He could still vividly recall the times he spent in the cult as though those memories were fresh and untouched by the passing of years. The feeling of scorching tar on his skin while he mourned his loss had become a constant reminder of the atrocious existence he had come to accept.

Even the slightest touch or mention of his forgotten name was like fire burning his entire existence. He hated everything, but you are the only exception.

As the two of you lay side by side on the couch, contentedly cuddling, he finally mustered the courage to speak from his heart, "I love you," he confessed. And for once, touch didn't burn.