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the tenderness of your touch could smooth diamonds to dust.
the heat within your gaze could melt metals; the pure adoration in your eyes could bring eros to his knees. with every soft caress of your hands, like a warm breeze, over the gentle dips and rises of his body, simon can only think to himself that he has never been touched quite like this.
touched and been touched, he has, only with hands that cut like knives and bit like the maw of a wild and starved beast. seared into his skin the everlasting evidence, scars staining and leaving nothing but the marred expanse that was his sad excuse of a body. he had grown to hate his own form, turning from mirrors with nothing but ripples of repulsion and disgust. he couldn’t bear his own reflection. all simon ever saw staring back at him, ridiculing him, was a ghost. the hollow shell of a man that had never once been.
there is a reason for his mask.
and then you walked into his life. like an angel descending from the heavens, you came and forced your way into his heart, and he much too easily let you. you brought with you everything he could ever want—everything he felt he never deserved. you were perfect and pure, unscathed and beautiful. you were bright and hopeful and everything he wanted to but could never be. he was cold and cruel. he was shattered beyond repair. death followed him as if it were his shadow, his hands so deeply stained with the blood of others. far too good for him, you were. you deserved someone better—anyone but him. how could he possibly want you? how could he not? and who was he to think he could come to you, to fall at your feet, when all he had to offer were mere pieces of something that had never even once been?
you wanted nothing from him. he didn’t need to offer you anything. you were all too happy to accept him, just as he was. simon never understood it, and he thought he possibly never would. the way you looked at him like he were the only man in the world, the devotion in your touch when you’d cup his face in your hands. the way you’d kiss him like you needed him as badly as you needed oxygen—like you’d perish without him. the way you’d hold him softly, as if he were so delicate and may just shatter. he’d never understand why you chose him.
but in this moment, he thinks nothing but of you.
“simon,” you breath his name into the flesh of his hip, lips planting soft kisses along his scars.
how you can take a single word, just two simple syllables, and overflow it with such warmth and fondness is something he’ll never know. all he knows now—all he wants to know now—is the gentle press of your mouth in this moment, your molten breath seeping into the crevices of his body and setting fire to his veins.
you’ll take his poison, his hate, all that he fears about himself, and set it aflame, he hopes. your light will bleed into him, and he’ll let it chase away the shadows. let your warmth drive away all that is cold and harsh that plagues him, let you flip him inside out and grant him with your touch the sweet sanctity of rebirth.
he wishes to be made anew by you.
you drift with the softness of a gentle wave over the expanse of his skin, tracing your fingers over ragged scars. he cannot hide the way he jolts under your touch, heart pounding and breathing unsteady. memories so deeply buried rise to the surface once more, ones full of pain and hurt. they threaten to crush his ribs with their weight upon his chest, cave in his lungs, and smother his heart.
but you will always be there to shield him, taking the weight off his chest and easing his burden. your lips murmur “i’m right here,” and your fingertips speak of only the greatest comforts. you’ll hold him and care for him for as long as he’ll allow it. the soft tranquility of everything that is you makes calm of his rapid heartbeat, calming his mind and filling it with only the kind of peacefulness and love you could offer. he collapses into you, and your embrace promises that he will never have to fall again.
your appreciation—your love—fills him, surrounding and drowning any negative thoughts he could possibly have. it’s easy to love him. he is gorgeous. you know how he feels about his scars, but you could never feel the same. they were apart of him and who he was. his skin without his scars would be the night sky without its stars. his mind so incredibly intricate, he never ceases to amaze you. the entire universe and everything beautiful in it could never compare to what he was. his eyes—oh god, his eyes. his eyes held everything your soul thirsts for and more. they told such a story, you had fallen for his soul so deeply before you had the chance to touch his skin. since you had first locked eyes with him you knew you were too far gone—you knew he would never fail to steal your words and leave you so absolutely breathless.
when you next speak, lips coming up to ghost over the soft skin of simon’s neck, all that meets his ears are your words of affirmation. praise pours from your lips, spoken so softly and sincerely it was as if you were praying to a god. he can’t help the way he basks in your worship. when he next gazes upon his reflection, he could no longer be met with the same disgust. he’ll look at his scars and think nothing but of this, but of you and your absolute infatuation, all-encompassing and whole.
his hate for himself, although only momentarily, will be forgotten. your love will seep into him, overwhelming his senses with your affection and devotion, drowning anything cynical he could ever believe. you’ll hold him tightly, and he’ll find home within your embrace.