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Michael hated his scars.
He hated what they reminded him of, all of the things that he had been through, the parts of his past that he would rather not have to think about on the daily. But he had to because just looking in the mirror meant that he was looking at them again.
They curled around every limb of his body, down his arms, across his chest, digging into his legs and arms. There were harsh lines down his neck and a few across his face as well. Michael knew that he wasn’t the most attractive because of them - before he had looked alright, in his own personal, non-narcissistic way. But now… now he hated his appearance more than anything.
When they were newer, before the years had passed, he had been forced to look at them quite often because he needed to care for them so that he wouldn’t get any new infections. He hadn’t wanted Jeremy to have to look at them, so he had tasked himself with doing the entire process himself.
For a long time after that, he would stand in front of the mirror, tracing his fingers down each of the scars. Some were deeper than others, some were circular, others were linear, all of them were an ugly pink, grey colour. No matter how much time passed, they didn’t really fade. They were still as bright as they were eight years ago when they had healed together properly.
His torso was the worst, it always had been, because of that mess with the scooping room. There were contracture scars and hypertrophic ones - all mixed about throughout his skin. The gashes had never healed correctly since Michael had been forced to fix himself up himself. The incident had happened before he knew Jeremy. He wouldn’t have had anybody even if he wanted.
So, Michael had gotten by with a sewing needle, thread that certainly shouldn’t have gone through his skin, and lots of hydrogen peroxide. In Michael’s opinion, fixing himself up was even more painful than the incident itself.
There were scars from other things as well. Small ones from when he was a child, tripping on branches and knocking into the corners of desks when he was still growing into his lanky body. There were small nicks from when he taught himself to shave - though he had never really grown all that much facial hair to make it actually worth it.
Plenty of scars had come from other Freddy’s as well - each location making him fight for his life just a little more. Scratches, gashes, burns, Michael had an array of just about every kind of injury that someone could dream up.
And he hated them.
He tried his best to not think about it, to just move on when he saw his reflection - or better yet avoid them entirely - but he couldn’t always do that. He hated every aspect of his appearance. His skin was greyer than the typical person, and his hair was coarse and speckled with grey as well. In Michael’s eyes there had always been grey in his hair - he had always been so stressed.
There was one person that thought he was beautiful though, regardless of anything that Michael said about himself.
“Mikey?”
He was standing in the bathroom again. Michael hated standing in the bathroom, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself from doing so constantly. He turned around, his heart jumping slightly. “Hey, Doll.” He turned back around, looking back at his reflection.
The bags under his eyes never went away - even now - when everything was over and done with. Michael knew he was safe now, safe for good, and he still couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. “Is this where you’ve been?”
Michael didn’t know how to respond. He listened as Jeremy sighed, “I’m going to take your silence as a resounding yes.” He came up behind Michael, wrapping his arms around the taller. That was something that Jeremy brought into his life - he was one of the only people that Michael could deal with touch from. There wasn’t anyone in the world, no one left at least, that he would allow to do this.
Jeremy’s arms were strong, compared to Michael at least. He had changed a bit since the first time they had met - seeing as that was nearly a decade ago - but Michael wouldn’t have him any other way. “You’re stuck in your head again, darling.”
He knew better than to respond.
“What are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours?” Michael bit his tongue, stopping himself from interrupting. He knew what Jeremy would say if he heard what was going on in Michael’s head at the moment. But the other didn’t need him to say anything to understand what was going on in Michael’s head. “Mikey,” his voice dropped, getting to that calming tone that made Michael melt.
“It’s the scars again, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
Jeremy took a deep breath. One of his hands came up the side of Michael arms, tracing over the divots in the skin. Michael had had a run in with Foxy in ‘93. Not the best night of his life, but compared with other things that had happened it certainly wasn’t the worst. “You’ve been through so much, too much.” They’ve had many nights like this, Jeremy manoeuvring his hands down Michael’s body, telling him all the things that nobody else would. “But these,” both his hands slid against Michael’s sides, “these show that you’ve made it through. You’ve fought through some of the hardest things in the world, and you’re still here.”
My fault. Michael would always think, it’s all my fault.
“You are beautiful, darling, the most beautiful man in the entire world, even more because of what you’ve accomplished.” Jeremy was quiet for a moment, just letting his fingers trace over Michael’s torso and arms, across his back, and sloping over his shoulders. He watched intently, to every inch that Jeremy covered. It was hypnotising, insanely so. Everytime that Jeremy did this it ended up lulling Michael into a sense of security - although this time he knew it was anything but false. It would always be real with Jeremy.
Finally, Jeremy wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist once more, his chin resting on the other shoulder. “You’re amazing. Can you say that?” Michael was quiet. “Alright, just repeat after me, ‘I’m safe.’”
“I’m safe.” He knew that was true now, with Jeremy by his side he’d always be safe.
“‘I’m loved’”
“I’m loved.” That was harder to admit. Logically, Michael was aware that Jeremy loved him more than anything, that he had loved Michael for years, but saying it was just so much harder.
“‘I’m beautiful.’”
Michael didn’t want to say it, but he knew that Jeremy would wait until he said something at least similar to it before they left. They had been through this routine enough times for him to be aware of that. “I’m beautiful.”
“Hell yeah you are,” The man pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come on, I’m exhausted. It’s way too late to still be awake.”
Michael followed him into the bedroom, thankful that Jeremy Fitzgerald was in his life.