You've always hated your scars, the scars that dragged along your arms and thighs. You hated the sight of them, a reminder of your past and how you tarnished your own body.

But your boyfriend of four years wouldn't stand for that type of self-loathing. And after yet another night of watching you stare at your reflection in the mirror with disgust, he'd had enough.

Now you sat in bed, short sleeve shirt and shorts on, with Soap planting soft kisses on each scar on your left arm. You didn't know how to react to the feeling.

It was unnecessary, you told him. But he simply shook his head.

"Nothing unnecessary about this," He said, another gentle kiss on one of your scars.