Scars

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     "I like your scars."

     He looked up at you from where he sat in the grass by the tree. He seemed to be drawing or writing something in a sketchbook he'd been holding.

     He had a long, thin scar splitting his right eyebrow in two, trailing down to a slight curve on his cheek. He had a smaller, pinkish one across the bridge of his nose.

     You thought he looked quite cute with the one on his nose.

     The way you said that to him made his heart skip a beat because nobody had ever told him that they liked his scars.

     He, however, never liked them.

     His pencil remained where it lay on the page of his sketchbook, and he looked up at you and studied your face for a moment. He noted that you had a small scar just over your lips on the right side of your mouth, and you had gotten it from a fight.

     Your lips were busted open and had healed with a scar.

     "I like your scar, too," he said with a slight smile.

     You smiled in return.

     "Thanks."

     "It kind of makes you look badass, to be honest."

     You huffed a small laugh.

     "Thanks. Yours makes you look badass, too," you paused, a cheeky grin on your face, "and the one on your nose makes you look cute." You sent him one last smile before you turned. A light tint of pink tinged his cheeks as he watched you walk away.

     He never even caught your name.

     He'd be sure to next time.


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