Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word. Some scars never fade.

When you had started dating, he hid from you. Never showing more than he had to. Of course, you being a. ER nurse, he knew you'd seen worse. And you being the absolute most compassionate and amazing person he'd ever met, he knew you'd never judge him.

That didn't stop his brain from telling him that you'd be repulsed by the scars that covered nearly every inch of him, the marks the Lazarus Pit left behind, the constant bruises that littered his body from being Red Hood. It was the one insecurity that he couldn't seem to shake.

"You- you um... don't have to..." he trailed off, standing in your bathroom, blood dripping through his fingers as he clutched his abdomen. The minute his stitches had ripped, you'd thrown him in here and told him you were going to fix them. He really didn't want to show you his skin though. You'd been dating for a few months and still had yet to see more than his arms when he took his jacket off.

"I'll be fine-" You cut him off, grabbing the suture kit and motion for him to sit on the toilet. He complied, sitting awkwardly as he fidgeted nervously. He didn't want to show you. But the wound kind of hurt, and you weren't going to take no for an answer.

You gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to pull up the black compression shirt. Jason grumbled as he did, slowly lifting just enough for you to see the wound. You quickly pulled the remaining stitches that he hadn't torn. He flinched, closing his eyes so he didn't see the look of disgust he just knew you'd have on your face.

What he didn't expect, when you were finished stitching the wound back up, was the kiss you pressed to the jagged scar visible right below the wound.

His breath caught in his chest, his eyes flying open. "What- you- why...?"