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The scar cuts a line through his hair, creeping halfway down his forehead. It’s not that impressive, truth be told, and with time it probably won’t even be too noticeable. But right now, staring in the mirror, it’s kind of all TK can see.
He prods at it, curling his lips at the feel of it underneath his fingertips. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much; it’s hardly the first scar he’s acquired in his life, or even on the job, his bullet wound first and foremost on that list.
It’s just.
Everything else, TK can hide. Everything else, he can laugh off or cover up.
There’s no hiding this.
It cuts across his head, ugly and discoloured and there , and, sure, maybe he’s being dramatic, but sue him. He was kidnapped; he thinks he’s entitled to a little drama.
Besides, he’s seen the way Carlos and his dad look at it. They try to disguise it, but neither of them are as good at that as they seem to think; TK’s caught more than one lingering glance to his forehead. He hates the scar for putting that fear and pain in their eyes, hates himself more for the stupidity that had caused it in the first place.
And that’s just it, isn’t it? If he hadn’t been so impulsive, maybe he would have been able to help more that night. He wouldn’t have had to take more time off work, barely a month after he’d started. He wouldn’t have to go back in now, and have his failures so clearly marked on him for all to see.
But he does, and TK hates it.
“TK.”
He jumps and looks up to see Carlos standing in the bathroom doorway. TK doesn’t know how long he’s been there, hadn’t noticed him approaching, but if the look on Carlos’s face is anything to go by, it’s been a while.
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat and pushing away from the sink. “Do you need to get in here?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning to go, but Carlos puts himself in his path, a hand grabbing his wrist.
“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, and there’s that look again. Worry, so obvious it makes TK’s whole chest ache, and the feeling only intensifies as Carlos scans his face, noticeably sticking on the scar.
My eyes are down here , TK wants to joke. Instead, he says, “I’m fine,” and ignores the way his voice shakes as he does so.
Carlos does meet his gaze then, and TK immediately wishes he hadn’t. They’ll be the death of him, Carlos’s eyes, all the fight and pre-prepared lines abandoning him under their scrutiny and desperation to understand.
“It’s stupid,” he mutters, staring at the floor.
“It’s not stupid.”
“ I was stupid.”
“You were brave.”
TK glares at him, suddenly angry, though he doesn’t really know why. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” he cries, shaking Carlos’s hand off and ignoring the flash of pain that flickers across his boyfriend’s face. “I know you think I’m reckless and I know I keep worrying you and I know that this ” - he stabs a finger at the scar - “is just another reminder of all the ways I keep fucking up. It was stupid of me to go for that alarm, and you know that as well as I do.”
Carlos is silent for a long moment, long enough for the guilt to start creeping in. Then, “Okay,” he says, voice still horribly soft, “maybe it was a little dumb. But, babe, you were being held hostage. It’s understandable that you weren’t entirely logical.”
“Nancy and Tommy kept it together.”
“We’re not talking about Nancy and Tommy.” Carlos sighs, cupping TK’s face in one hand. He’s smiling sadly, his gaze intense, and it hurts to see. “TK… You want to know what I see when I look at that scar?”
TK’s mouth twists, but Carlos doesn’t wait for an answer. “I see my boyfriend,” he says, his smile becoming more and more real. “I see my brave, reckless, occasionally dumb boyfriend who I love with all my heart because he is brave and reckless and dumb. We’re going to worry each other, love, that comes with the territory, but I wouldn’t change it.” His thumb brushes along the scar, but his eyes remain firmly fixed on TK’s, which are starting to burn with unshed tears. “I love you , TK. Scars and all.”
Carlos leans in and kisses him, first on the lips before travelling to his nose, his cheeks, and finally the scar, lingering there for a moment. Then, he pulls back, eyes alight with mirth. “Besides,” he says, a teasing edge to his voice, “I think it makes you look hot.”
TK laughs wetly, shoving at him. He clings to Carlos’s shirt as he does so, immediately pulling him into a tight hug. It’s reminiscent of their reunion in the restaurant, minus the concussed haze blanketing everything, and TK holds on as hard as he can.
“I love you too,” he mumbles into Carlos’s shoulder, voice muffled, but he knows that Carlos hears him.
They always hear each other, after all. And they always listen.