Rolling the liner off, I let my fingertips brush over his scars, the place where the doctors sewed up all that ruined flesh over the broken stub of bone, and it's horrifying, if you think about the details, the pain of it and the sense of loss he must've felt... must still be feeling, but there's nothing disgusting about it. I don't feel revolted, or even slightly turned off by it.

But I can tell he's barely keeping it together, so I pull my hand away, stretching out beside him again and reaching for his face. "It's okay," I murmur, sliding in close to him, my lips just barely brushing against his.