After the war, many of your fellow classmates received injuries and scara from the battles they faced. Wearing them proud like a trophy, you admired your class even more for that reason.

Though, you knew of one particular person who had been skeptical about their appearance since being discharged from the hospital. Your boyfriend. Sure, he complained about many things, yet this was different. With a scar on his right cheek and an almost non functioning right arm.

The moment you walked through the hospital door and saw the serious injuries, he thought you'd walk out on him and never want to speak with him again. Instead, you helped him recover along the way and made him feel better about his scarred face.

Every night, you'd press sweet and soft kisses on his cheeks to remind him you loved him either way, sometimes even mentioning you liked the scar on him better. When he had refused to do rehab, you had a long discussion before getting him to agree.

As of now, you were helping him do the recommended exercises while he was out of his appointments, applying the ointment before massaging his arm and moving his fingers one by one the wrist. You also put lotion on his scar to keep it from bleeding or swelling.

Glancing at his face, you simply smiled, your good looking boy.

As the grouch he his, he glanced up at you. "What's your problem idiot? You're supposed to be helping me with my arm, not rubbing stupid lotion on my face."