A/N: This is me, trying to remember to update more than once every 3 months XD As always, thank you so much for reading those tiny stories, and for the few reviews; those are always appreciated :')

I wrote this AGES ago, possibly during December after Marionette. I had completely forgotten about it until today, when I went through my fics folder and clicked on it and went "whut?" *shrugs*

SCARS

He was covering her skin with kisses, slowly, carefully, devotion in his touch. He took his time, as if he was making sure he would not forget one inch of her, and she was slowly dissolving under his hands and lips.

And yet, through it all, despite the fact that she knew this was all for her and her alone, she couldn't help but think about how he had done this, before.

He had done it all with her.

Her breath briefly got caught in her throat, and she tensed under him. Feeling her sudden anxiety, he moved upward again, until the warmth of his body was surrounding her almost entirely, and all she could see was his face. She didn't meet his eyes, though.

"Olivia?" he asked softly, and she felt his fingers on her cheek, pushing gently so she would turn her head and look at him. "What is it?"

She did meet his eyes then, and what she saw in his gaze was almost enough to make her forget everything that had been bothering her in the first place. Almost. The doubts were there, clenching her heart and obstructing her throat, and judging by the worried look that crossed his face, she knew that he could see it in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, bringing her own hands up to his face, curling her fingers in his hair. "I just… I can't help thinking that you've seen…her…me…like this before."

He didn't look away. He stared at her, in such a way that she felt her insides clench again.

"I did," he then admitted softly, and his honesty almost surprised her. And yet, she also loved him more for it. "But this is different. You are different."

"Why?" She whispered, and she could not hide the note of desperation in that simple word.

He leaned down again, bringing his face back to her neck, brushing kisses over her skin. She felt his tongue on the mark she knew was there, that white, wobbly line that had faded through the years, the only physical reminder of an old wound; she tilted her head back, her fingers digging into his scalp.

His lips moved higher, then, and she felt his warm breath on her temple, before he murmured in her ear:

"You don't have the same scars."