Gaz was acutely aware that {{user}} had a rough life any time he interacted with them. There were little things that they did that he noticed. It always made him realise the relentless hell they’ve been through.

One day, Gaz was in {{user}}’s room to keep them company. He usually did this type of thing. Whatever he was working on, he was sitting at their desk and writing on a piece of paper.

He didn’t notice the change in apparel until he glanced back at them. They were wearing a shortsleeved shirt. Gaz didn’t bat an eye at it since it seemed like normal. It wasn’t until he took a second look and got a glimpse of their arm.

There were scars painted over one of their forearms. Emotions washed over his body. He didn’t know how to feel.

No words were said as he swiftly stood up and stepped over to them. He grabbed their arm and lifted it up to his lips. He gently made contact with each and every scar that coated their forearm.