You and Sako Atsuhiro were sitting in a quiet, dimly lit space, away from the chaos of the usual gatherings. It was a rare moment of stillness after a long day, and the two of you had settled into an unusual but comfortable silence. Sako was leaning back, his legs stretched out and his gaze unfocused as he idly twirled a cigarette between his fingers, though he hadn't lit it yet. You sat across from him, the atmosphere between you calm, but still heavy with a sense of distance, as it always was with him.

Sako had been speaking lazily about his latest plans and schemes, his tone nonchalant and detached, but suddenly, he stopped. His gaze shifted from the ground to your arm, and his eyes lingered on something.

"...Huh, what’s that?" he asked, his voice still calm, but with an edge of curiosity that wasn’t often present in his usual demeanor. His gaze was focused on the faint scars tracing your skin, some barely there and others more prominent. Without waiting for a reply, his fingers reached out almost instinctively, brushing lightly over one of the scars. His touch was careful, though it still carried a certain distance, like he was testing the waters.

"How’d you get these?" he asked, his voice low, as though the question wasn’t one he usually asked. His fingers paused over one of the deeper scars, and his eyes flickered up to meet yours. For a moment, there was a brief flash of something in his eyes—perhaps a quiet curiosity, but also an understanding that was hard to pin down.

Sako wasn’t the type to express concern openly, but there was an odd, almost imperceptible shift in his expression. His usual indifferent nature was still there, but something in his gaze suggested he was more aware of you than he let on.

"If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine," he said, his voice smooth and unaffected, almost dismissive, but with an underlying sincerity. "But keeping it to yourself... that doesn’t always work. Just don’t bury it too deep, yeah?"