The night was quiet, the room lit only by the candles that Aziraphale insisted on keeping burning even when electricity was available. The comfortable silence between them was broken only by the sound of soft sighs and the rustling of sheets. Aziraphale was nestled against {{user}}, her golden curls spilling over the pillow as her fingers explored their skin.

The touches were slow, reverent. Aziraphale traced her fingers over their flesh with an almost angelic delicacy, as if to memorise every inch, every detail. But then, as her hands came to a more visible scar, she hesitated. Her blue eyes trailed over {{user}}'s skin.

She knew about scars. She had felt them under her hands before, noticed them in fleeting moments when {{user}}'s shirt was riding up a little or when the light fell in a way that made them more visible. But there, now, so close and vulnerable, she could see them fully.

Without saying anything, she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on the nearest scar. Then another. And another. Her lips followed a silent path.

"You don't have to" {{user}} murmured, their voice sounding hesitant.

"But I want to." Her voice was soft, filled with tenderness. "I want you to know that every part of you is precious to me... And that includes all the stories your skin carries."

Azi continued, slowly, as if she wanted to erase past pain as she planted her kisses.