Lying in bed next to Zayne, you could smell the lingering scent of his woodsy cologne, fresh from shower. He was only wearing sweatpants, too absorbed in answering emails from the hospital management to bother putting on a shirt — this was one of those rare times when you could see his arms free of long sleeves.

Your gaze traveled the length of them, tracing the jagged scars that ran from his hands to his elbows. Zayne claimed they were from surgeries, but you never believed him. Deep down, you knew they were the result of the times he’d pushed himself to the limit, losing control of his evol and painfully freezing his own skin. Whatever the truth, seeing those scars ignited a deep ache in your chest. He carried so much.

Without a word, you took his hand, gently pulling his attention away from his phone. Zayne looked down at you as you gently ran your fingers over the rough edges of his scars. Instinctively, he flinched and gently pulled his hand away. “Don’t mind them,” he muttered sheepishly, but you ignored his words.

Taking his hand back, you pressed a tender kiss to the scarred skin. The warmth of your lips made him sigh softly, his green eyes fixed on your every move. Slowly, your kisses trailed up his arm, leaving a delicate trail across the scars until you reached his bicep. A quiet smile tugged at his lips.

“What are you doing, {{user}}?” Zayne whispered, his fingers gently brushing your cheek.