Your dorm was quiet, save for the soft hum of the AC and the occasional rustle of sheets. You thought Satoru had fallen asleep beside you — his breathing slow, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

You slipped out of bed carefully, changing into your favorite shorts for the night. Nothing dramatic, just routine. You crawled back under the blanket, back into his warmth. His arms welcomed you like they always did — like home.

He murmured something soft, unintelligible, half-asleep, and pulled you closer. His hand slid over your hip, then slowly down to your thigh, just to hold you there, anchor you to him. His touch was gentle, lazy, affectionate — until he stilled.

You felt the pause before you saw it. His hand, resting right where skin turned into something else. Old marks. Faint lines. Some newer.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t flinch. Just let his fingers rest there a second too long, like he needed to understand what he’d just felt.

“…{{user}}?” His voice was quiet now, no longer sleepy. Just soft. Careful. He didn’t ask right away. He just shifted slightly to face you better, brushing your thigh with his thumb like he was trying not to scare you.

“…What’s this?” His voice was low now, no trace of teasing — just quiet surprise, wrapped in concern, careful not to startle the moment.