Breath

Spots (Chris Cornell)

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First request! --- You're really insecure about your facial acne, and Chris makes you feel better.

Seattle, 1992

Mirrors are not your friend. You avoid them as much as possible. It's not that you think you're terribly ugly, just that looking in the mirror confronts you with a discomforting fact. Your face seems to be a fucking get-together for every spot, bump, and pustule its capable of producing.

It started in middle school and got progressively worse. At first it seemed like no big deal. Everyone gets pimples during puberty, right? Then high school came around and the few zits here and there turned into giant clusters of acne all over your cheeks. You became self-conscious and would try cream after cream to get rid of them. Some would appear to start working but ultimately would fail to clear up your skin. A small part of you still hoped that it would go away on its own.

As years went by, your insecurity got better, but every now and then you will still have private meltdowns about it. Tonight is one of those moments.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit." You angrily rip a makeup wipe out of its container and swipe off the foundation from your cheeks. Instead of covering up the acne, it made it more noticeable. You and Chris are going out tonight and you want to look your best. 

After another round of swearing, a knock comes from outside the bathroom door.

"Y/N?" It's Chris.

"Yeah?!" 

"You ready?"

"No, I'm not fucking ready!" You hate yourself for yelling at him, but tears are about to spill out. He's been nothing but patient with you ever since you two met.

The door slams open suddenly and you gasp. 

"What's wrong?" he asks softly. That's it. The tears start rolling.

"Nothing! I just-I just hate feeling ugly." His eyebrows knit together and he reaches out to touch your hair.

"I hate that you feel that way."

"My face, you know." You gesture to the scars and bumps on your cheeks.

"Nobody cares about that. Really."

You snort and wipe at your eyes.

"I know how much it bothers you and anything I say probably won't help, but you're beautiful. And you have nothing to be insecure about. It's your face and your face is perfect."

"Well, thank you. Probably easy to say since you've never had a pimple in your life," you attempt to joke.

"You didn't know me when I was a teenager. I was kind of awkward looking. Plus, everybody has something they're insecure about, right? You know how I am."

You feel bad for not being able to get over it. He has his own crippling issues to deal with.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Come on." He tilts his head toward the door. "Let's go."

"Okay. Give me a second."

After he leaves, you wash your face with cold water and pat it dry with a towel. You don't feel so ugly now. He's right. It's your face. You decide to go light with the makeup, only a coat of mascara and a lip tint. Taking a deep breath, you smooth your hair and walk downstairs where Chris is waiting.

His lips turn up when he sees you.

"Hi."

"Hi," you giggle. He laces his fingers with yours and kisses your cheek. 

The night ends up being wonderful. He keeps you close to him the whole time. Your cheeks are bare, naked to the world. It surprises you how well you manage. No arranging your hair so it covers your face, no anxious trips to the bathroom to fix your concealer. Maybe you'll make peace with yourself. Someday.

@Cornellsupremacy --- I don't know if this is what you had in mind but I hope you like it! Thanks for the request.