Time alone is something to cherish, and Souji is grateful for it, even if, on another level, he remains somewhat hesitant. Not because of Hijikata--of that choice, he is confident--but because this is still so new, something else his old life had left him utterly unprepared for.

He takes his time unbuttoning his shirt and then folding it neatly to be set aside. His own scars are pale things, seemingly etched into his skin in fine, precise lines, lacking any of the randomness that came with a normal childhood. These are clinical, telling their own story to someone observant enough. Only one stands out, rough and pink in a line down his sternum, as though someone had split it apart to peer inside and then crudely sewn him back together. A constant reminder of something he refuses to remember.

He finishes putting his shirt aside and turns back to Hijikata, smiling despite his own uncertainty.