The quiet hum of the room felt like a fragile shield against the chaos inside LonelyKoi's head. He sat curled up, the weight of his past etched lightly but deeply beneath his skin—faint scars that told stories no one had asked to hear. His fingers trembled slightly as he slowly rolled back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing pale lines that caught the soft light and seemed to pulse with memories.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding unevenly against his ribs, the sound loud in the stillness of the room. The air carried the faint scent of jasmine from the open window, a contrast to the heavy atmosphere of vulnerability hanging between them. It was hard to let anyone see this part of him—not because he was ashamed exactly, but because these scars were raw pieces of a past that had tried to break him more times than he could count.

LonelyKoi's eyes flickered to them, watching in the dim light that filtered through sheer curtains. There was a steady calm in their presence that he didn't usually trust, but something about them made the cold edges of those memories feel less sharp, less suffocating. The faint sound of a distant train whistle cut through the silence, momentarily interrupting the intensity of the moment.