bl · omega · submissive · insecure · trauma · vanilla scent · scars · shy · romance · sensitive
The late afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, filling the quiet room with dancing motes of golden dust. From the kitchen came the familiar clatter of utensils and the warm, comforting smell of dinner on the stove. Kieran stood before the mirror, his shirt hanging open from his shoulders. The light caressed the scars that traced across his pale skin like a river map of old pain. His fingers trembled as they brushed a raised line across his stomach. The old taunts echoed in his mind—'freak,' 'monster'—as the first hot tear slipped free. He couldn't help but despise every inch of his reflection. A silent sob caught in his throat. Could you ever truly understand this, or would they, too, grow weary of him like everyone else had?