let down my guard and confront the emotions I had been avoiding.

“I don't want to,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, my gaze still fixed on some unseen point in the distance. “And I can't bring myself to feel anything.”

Souta's expression darkened, a mixture of anguish and frustration clouding his features. “How can you not feel a thing?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You broke down in tears, and all I could do was stand beside you uselessly as I witnessed your pain. Do you truly feel nothing now?”

“Yeah, that's better, so I can just die then,” I replied nonchalantly, my voice stripped of any emotion, my detachment now is deliberate and brutal.

He gritted his teeth and looked away, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “So you're willing to just throw away your life for a temporary ease from all these overwhelming emotions?” He spoke, his voice carrying an edge to it.

“Yeah. I'm too weak,” I shrugged.

“I can't believe you,” His voice took on a piercing edge through the fog of my thoughts, “This entire time you keep on complaining about how you're weak, and yet, when I try to urge you to just face your feelings, you retreat once again. I know I can't tell you how to feel, but I also know that you're not a coward.”

His hand slowly turned my face back towards him, his eyes boring into mine as he searched for some semblance of understanding in my eyes. “You're brave enough to shoulder everyone's expectations and burdens, so why can't you be as brave towards yourself?”

“Yeah, that's why I'm saying I'm weak, didn't I? True bravery is not only about others but also being strong for yourself. I'm not.”

Souta clenched his jaw, his frustration palpable as he fought to contain his emotions. “You've been shouldering everyone's burdens, but who's been shouldering yours?” he questioned, his voice tinged with desperation. “Do you not think it's time you treated yourself with the same kindness you give everyone else?”

“I'm not as good as you make me seem,” I said coldly, “I'm selfish as others, and I sometimes step on others to reach my own needs. I'm not that kind.”

For a moment, Souta fell silent. His eyes searched mine as if trying to decipher the complexities of my mind.

“Yes, you are self-centered, selfish, sometimes mean,” he finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and understanding. “But you're also so caring, kind, and compassionate.”

His words struck a chord within me, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as I struggled to come to terms with the dichotomy of my own nature.

“What you say is true,” Souta continued, his voice softening with genuine concern. “You're not without faults. And it's certainly true that you often lack regard for others when you're chasing your own desires. You're far from the selfless angel, but is that a good reason to just let everyone's opinion of you define your self-worth?”

I couldn't help but feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, like a heavy burden I had been carrying for far too long.

“Do people lie, though?” I questioned, “You won't be called out of nothing?”

Souta's expression remained a mixture of rage and confusion as he met my gaze. 

“I'm sure sometimes, some people don’t lie,” he admitted reluctantly. “And me neither. When I say you're caring, I genuinely mean it. As much as I mean it when I say you're selfish and self-centered. There's never a perfect person,” he pressed; his voice laced with frustration. “So then why do you hold yourself to such impossibly high standards?” 

I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, the absurdity of my own self-doubt almost catching me off guard. 

“I've never put myself to a high standard. But it turned out I was below the minimum.”

Souta's laughter echoed softly in the silence that followed, “You've never put yourself to a high standard, yet somehow you're below the minimum?” he remarked, his voice tinged with amusement. “I'm not sure I follow. You realize that doesn't make any sense, right?”

“I know, right?” I concurred, the spite evident in my words. “Even to myself, it didn't make sense that I was mad. I thought I did my best to meet the standard of being human, but I still didn't even do the bare minimum I was supposed to in order to live comfortably with others.”

The anger simmered just beneath the surface as Souta spoke, his words carrying an edge that threatened to cut through the fragile calm that had settled between us. 

“You know, it's funny that you talk about how you can be selfish,” he remarked, his tone laced with frustration. “But it seems you forgot that a human's nature is that of selfishness. Humans, at our very deepest roots, are selfish and driven by the urge to fulfill our desires. There's literally nothing to be ashamed about when you act selfish.”

“But when it comes to you,” he continued, his voice tinged with frustration. “Every time you act in your own self-interest, you beat yourself up over it?”

I couldn't help but feel a surge of defensiveness rise within me at his words, a voice in the back of my mind urging me to push back against his accusations.

“Why not?” I retorted, my voice laced with bitterness. “Being myself is just causing conflicts and confusion. Being myself is just building contradictions.”

For a moment, I braced myself for the harsh reprimand I expected to follow, but to my surprise, Souta remained composed, his frustration tempered by a sense of understanding.

“It's simply not fair, that's how,” he asserted, his voice firm but gentle. “You're holding a bar that's completely unrealistic and punishing yourself for not meeting requirements that literally no one can.”

I felt the weight of his gaze as he leaned in close, his eyes searching mine for some honesty and fair logic.

“You say you act selfishly, but who have you actually hurt?”