[27]

My hands are tightly holding onto Chester's waist as our lips move in sync. His scent is in my nose, leaving a content feeling in my stomach, and my hands are on his skin, touching, discovering.

This shit is new to me, but it feels goddamn right. It feels like I know exactly what to do. As if I had done nothing else since my birth.

Chester's fingers move into my hair, burying themselves into them, gaining a low groan from the back of my throat. I let my hand wander up his back, feeling the outlines of his spine, when suddenly, a whimper escapes him, stilling my movements. It's not one of those that I had heard before; it's one that I never wanted to hear again.

It is filled with pain, a chocked sob mixed into it. I pull back and look him in the eye, instantly spotting the panic that is swirling around in his orbs. I feel a pull at my heart as I watch tears well up in his green eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask, hiding the panic that is bubbling up inside of me with an unwanted harsh tone. His body flinches underneath my fingertips at my hard voice, making the panic grow to dangerous heights.

It's been ages since I last felt an emotion other than anger and annoyance. So, feeling such a big amount of panic build up in my stomach, is not only weird but irritating as well. I never wanted to see Chester like this again, never wanted to see tears in his eyes again.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," he chokes out and attempts to get off my lap, but I hold him in place, my fingers unintentionally digging into his skin, emitting another whimper from him. Instantly, I loosen my grip on him just enough to secure that he wouldn't be able to get off my lap, but wouldn't whimper again either.

"What's wrong?" I repeat as softly as I could muster, the panic still very much evident by the slight sharpness around the edges of my voice.

A tear rolls down his cheek, punching the walls around my heart with so much venom that I feel them vibrate. I stop myself from tightening my grip on him and instead clench my jaw. "I- . . M-my bruises," he whispers so lowly that I almost don't hear it, but I do anyway.

As his words register in my head, my stomach sinks, effectively ripping down a part of the walls that are supposed to protect my heart. "What bruises?" I find myself saying, not really wanting to hear a reply, but needing to have one anyway.

He lowers his head, his hands dropping. "N-nothing." Once again, he tries to wiggle himself out of my grip but I don't even budge, his body way too weak to be able get my hands off of him. Slowly, his breathing gets faster, more uneven, his hands curl into fists around my shirt and tears start running down his cheeks. The urge to wipe them away and hold his face grows with every tear that slips out of his glossy eyes, but I don't want him to escape my grasp, so I hold my hands in place, ignoring the itchy feeling in my fingertips.

And then, without giving me time to prepare myself for it, he crumbles, his choked sobs turning into full-on cries that tear down more and more parts of the walls around my heart until none are left, my heart unprotected, unguarded - until the pulling on my heart gets too much to handle and I finally let go of his hips and instead wrap my arms around him, pulling him into my chest.

His tears soak the fabric of my shirt, his cries filling my ears; but I don't care. The heavy feeling in my chest - one that I'd almost describe as an aching pain - is all I can think about, along with the question why he can make me feel this way. Why he affects me so badly that he could tear the walls around my heart - that I've spent my whole life building - down with only his cries.

I clutch onto him with a heavy chest, listening to his cries and rubbing circles into his back until his movements still and soft, almost inaudible snores replace them.

Carefully, I grab him by his waist and roll us around so his back is on the couch and I'm on top of him. My eyes roam his face, his red tear-stained cheeks not sitting well with me. I brush a loose strand of hair behind his ear and watch his chest move up and down softly as he puffs out small breaths of air through his parted lips, my features softening.

He looks like a baby when he's sleeping.

Then, against my will, my eyes travel down to his stomach in a pitiful attempt to figure out what is underneath the black fabric. The idea of seeing bruises on his pale skin makes my blood boil, the images of it setting a wave of anger free that rips through my body and drags my unprotected heart down along with it.

The itching in my fingertips intensifies, this time not to wipe the tears on his cheeks away, but to find out what causes him pain. I want to see it with my own eyes what had him whimpering in such a pain-filled way. I know it's wrong, he probably wouldn't want me to, but I need to - I need to find out.

Slowly, I bring my hands down to his hoodie, curling my fingers around its hem. However, before I can pull it up, Chester jolts upwards, a breathless yelp escaping him as his anxious eyes roam the room until they land on mine, the panic dissolving. "What's wrong?" I ask as I sit down on the couch properly and lay my hand on his leg, trying to calm whatever turmoil is going on inside of him.

"J-Just a nightmare," he mumbles dismissively, as if he hadn't just shot out of his slumber like he had been killed in his dream.

I gaze at him emptily, the nagging at the back of my mind growing by the second. I need to find out.

"Can I see them?" I blurt out without thinking, catching him off guard.

His eyes snap to mine, surprise and confusion intermingling themselves with each other as they swim around in his green orbs. "The bruises," I add carefully, causing his breath to hitch.

He scoots a bit backwards, his back hitting the armrest of the couch. My eyes are trained on him, following his every move, his every expression, my stomach churning with every sign of pain on his face. "N-No," he replies in a whisper, wrapping his arms around himself.

I let out a sigh, tension rising inside of me at the sight of fear in his eyes. I don't want him to be afraid of me.

"Sorry," I mumble, my words muffled and barely audible, and stand up. I'm not good with apologizing or with showing any kind of positive emotion in general, so instead, I walk over to the kitchen and get myself some canned drink.

Popping it open, I bring it up to my lips and let it run down my throat, its coolness soothing my agitation just the slightest bit.

