I'll wait for you (Dayasco)

The scars

The sun streamed through my window, painting stripes of gold across my plush carpet floor. My place was usually a pit of scattered manuscripts and half-finished coffee mugs, but today it was surprisingly tidy. I'd spent the last hour scrubbing, straightening, and generally trying to make it presentable. I didn't want Daya thinking I was fine with having a messy house.

My heart thumped a nervous rhythm against my ribs. Excitement and nerves surged through my body, my mind replaying how well today has went with Irene.

There was a tenderness in Daya's eyes that I hadn't felt in years, a gentle understanding that resonated deep within me. He accepted me. It was a feeling I was still trying to understand, this gentle blossoming of something beautiful within the chaos of my heart.

A soft knock at the door broke me out of my thoughts. I rushed to the door, my hand trembling slightly as I opened it.

"Hey," Daya said, his smile wide and genuine. His eyes, the blue of a summer sky, met mine, and my heart did a happy little flip.

"Hey,"  I replied, a blush warming my cheeks. He got more and more handsome every time I saw him, his normally immaculate shirt crumpled and stained from the days work with a hint of sweat beading up on his eyebrows.

"Sorry I'm a little bit late," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Work got crazy."

"Dont be silly you are fine," I said, pulling him inside. "Come on in."

His eyes swept over my tidy apartment, and he grinned. "You cleaned up!"

"Emm no, my place is always just this immaculate," I tease, my voice a slight squeak.

He chuckled. "You always know how to made me laugh Bosco," He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I missed you."

My breath caught in my throat. His nearness, the scent of his cologne and the faint hint of fresh sweat, sent a shiver through me. He was so tall, his muscular frame filled the doorway, a comforting presence that made me feel safe and held.

He frowned, noticing my nervous fidgeting. "What's wrong?"

"I... I think I should have changed," I stammered, my eyes falling to the joggies and baggy top I was wearing.

"No, you look great," he said, reaching out to gently brush a loose curl from my face. "Honestly I love you in your comfy stuff, you look amazing."

I blushed again, feeling my cheeks burn. 

"Actually," Daya continued, "I think *I* should change. I am a bit sweaty. Can I use your shower? I have some clothes in my bag." 

I nodded, surprised by a sudden wave of exhilaration. "Of course, I assume you know where it is by now," he nodded and laughed in response.

He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me with a lingering sensation of warmth and anticipation. I settled on the couch, pulling a blanket over my legs, and flipping through the channels on the TV, trying to find something we could watch. The air felt charged with anticipation, as I waited for him to emerge from the bathroom.

Moments later, he reappeared, his muscular frame outlined by a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. I couldn't help but stare, my breath hitching in my throat. His skin, usually a smooth canvas, now had a sheen of water droplets, highlighting the contours of his body.

He was fumbling around in his bag, and I noticed something I had never seen before. Two tiny scars, pale and almost invisible against his skin, peeked out from the edge of the towel on his lower back.

Without thinking, I stood up. I wanted to get a closer look at them, I wanted to trace the lines with my fingertips and understand what had caused them. I reached out, my fingers hesitant, and gently traced one of the scars.