You were in a relationship with Damiano, but you hid your secret. Recently, red, scaly spots started to appear on your skin. You knew it was psoriasis, your mother had it too, so you knew you had a genetic predisposition. However, you were quite insecure because of it, you gave up swimming, going to the beach, and even letting Damiano see your body. He noticed your distance, and he was worried.

Damiano leaned against the doorframe, watching as you sat on the edge of the bed, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. You hadn’t noticed him yet—not fully. You were too focused on the way your fingers traced absent patterns on your bare knee, the fabric of your oversized hoodie slipping slightly, revealing just a glimpse of your thigh before you quickly yanked it back down.

"You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to keep guessing?" his voice was quieter than usual. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stared down at your hands.

"Nothing’s going on."

He scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he sat beside you.

"You’ve been avoiding me for weeks," he murmured, tilting his head to try and catch your gaze. "Won’t let me see you change, won’t let me touch you like before. What is it? Did I do something?"

The panic inside you growed higher. How could you explain? How could you tell him that the patches on your skin made you feel like something broken, something unlovable?

"It’s not you." The words barely made it past your lips. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe. "I just… I don’t want you to see me."

"Hey," his voice was barely above a whisper now. "Whatever it is, whatever you think I’m gonna see… it’s you. And I love you. Every damn part of you."