A/N: Just a reminder, I'm still on hiatus. I wrote this before I left.

You pulled the sweater tighter over your shoulders, hiding under the cozy knit. Your boyfriend raised his eyebrow, holding a hand slightly extended to test the temperature.

“It’s really hot. Are you sure you want to wear that?” You nodded quietly, wrapping your arms around your ribs like a protective wall. He lowered his head, peering directly into your eyes.

“Are you alright? This isn’t like you.” Again you nodded, afraid that by responding you would feel compelled to tell him the truth. You had forgotten when you dressed yourself that evening that the dress you wore offered an open view of your back. Although it had been years since your illness, the harsh scars still remained like graffiti on an otherwise pristine wall of brick.

There was no logical reason to be ashamed, yet your ignominy blossomed with the idea of his seeing them. Politely he dropped the subject, and continued the conversation in a more comfortable direction.

After dinner you both returned to your apartment, and he gestured once again toward the sweater.

“You can’t possibly want to keep that on in here. It’s too hot!” You shook your head, picking at the cloth with your head hanging low. He sighed, easing himself to the couch with frustration reflected in his dark eyes. “Look, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I’m worried! Please, can’t you just tell me?” You exhaled heavily as well, scooting next to him on the soft sectional.

“Remember how I told you about when I was sick?” He nodded, concern marking his features. Your voice was nearly inaudible, yet he hung to every word. Shifting under the cardigan, you pulled it away, turning around so he faced your back. “I just…didn’t want you to see this.” He offered you a light laugh in response, leading a confused and hurt expression to form on your face.

“That’s all? Baby, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” He leaned close to you, his breath drawing foggy coils of warmth on your skin. His hand touched lightly against your scar, the heat sending a shiver through your nerves. “It makes you unique.” He traced the mark, his fingers moving with a slow and controlled movement. “Special. And beautiful.” His hand followed back up the lines, his fingers resting gently on your shoulder.

You turned around, staring at his eyes with a touch of bewilderment. He didn’t seem disgusted as you had worried, and appeared to even appreciate the contours that travelled down your spine. His palms cradled your chin comfortably.

“You’re the good kind of different.” You smiled with your lips, eyes wavering less than they had before. “Besides, those scars show how brave you are. Braver than me.” Your expression brightened.

“Thank you,” you whispered, still stunned by his encouragement. He responded with a kiss, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your frame.

“Thank you,” he said. “For letting me see.”