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Bliss. That's the only word you could think of to describe this comfortable, almost silent moment with the one human you loved most in this world. Laying on your side as the little spoon with his hand innocently stroking a patch of uncovered skin on your hip was keeping your mind at ease. No music, no movie just the sporadic yells of Ethans voice from the other room while playing his games and the slight chuckles that would erupt from Ethans chest at his brothers' frustration. The sunlight poured in through the cracks in the blinds, hitting your arms and peppering you with its sweet warmth.
No other form of English alphabet could ever describe this moment better than the word bliss.
"I love these." Grayson mutters softly after several minutes of peace. His warm breath tickled the bridge of your ear, sending chills down your spine. Your eyes followed his arm down to where his large hand was placed, tracing the unwanted lines that lived on your side. When you first started dating Grayson and you were still in the process of getting comfortable with each other you tried your best to also be comfortable with yourself. Meaning your flaws, and you did well on accepting what you had to live with - except for your stretch marks. You just couldn't see any form of beauty in them. "Why? They're ugly." You respire, a wave of insecurity washing over you, causing your hand to inadvertently pull your shirt over the area, knocking his hand out of its place.
His warmth was soon replaced with a chill as he moved to sit up behind you. "What makes you say that?" He asks, a serious tone blanketing his usual cheerful voice. You rolled onto your other side to face him and sighed. Was this really something you need to talk about? "What makes you say they aren't?" You question back, not wanting to talk about the scars your body formed. Unknowingly, you had ignited a challenge with him. He smirked and got up to lock his bedroom door, confusing you further. "Show me them." He states, settling back into the mess of sheets. Your heart rate picked up as his eyes bore into your own. Was he seriously going to make you talk about them?
Not wanting to start an argument, you lifted your shirt over your head to show him the marks that painted the skin of your hips, then tugging down your shorts to show him the matching set on your thighs. There you sat, humiliated with yourself, gripping your clothes in your hands.
But he was in awe, grazing his cold fingertips across the hideous lines. "I think these are beautiful, unique even. I mean so many people have them, but none of them are the same. They all splinter out in different patterns. Some people have more than others, but they still look like art on your body." He mumbles loud enough for you to understand his words. He looked back at you for a minute to see the look of pure distaste as your eyes settled on them. "Plus they're really cool to look at. They remind me of lightning bolts and tiger stripes, which are dope." He compliments, kissing the lines on your hip, resulting in a flinch. How could he think the one thing you hated most about yourself was pleasing to look at?
You wanted to be comfortable with your whole self and Grayson words did help with that, but there was no way you'd ever be accepting of their appearance on your body. Grayson was aware that being positive with your looks was a difficult task, but he found joy in being able to extol your flaws and see you flush a vivid shade of cerise whenever he'd comment on the unsightly marks. Truthfully, Grayson loved every little thing about you. He'd never found a single thing to be dissatisfied about, you were the meaning of perfection in his eyes. He only wished you could see the beauty he saw, for yourself.
"I'm just not comfortable Gray. These marks are the only part of me I've never been able to be okay with. They're just disgusting." You say, exasperating the last word in efforts to send him the signal that you didn't want to have this conversation. But of course, the message failed to send.
"Y/N you don't have to be comfortable with every aspect of your body. Everyone has something about themselves that they hate. Like for instance, I despise my laugh. It's loud, spontaneous and I look like a freak." He says, holding your small hands in his big ones. Why would he think such a thing? If his laugh had lyrics it would be your favorite song. "Grayson Bailey Dolan, I adore your laugh. It's one of my favorite things about you." You say, placing your right hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble that grew there.
"And I adore your stretch marks. They're a part of you, just like my laugh is a part of me. If we can't erase them, then we have to learn to live with them." He finishes. You were at a loss for words. Everything he just said, collecting into a bubble in your mind. He was right. You were being stupid. You may hate the very idea of your marks, but Grayson found them alluring, he loved every single piece of you, not just a few.
With all that in mind, you sprung yourself forward, wrapping your arms securely around his neck in a tight hug. "I love you so much." You whisper into his ear, no longer thinking about your least favorite addition to your skin. You could hear the smile in his voice as he repeated the three words back to you. After years and years and not being satisfied with what you saw in the mirror, it suddenly no longer mattered. You had him, he was your mirror, always letting you know how breathtaking you looked in the reflection of his honey dipped eyes.
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Eh, it's kinda short but I think it's cute. I wasn't going to write about stretch marks since I do struggle with the issue myself, but then I thought about people who may deal with the same issue. I know the internal battles people face with their own insecurities and doubts, so I decided that I'll be writing about them and how beautiful they are through the fictional mouths of our beautiful boys. I love you guys so much and hope that one day you can love yourself just as much!
- Renee (:
