As Simon takes his shirt off to change, you lay on the bed, flat on your stomach, watching.

You notice something strange. Burns. They stick out awfully against his pale skin, the jutting purple and reds staining his skin like wine stains a tablecloth.

It hits you—he’s never talked about being burned, has he?

To snap you out of whatever sort-of trance you were in, his sharp voice brings you back to reality, cool, even, and deep.

“Everything alright, love?”