"Do you . . " Chester suddenly speaks up behind me, making me whirl around. His eyes are filled with nervosity as he fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, his voice reluctant and anxious when he continues, " . . . really want to see them?"

Setting the can down, I take a step towards him, my heart slowly starting to pick up its pace. His eyes follow me, his fingers twirling around the fabric of his hoodie that I had so desperately wanted to see through just a couple of minutes ago.

"You don't have to," I admit, watching his tense stature. Though I'm itching to see it, and it'd drive me insane if he didn't do it.

"N-No, I want to. I n-need to," he whispers.

My heart starts slamming harder against my ribcage, the anger of imaging those bruises on his skin resurfacing. It surges through my whole body, successfully taking control of every fiber of my being. This is how my anger always turned out. It always took control of me in the end, made me do things I wasn't even aware of doing and had me watching my actions as if it wasn't my own body but that of another.

With every inch of skin that Chester reveals as he lifts his hoodie causes my fist to clench tighter, to a point where my knuckles turn white and my fingernails draw blood from digging so violently into my palm. His stomach is covered in a multitude of colors, all of which are overlapping each other and not leaving even a glimpse of his pale skin.

On top of that are scars littered on his skin, some cutting into each other like crosses and others simply stacked above one another. I suck in a breath through my clenched teeth.

I think back to the scars on my own skin, comparing them. Mine are smaller and less visible thanks to the gap of time between now and the last time a scar was carved into my skin.

"I know." Chester nods to himself, a sad expression creeping onto his face, tugging at my heart strings. I want to speak but nothing leaves my mouth. There are too many thoughts, too many questions, too much anger. "They're ugly," he continues, his voice growing quieter, blanker. "That's why I didn't want you to see them. I knew you'd be disgusted, I-I just needed to show someone. You, I needed to show you. A-And I understand if you don't want to-" Before he can finish his sentence, the lump in his throat clearly audible, I slam my lips into his.

The anger has vanished the minute the tears started pooling in those pretty eyes of his. It overpowered the madness I felt, it overpowered all the thoughts, all the questions - I just wanted him to stop talking, to stop torturing himself. And this was the only way I knew would work.

I wrap my hands around his waist - this time more carefully than before, not wanting to hit the same hurtful spot that I had hit earlier - and pull him closer. He freezes for a moment, overwhelmed and shocked by my sudden kiss, but then, as if on instinct, he snakes his arms around my neck and kisses back.

His scars aren't ugly. They're prove that he went through something that didn't kill him but could have. It makes him seem strong, not ugly.

Our foreheads crash together when we break the kiss, our hair tickling each other's forehead. I bring one of my hands up to cup his cheek and look him in the eye. "They aren't ugly," I tell him before I pull back and take off my shirt in one swift movement. His cheeks instantly heat up, his skin turning bright red.

"W-What are you doing?" he squeals in a way that, strangely enough, makes my heart skip a beat.

However, when his eyes focus on my chest despite his attempts to keep them fixed on my face, the red tint fades into a pink one. His gaze travels over the numerous scars on my skin, curiosity swirling around in his orbs. No pity, no sympathy, no empathetic feelings whatsoever - just plain curiosity.

I take a step closer to him, closing the gap of space between us. His body stiffens but he stays put, his eyes still too engrossed in my scars to notice his own body's reaction.

"H-How did you get these?" he questions quietly as he raises his hand to my chest and traces one of my scars with his finger. His touch sends a shiver through my body, his fingertip causing tingles to erupt on my skin. He looks like he's in a trance, like he isn't even aware of what he's doing.

I grab his hand when it approaches the area where my heart lies and press its palm into my chest, causing him to finally snap out of his daze. His eyes widen when he realizes what he's done and he tries to pull his hand back, but I hold it in place, gazing into his eyes intensely. He gets the hint, stilling his movements.

"I'll tell you when you tell me how you got yours," I offer, whereupon he instantly lowers his head.

I don't let him, however, and gently grab ahold of his chin with the hand that isn't holding his' in place on my bare chest, and force him to look at me. As soon as our eyes meet, he digs his teeth into his lower lip, his nervous habit surfacing.

Putting my thumb over his lip, I drag it from one side to the other, making him stop biting on it. Short breaths leave his mouth, brushing past my thumb as I rest it there. The room begins growing warmer as my stomach twists in a weird way, my eyes locked with his.

"Riku," he whispers, which is all it takes for me to once again connect our lips. He doesn't freeze this time as he had already expected it, but instead moves in sync with me, his fingers slightly digging into my chest when my heart pounds harder against his palm. This kiss is anything but how our other ones were. This kiss is more heated, more passionate, more mind-blowing.

My hands shoot out to grab ahold of his waist, careful as to not hurt him but tightly enough to feel his skin under my fingernails, as I push him into a wall. His free hand goes to bury itself into my hair, making me almost groan out like earlier.

It's like we both lost sense of what is going on and are just following what our bodies are telling us to do. My mind is completely blank, clear of all thoughts except for the one that tells me how badly I want to feel more of Chester - to make him mine.

I lead us over to the couch and push him onto it, letting myself fall down on top of him. A small squeak escapes him as his back hits the couch, stopping me from reconnecting our lips. I send him a glance as in a silent question whether he was fine, and when he shoots me a nod in response, I slam my lips back into his.

Hey there.

Well, this was intense, lol.

Emotional stuff mixed with sexual tension, how lovely.

Anyway,

Riku's got scars,

where do you think he got 'em from?

Stay safe! Love y'all!

❤

- L I S A