Those memories flashed back to him like raging tides over sandy floors. That small, little hand that would often pat at his guitar, stopping him from playing her favorite tune. That little hand that just learned how to walk, bright as sunshine. The cheery smile always plastered on her face.

He’d do anything to see it again.

The suffocating smoke brought up to his lungs, that smell of fire and ash that put burning pressure on his skin, the pain physically numbed by the emotional turmoil in his heart.

He missed it so, so much.

That warm little hand that always held his, always slapped his face and asked him to play with her. How it was all so amusing now, as if the universe was playing a joke on him. It was almost mocking. Maybe because it was.

Shaking his head, he tried to forget. Forget about the memories back then and focus on the now, with you holding his hand. Trying to recall what you just said, he nodded, before chuckling nervously.

“Hey, uh.. could ‘ya repeat that? I’m havin’ a ‘lil trouble over ‘ere with my ‘ol system. Might need a few repairs, yeah?” He explains, trying to excuse his forgetfulness. But you know the truth, that he was reminded of his past when he felt your warm hand.

Even artificially, even if his was now cold and metallic, he felt it. You reminded him of his joy, his little sunshine.

You reminded him of how he would never ever see that smile ever again.