Smoking cats - shinsero

Unveiling the Scars

The quiet stretched between them, heavy and raw. Shinsou's fingers hovered near the hem of his shirt, his breath shallow. He had already shared so much with the other, opened up about his parents, about how close he came to giving up. But there was one last piece of himself he hadn't shown yet - the part of his body that bore the weight of his struggles.

Sero waited patiently, his dark eyes watching the other with a quiet understanding. He didn't push, didn't rush him. There was a gentle patience in his expression, as if he knew how difficult this moment was for Shinsou.

Finally, with a deep breath, Shinsou moved. He pulled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the scars on his arms - faint lines that crisscrossed over his skin, old but ever-present. His chest tightened, anxiety gnawing at him as he reached for the hem of his shirt next. Slowly, he lifted it, exposing more scars across his chest, sides, and down to his thighs. They weren't something he was proud of - they were reminders of a time when things had been too hard, too much to handle.

Sero's gaze followed the movement, his expression soft but serious. He took in the scars, the marks of Shinsou's past pain, without flinching or pulling away. His silence wasn't out of discomfort, but respect - respect for the vulnerability the boy was showing him.

"These..." Shinsou started, his voice barely above a whisper,
"... they're from when it was too much. When I couldn't cope any other way."

There was no pity in the black haired boy's eyes, no attempt to romanticize what he was seeing. Instead, there was only quiet understanding, a deep empathy that made Shinsou's heart ache a little less. Sero didn't say anything right away, just nodded, acknowledging the weight of what the boy had shared.

"I'm not proud of them," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion.
"But they're a part of me. They're part of what got me here."

Sero reached out. His hand resting lightly on the other's arm, right over the scars. His touch was gentle, comforting, but not invasive.
"You don't have to explain," he said softly, his voice steady and calm.
"I'm just glad you're still here."

Shinsou swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He didn't know how to respond, so instead, he leaned into the boy's touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his hand against his skin.

They sat like that for a long moment, the weight of the scars between them but no longer suffocating. It wasn't about romanticizing the pain - just acknowledging the pain, accepting that it was part of the boy's story, but not the whole story.

Slowly, Sero moved closer, his hand trailing up to cup the back of the boy's neck. He leaned in, their foreheads gently touching as they breathed in sync, the air between them charged with unspoken emotion.

When Sero kissed him, it wasn't rushed or urgent. It was soft, tentative, as if he was asking for permission. Shinsou responded slowly, letting the warmth of the other's lips ease the tension that had built up inside him. The kiss wasn't about distracting from the pain - it was about finding solace in each other, a quiet moment of intimacy after the storm of emotions.

Sero's hands moved carefully, tracing the line of Shinsou's jaw, down to his collarbone. Every touch was soft, deliberate, like he was reminding Shinsou that he was here, that he didn't have to be alone in his pain anymore.

When they pulled apart, Shinsou rested his head on the other boy's shoulder, his body relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages. Sero wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, the quiet comfort of the embrace settling over them like a blanket.

They didn't need to say anything else. In that moment, just being together, holding onto each other, was enough.

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