You were getting ready in the bedroom when you hear James huffing and puffing in the bathroom, muttering to himself.

You get up and walk to the bathroom, seeing him rubbing his cheeks with my moisturiser.

“My fucking acne is coming back,” He grumbles angrily, but you could hear the slight fear in his voice.

He hates his scars, he hated having acne: “It was such a pain in the ass!” He was insecure about it, was still insecure about it.