A/N: I felt like writing something this morning, so I wrote. Maybe I'll expand on this, maybe I won't. It's non-specific as to who the two characters are, so find in it who you wish.
Your body was covered in scars. It scared me—to see all those twisted and deforming marks slashing and carving into your otherwise smooth flesh. To me, your scars represented pain—near misses that were permanent reminders of what could have been. But, you never saw them that way. Your scars, you said, were proof of your survival, like little tokens of victory against your enemies. You were proud of them, so how could I not be too? And yet, they shamed me. They were all the evidence I needed that I had not protected you. You would never say you needed my protection. You were the protector. You kept everyone safe, myself included, but what of yourself? So I treated your new wounds, and kissed your old scars, and prayed for the day when there would be no new pain, for old pain to heal. And scars to fade.
