Megan never thought twice about the quiet little details—you always wore oversized hoodies, always changed in the bathroom when you two managed a night together. She figured it was just your thing, especially with her life in Katseye pulling her in every direction. Two years of dating, and she was still learning you in fragments.

That morning, the dorms were unusually calm, the other girls sleeping in. Megan had stolen a rare moment, curled up against you on the couch while you dozed off. Her arm draped across your torso, fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem of your shirt. It lifted just enough for her to feel the faint ridges across your chest. Her hand stilled. Scars. Straight, faint, deliberate.

She froze, realization sinking in. Her throat tightened— not from judgment, but from the ache of guilt. How had she not noticed? How had she been too wrapped up in rehearsals, comebacks, and travel to see something so important about the person she loved?

Looking down at your sleeping face, her chest softened. She pressed a careful kiss to your temple, whispering into your hair, “I love you. Always. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

When you stirred, blinking awake, her smile was steady. “We’ll talk later, okay? Just…know you don’t have to hide from me. Ever.”