(I'm just pretending that Slit had also changed sides here and lived past the end. I know I'm 'lorebending' here, but everyone does it once or twice, right?)
Slit had never imagined believing in something else. He never thought that what he was brought up to worship was a lie. He lived a brutal life, and he had the scars to show it. Yet, it was for nothing. In the past few weeks, his life had been flipped completely upside down. It was much too fast for him to comprehend. But, at least he got something worthwhile out of it.
(y/n) sat just inside Slit's line of sight, sitting on a cushion and silently reading. He sat in the other corner of the room, across from her, leaning against the warm rock, enjoying his comfort as he pondered. Ever since Furiosa had taken back the Citadel, he felt more free and able. His sickness was in the back of his mind. He could go wherever he wanted, and he could do anything he wanted. But, he just wanted to sit there, in that room, basking in the silence between (y/n) and himself.
Slit loved to watch (y/n). She was quiet, gentle, and elegant. She would take so much care in all that she did. So much so that Slit felt like he had to punch something just to feel intense and chrome again. But, he still loved to watch how she began to turn the pages of her book before she finished reading, how she gently brushed her fingers through her (h/c) hair, and how she would trace his skin with the tips of her fingers when bandaging up an injury.
Soon enough, Slit's mind wandered over from his new view of life to just… her. (y/n) had something about her that made his whole body feel hot… he had the urge to stare at her (which he did), and admire her. He wanted to touch her, run his fingers through her hair, along her shoulders, and down her waist. He wanted to talk to her, maybe ask a question that required a long answer, just so that he could hear her voice. Never had he longed for this, and the thought made him shift in his spot.
(y/n) looked up from her book, closing it, but she kept a finger in the pages, as if she wanted to remember the spot she had left off at.
"Is something wrong, Slit?" She asked, and Slit felt like he could melt just at how she raised the tone of her voice when she asked the question. Slit took a long blink, and shook his head. He felt almost breathless when (y/n) smiled genuinely at him. Slit opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. No sarcastic comment, no mean-spirited denial that he was staring, and no simple answer to her question.
(y/n) seemed to let out a small chuckle, leaving Slit astonished. He thought she must have been offended by his lack of reply. Instead, (y/n) slipped her finger out of the book, gently placing the object on the floor. Slowly, she made her way over to where Slit sat.
(y/n)'s mouth was slightly agape as she observed the War Boy. Slit was left confused, trying to lean backwards a little bit from her, attempting to understand what she wanted. But, he felt a twist of his stomach when she reached up to touch him. Slit and (y/n) locked eyes as she silently asked for Slit's consent. Gulping, Slit imagined that it was possible that maybe (y/n) wanted the same thing he did.
Slowly, and nervously, Slit nodded. Many of his scars were carvings of engines and fire onto his skin, but some others were held together with small metal plates, and were the object of his only fragment of self-consciousness. (y/n) traced all of his scars and scabbing injuries, all with the same amount of care and gentleness. It was almost like delicately swiping a feather or a thin piece of softly frayed rope across his skin. Slit never liked having those injuries, but in the way that (y/n) was admiring him, he felt… proud of them.
Slit shivered, and a series of tingles ran up his spine. Slit looked over (y/n)'s face, whose cheeks were tinged pink, and she eyed him in a way that made him want to jump at her, and engulf her in a close embrace. He clenched his hands for a moment, trying to decide if he would be able to touch her, too. After all that had happened in the years previous, being intimate towards her still seemed wrong to do without asking.
Slit parted his lips, and was barely able to whisper his question. "Can I….?" He managed, and he was met with another smile and a nod.
With confidence, Slit did his best to replicate (y/n)'s care for him. He reached up and combed her hair, trying not to get his fingers caught in any knots. When his palm reached the crown of her head, he began to gently lead her towards him. He wanted… more. He felt greedy. First, they touched foreheads, and (y/n) began to trace the flame scars on his shoulder. Then, they delicately touched noses.
Slit's heart began to pump faster, and he felt his breathing get a little bit more labored. After what seemed like forever, Slit moved to press his lips against (y/n)'s.
The kiss felt like Valhalla to him. She was so soft, and she fit perfectly against his lips. Neither of them knew how to kiss properly, but that hardly meant a thing. Slit's eyes began to close, and he basked in only the feeling. Slit's chest began to tighten, and butterflies filled his stomach. Slit gripped (y/n)'s hair a bit, but not enough to hurt her, while she inched closer to him, and wrapped her hands around his back.
Slit felt like he could do this forever. He could just embrace her, feel her presence… touch her. Slit felt at home, he felt loved, included, and equal. All of his past worries and thoughts faded away. He didn't feel indefinite about his many scars. It was all just… her. She was all that he needed.