Surfaced. Like trying to push something down into the water that you've weighted down, but somehow, you didn't do enough and it has forced itself back up. [It is an imperfect metaphor, but it'll do for now. They both know that memories slip with age, but it feels worth clarifying a particular detail of it:] A matter I have very much worked to push aside.

[His eyes fall on the pillow and his shoulders just slump forward to concede the point. He had forgotten about the pillows, okay?

The crack, such as it is, does not seem especially offended by the pillow. It does not flicker or fade out of existence, but there is no expansion either, no increase of glowing inky black light. It simply is.]