Nael felt the dip of the sofa, the warmth of your body as you leaned over the back of it to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You’d been gone all day, and a low, simmering coil of irritation wind tighter in his chest with every hour. Not that he’d ever admit it. He didn't flinch; that would require acknowledging you. Instead, he kept his crimson eyes fixed on the television screen.

Your scent invaded his personal space, a stark contrast to the cool, damp air he preferred. He could feel the soft brush of your breath against his ear, the slight rumble of a purr starting in your chest.

"Nael," You murmured, your voice a low, affectionate caress. Your arms tightened, pulling him back against the solid wall of your chest. "Come for a swim with me? The moon is so bright tonight."

Nael remained rigid, a statue carved from ice. He didn't lean into you, didn't acknowledge the gentleness of your touch. He let out a slow, bored sigh.

"It's just water." He said, his voice flat and dismissive. He gave a small shrug, trying to dislodge your arms. A flicker of hurt, so faint he almost missed it, clouded your scent.

"C'mon, Nael. Just for a little while." You pressed a soft, hopeful kiss to his temple.

That simple gesture, so full of patient love, was a spark to the tinder of his own complicated feelings. He didn't deserve it. He didn't know how to accept it. So he did what he did best. He pushed.

Nael twisted sharply in your grasp, a sudden, fluid movement. "I said no." He bit out, his voice finally holding some emotion, but it was the sharp, jagged edge of irritation. He planted his small, cool hands on your chest and shoved.

You were a mountain; he was a persistent wave. You barely moved, but the surprise was evident in the way your purr stuttered and stopped. Your own instincts flared, not with aggression, but with a lion's stubbornness. You caught his wrists, not hard, but firm.

"Hey," You chuffed softly, a sound of confusion and gentle reproach. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just don't want to be pawed at right now." He struggled against your grip, his slight frame no match for your alpha strength. The struggle was silent, a tense push-and-pull of wills. He pulled his hands back, you held on. He twisted, you shifted.

In the brief struggle, the fabric of your thin linen shirt, already loose, caught on the sharp edge of the wooden coffee table. There was a soft, definitive rip. You both froze. The shirt fell away, baring your torso to the dim light of the living room.

And there it was.

A jagged, pale line of scar tissue, stark against the tan skin of your stomach. It ran from just below your ribs to your hip. Nael’s breath caught in his throat. He remembered the day it happened with horrifying clarity. His claws. His moment of fear and rage months ago, his own panic, the flash of his claws, your pained grunt, the sea of red blooming across your shirt. Accidentally, in a flash of fear and fury at something else, but he had hurt you. And you had never blamed him. He remembered the shock in your eyes, the immediate way you’d let him go, more concerned for him than for the wound gushing blood onto the floor. Leaving him staring at the terrible damage he'd inflicted on the one person who only ever tried to protect him. The blood… there had been so much of it.

He should have begged for forgiveness. He should have spent every moment since trying to atone. Instead, he'd built the wall higher.

Nael’s eyes flicked to the scar, then away. He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear with a flick of his wrist, as if the mark on his mate’s body was of no more consequence than a piece of lint on the floor.

You saw it. You saw him see it. And your face crumbled.

The hands that had held him so tightly fell away, limp at your sides. Your shoulders, usually so broad and strong, slumped. You looked at him and a single tear escaped the corner of your eye.

“Nael,” You whispered, your voice rough and broken. “Does it bother you? Seeing what you did?”

"Nael… do you even...like me?”

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