Chapter Seven: No Bruises. No Blood. No Scars.

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A/N - The video above is absolutely hilarious, by an Aussie comedian called Christian Hull. Some things are true, some things are exaggerated but please just realise that it's mostly a joke. At some point in the story I want Kaya to show it to Peter but I just couldn't wait, so, please enjoy... 

I watch Peter as he stands up, not looking at my mangled skin, my scars, but my eyes. He reaches out as if to touch me but then changes his mind half-way through. 

'Kaya,' he breathes. 

I grip his forearms and notice that he's still wearing his Spider-Man suit. 'I'll get you some clothes,' I mumble and after a few minutes of rummaging around, I find somethings.

Peter comes out of my bathroom two minutes later, wearing the baggy black shirt and grey trackies that I leant him. Before you get confused, in Australia, we call them tracksuit pants or trackies. Not sweatpants. Seriously, why would you buy a pair of pants just to sweat in them? Gross, buy some shorts if you're that hot.

We sit sideways on my bed, out backs against the wall and our legs stretched out in front of us, although Peter's feet are hanging off the edge of the bed because he's just a little bit taller than me. Our arms are pressed against each other and I just don't know what to say.

'How come I've never seen them before?' 

I look up at Peter at the sound of his quiet voice and I find myself searching his face for any hint of hatred or disgust. Of course I don't find any. It's Peter. 

I clear my throat and swallow. 'Tony made this sort of, Glamour Technology that hides my scars. It's in the earrings I wear, that way it isn't that noticeable and it's easy to carry around.'

He turns his whole body so that he's facing me and I avoid his eyes, unable to take the full weight of his gaze. He doesn't say anything as his hand slowly reaches out to grab mine and he intertwines our fingers, making it feel like his strength is flowing through me, giving me the courage to look into his eyes. 

This close to Peter, it's obvious, but far away it's harder to tell. His eyes weren't simply brown. They were much more detailed and beautiful than that. His irises were like orbs the colour of pure black coffee, dark and warm, but there was a sort of golden honey tone that made them seem gentler, kinder. I leaned closer, only slightly, and could make out the specks of cinnamon that further away, weren't visible at all.

I lean my head against the wall, my eyes flickering between our hands and his eyes that seemed so simple but if you look closer, you can see all the intricacies. How beautiful. 

I try not to gasp at the lack of warmth as Peter eases his hand out of my grip and his fingers trace the veins on the inside of my wrist. I glance at him but he's watching as his hand moves away from my wrist, hesitating momentarily before his fingers trail along my scars. 

My breathing falters as his fingers lightly dance over my marred skin, travelling up my arm and stopping wear they disappear under my sleeve. In a second of recklessness, I grab his hand, weaving our fingers together again. Peter smiles.

'I think they're beautiful,' he whispers, eyes on me.

I smile back, unsure how to answer. I bite the inside of my cheek before saying, 'Do you know what colour your eyes are?'

A crease appears on his forehead as he frowns. 'Yeah. They're brown.'

'No.' I say.

'No?'

'No.' I shake my head. 'They're the colour of black coffee and there's this lighter, sort of honey shade that makes them bright when you smile. And there's little specks of cinnamon but they're really hard to notice.'

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