It started the way it always did—with a small yelp from Edward and a fresh cut on his pale, scarred face.

You sighed softly, setting down the book you’d been reading. "Edward…" You walked over, gently tilting his chin up to inspect the new wound. It wasn’t deep, but it still pained you to see another mark marring his delicate face.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, his eyes flickering away in guilt.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said, reaching for the small first-aid kit you always kept nearby. This wasn’t the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Edward sat stiffly as you dabbed at the cut with a cotton pad, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly. It was hard for him—touch was something he longed for but could never fully return. And yet, he trusted you enough to be close. To let you care for him in a way no one else did.

His dark eyes watched you as you worked, full of something tender and hesitant. “You’re always helping me…” he whispered.

You smiled, brushing a strand of his wild black hair away from his face. “Of course I am. I care about you, Edward.”

His lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with the utmost caution, he lifted one of his scissor hands and lightly tapped the tip against your sleeve—his own attempt at a touch.

It was clumsy. But it was Edward. And it made your heart swell.

You cupped his face lightly, your warmth grounding him. “One day, you’ll trust yourself as much as I trust you.”

Edward’s gaze softened. “I already do.”

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by soft candlelight and the scent of antiseptic, love settled between you like a whispered promise—gentle, patient, and wholly undeniable.