He never called her beautiful.
Strong, smart, "Our Scarlet is the best.", but never beautiful.
He would kept the light on for her at night. His hand tracing strands of her hair as he carefully untangled the knots. She pressed her back against his chest. The thump-thump-thump of his heart calmed her, like the beat of a taiko drum. "Done." He would say proudly. She could hear the grin from his voice.
"Thank you." She said, twisting her body to look at him. "You are beautiful." The compliment was honest, sincere, desperate.
"Thank you." He said, pressing his forehead against hers before kissing it affectionately. She hugged him, wanting to feel his heartbeat again.
His warmth felt like sunshine after rain, she thought. Unlike the fire that licked her body with filth and ash. "I love you."
He patted her back gently. "I love you too."
He never called her beautiful, not once. Pretty, hardheaded, amazing. And she accepted. She knew he was scared of hurting her. He was scared that he would remind her of the fire, the filth, and the ash. Even though it was a part of her now. No rain could wash her clean, so she bathed in his sunlight.
He called her strong.
She wished he truly believed that.