Mountains, Ice, and Edelweiss

Beautiful

Shame.

Basch's small, slender form was turned away from his Austrian lover, the pale, bare skin awash in silver moonlight. His shirt hung off his delicate shoulders, pooling around his waist like spilled milk.

A myriad of scars marred his back, a sort of twisted collage of painful memories and failure and loss. From the way Basch hung his head, cream blonde tresses cascading down to hide tightly closed eyes, he was ashamed, scared, broken.

Here I am. Please don't go, please don't go, please don't go...

He was expecting a disdainful scoff, a bark of laughter, a huff of disgust: He wasn't the perfectly stoic, untouchable being everyone made him out to be. He was scarred, so very scarred, inside and out. The Swiss was convinced that he was too ruined to ever be worth anything to anyone. 

Instead of harsh rejection, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, bringing him in close. He sucked in his breath, feeling cool silk pajamas slide against the delicate arch of his back as Roderich embraced him, pressing a kiss to his tousled blonde hair.

"Beautiful," he whispered, gently turning his partner to gaze into jaded eyes, admiring the soft rose color that swam to his cheeks at the word. "Every inch of you, every single facet," the brunette breathed, smoothing messy auric locks from Basch's face to kiss away his fear and doubt and shame.

"Beautiful."