‘I—’ he starts.
‘There’s nothing under there that will stop me loving you. Not scars. Not a fucking handlebar moustache. I need to see your face. I need to be able to kiss you without being blindfolded. I need to see your reactions. I can’t do this like this anymore.’
Pulling myself upright, I straddle his lap and wipe my face.
‘I’ll beg if you need me to.’
He takes my face in his hands, running his thumbs over my cheeks. His eyes are filled with pain. The fear of rejection, maybe.
‘You don’t need to beg.’ Reaching down, he takes my hands and places them at the edge of his mask.
Swallowing, I lift the edge of the material, sliding it slowly over his face as he closes his eyes. He keeps them closed as I drop the mask on the sofa, taking a moment to look at him.
I don’t know why he was so worried. I think he’s perfect.
Yes, he has scars. Some still thick and pink and angry, but I still see the boy I adored all those years ago.
‘Liam,’ I whisper. He opens those big brown eyes, ringed in the thickest of black lashes. ‘You’re perfect.’
Leaning in, I press my lips to his, melting against him as his hands grip my waist. I lose my fingers in his dark hair and sigh. Then I shift, dragging my lips over the knotted scar on his upper lip, following it with soft kisses.
He tenses at first, until eventually he relaxes under my touch as I trace every scar on his face. The deep one that crosses over his eye, to the series of pale ones over his cheekbone.
‘All from your dad?’ I ask.
‘No. From a lot of people.’
‘And the ones on your knuckles?’ His eyes shine wet as I glide my thumb over his face, marvelling at finally seeing him. At the boy I remember from so long ago grown into a man. He might wear the past on his skin in a hundred different marks, but they don’t put me off a single bit. I’d treat every single one like something glorious until they stopped being something Liam hated.
‘They are from scars I’ve given others. I’m not a good man, Kat.’
‘Bullshit. They must have deserved it.’ I grip his jaw in my hands and kiss him until he sighs.
‘You really don’t care about the scars?’ he asks when our lips part.
‘I love them, because they’re part of you.’
‘You deserve someone less damaged.’ He talks against my lips, between gentle kisses.
‘We deserve to be happy.’
I close my eyes and rest my head against his.
‘It looked like blood,’ I say, having to face the elephant in the room.
‘I know.’
‘Was it?’
He sighs, ‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It matters to me.’
His hand moves slowly up my spine.
‘Yeah, I think it was.’
We sit like that for a while. Breathing each other in as I learn every plane of his face. Kissing his scars one by one.
