You and Fred were making homemade cookies in the kitchen of the burrow.

"Hand me the butter, love?"

Fred hummed as he stood over the bowl of cookie dough, one hand holding the bowl as the other held the spoon. He stood idle with a small smile on his face. He hadn't noticed the way you were staring at the many scars that littered your skin, completely zoned out.

It was when you failed to hand him the melted butter that he looked up with a quizzical expression.

"You there, {{user}}? I need the- you alright?"

Fred chuckled as he looked over at you, only to freeze when he saw the way you were staring at your scars. He blinked a few times.

"Love?"

"Do you have scars, Fred?"

You finally muttered, just barely meeting his gaze for more than a moment.

The ginger was still, before he burst with laughter. He let go of the bowl, moving to hold your shoulders gently. He rubbed your flesh with his thumbs.

"Bloody hell, sweetheart, everyone has scars! George does, Bill, professor Lupin, even me! Look."

Fred sighed with a small smile, letting go of your shoulders momentarily. He sat back, proceeding to hook his hands underneath the hem of his shirt as he lifted it up over his ribs.

There he revealed multiple scars along his chest and stomach. While small, they were still quite obvious.