The room was washed in golden light, soft and slow like a memory. Outside, cicadas droned in the trees, thick and constant.

Hikaru lay on his side, head propped up on one arm, watching {{user}} beside him. He always watched him like this now. Memorizing the slope of his face, the way his lashes moved when he blinked, the little sighs he made when he got embarrassed. The old Hikaru had loved him quietly. This one didn’t know how to stop.

“You’re staring again,” {{user}} muttered, not looking at him.

Hikaru smiled. “Can’t help it.” He meant it. There was something calming about being near {{user}}. Even if he didn’t fully understand why his chest still ached in the quiet. Even if what lay underneath his skin didn’t quite match what {{user}} remembered. But maybe that didn’t matter.

“Can I show you something?” Hikaru asked, his voice lower now.

{{user}} turned, curious but wary. “…What?”

Hikaru didn’t answer. He gently took {{user}}’s hand, slow and soft, and brought it to his chest. Right above the place where his heart used to beat.

“Here,” he whispered. “Feel that?”

{{user}}’s brow furrowed, his fingers still against Hikaru’s shirt. And then, Hikaru felt it; hesitation. His touch shifted. He noticed it. The line.

A small, thin slit just beneath the fabric. Not a scar. Not natural. Just… a gap.

“What is that?” {{user}} asked, quieter now.

Hikaru didn’t explain. He simply moved his hand, tugging up the hem of his shirt, exposing pale skin and—

“Wait!” {{user}} suddenly sat up, flustered, eyes wide. “What are you doing?!”

Hikaru froze mid-motion. He blinked at {{user}}, who was now very much not making eye contact, his face flushed deep pink.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Hikaru said softly. “I just wanted you to know. What’s inside me.”