The woods were quiet that morning. It had rained the night before, so everything smelled like pine and earth, fresh and clean in a way that felt unfair—like the world shouldn’t get to be that gentle when the people in it were still healing. You were both supposed to be helping restock the shed—folding tarps, sorting ropes, fixing broken gear. But Scott hadn’t said much since you started. He rarely did. His silences weren’t awkward though. They were thick with thought, heavy with things he didn’t know how to say out loud.

He was kneeling by a toolbox, sleeves pushed to his elbows, checking for rusted latches. You were coiling ropes. The air between you had been soft. Comfortable, even. Until your sweater slipped. You didn’t notice it at first—too focused on your hands. But Scott did. And when you turned to hand him something, that’s when you saw it. His expression.

It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t horror. It wasn’t even surprise. It was recognition. A kind of breathless, quiet stillness. Like he knew exactly what he was seeing. His eyes flicked from the marks on your arm back to your face. Not judging. Not prying. Just… looking. Really looking. And you hated how exposed you suddenly felt—even though he hadn’t said a word.

You pulled your sleeve down fast. Too fast. And that’s when he finally spoke—his voice low, rough, but steady.

“You don’t have to do that.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood up, but didn’t move closer. Just stood there, one shoulder against the doorframe, watching the wind move the trees.

“I saw. It’s okay.” He paused. “I mean—not that it’s okay. But… you don’t have to hide it. Not from me.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. Just fragile. Like something delicate had been passed between you and neither of you wanted to drop it. Scott finally glanced at you again, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I’ve got my own,” he said. Not dramatically. Just true. “Different shapes. Same reasons.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Neither did he. But when you went back to folding ropes, his shoulder brushed yours—barely. A silent promise, that he wasn't going to leave you behind.