Charles was knelt down in front of you, his large hands being oh so gentle as they tended to a fresh wound on your waist. The two of you had to return from a mission early due to this wound. Dutch practically forced you out of it when he saw you were injured. And Charles being Charles, he quickly offered to go back with you and patch you up.

So here you were, the two of you alone at camp, with him stitching your skin together. You were in a bit of a sour mood, annoyed that you were missing out on all the fun. Charles was aware of this, so he stayed silent. Or he was, until he noticed your eyes skimming over his exposed arms. He usually wore longer sleeves that fell about midway down his forearm, rolled back only a bit. But he changed to a thinner, shorter-sleeved shirt when you returned. The main thing that caught your eyes were the scars littered over his skin. You were surprised you’d never noticed them before. Everyone in the gang had scars, it was unavoidable with the life they all led.

“You can ask about them.” He said lowly, his eyes staying focused on your skin as he sewed it together. “If you want.”