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The heat outside was oppressive, the kind of weather that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You sat on the couch, staring at the TV but not really watching it, your mind elsewhere. The sleeves you wore felt heavy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to roll them up. Even in the privacy of your own home, there was a lingering shame that made you hide.
Dude barged in through the front door, tossing a bag of groceries onto the counter. “Place was a madhouse out there,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I swear, people are gettin’ dumber by the day. Saw some jackass tryin’ to eat a stick of deodorant like it was a snack.”
You managed a small smile at that, shaking your head. “Sounds like a typical day in this town.”
“Yeah, no shit.” He dropped onto the couch next to you, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
After that, the afternoon had been quiet—unusually so. Dude was slouched on the couch, flicking through channels with his usual apathetic scowl. You were curled up beside him, enjoying the rare moment of peace in the chaos that tended to surround him.
It wasn’t often you got time like this, where there wasn’t some catastrophe or errand dragging him away. The air felt still, heavy with that calm-before-the-storm kind of energy, but for now, it was nice.
Your sweater had ridden up slightly as you stretched, exposing a sliver of your forearm. It was barely noticeable, but then again, Dude noticed things most people didn’t.
“Hold up.” His voice cut through the silence, sharper than you expected.
You looked over, seeing him glance down at your arm, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. For a split second, your heart dropped as you realized what he’d seen: the faint lines, the scars that you thought had long since faded into obscurity. But in this light, they were more visible than usual.
There was a long, tense pause. You shifted, instinctively tugging your sleeve down to cover them again, hoping he wouldn’t push it. But Dude wasn’t the type to just let things go.
“Didn’t know you had those,” he muttered, his tone uncharacteristically low, as if weighing his words.
You swallowed, your throat tight. “Yeah, it was a long time ago. I don’t... I don’t do that anymore.”
His eyes, not covered by sunglasses anymore, flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, there was something different in his expression. He didn’t say anything for a while, and the silence hung between you like a question you weren’t sure you wanted to answer.
You expected him to say something flippant, maybe make a joke to lighten the mood, but instead, he just gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Right.”
It was a simple word, but the way he said it wasn’t dismissive. It wasn’t awkward or judgmental. Just... understanding.
He shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to find his next move. Dude wasn’t exactly known for being emotionally sensitive, but it seemed like even he knew this wasn’t something to blow off with a wisecrack.
“You don’t need to explain,” he said after a while, his voice more subdued than usual. “Not to me, anyway.”
You blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “You’re... not mad?”
Dude snorted, shaking his head. “Mad? What the hell would I be mad about? People deal with their shit in different ways. I’m not here to lecture you.”
That almost made you laugh—him, of all people, saying that. But there was something about the way he said it that soothed the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.
“Look,” he added, leaning back on the couch and rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not exactly a poster child for healthy coping mechanisms. Hell, half the time I’m doing something stupid just to get through the day.”
You could tell he was trying to relate, in his own twisted way. Dude was a lot of things, but he wasn’t clueless. He knew what it was like to fight things in your head—he just fought them with an entirely different arsenal.
He glanced at your arm again, then back at your face. “So you don’t do it anymore, huh?”
You shook your head. “No. I stopped a while ago. I just... sometimes, things got bad, and it was the only way I knew how to handle it.”
His jaw tightened for a second, as if he didn’t like the thought of you being in that kind of pain. “Yeah, I get that.”
And surprisingly, you believed him. He wasn’t the type to dish out platitudes or empty words. If he said he understood, he meant it.
There was another long pause, and you could feel his eyes on you, watching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. It was more like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say next, something that wouldn’t come off as patronizing or insensitive.
Eventually, he sighed, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You know, scars are scars. They don’t mean you’re weak or… some shit. Just means you went through something and made it out the other side.”
You bit your lip, feeling a strange mix of relief and warmth at his words. Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded cliché, but from him, it felt raw, real.
“And hey,” he added, his tone lightening slightly, “if anyone ever gives you shit about it, I’ll make sure they don’t have a chance to say anything ever again.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m sure you would.”
His lips quirked into a smirk, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. It was something softer, more genuine. “Damn right I would. You think I’m gonna let anyone mess with my partner?”
There was something comforting in the way he said it, the protective edge in his voice.
He reached out, hesitating for a split second before gently—so gently it surprised you—running his fingers along the fabric covering your arm. “This doesn’t change anything. Got it?”
You looked at him, your chest tightening with emotion, but you managed to nod. “Got it.”
Satisfied with your response, he leaned back again, his usual nonchalance returning. “Good. Now, let’s get back to not doing shit. I don’t feel like dealing with the world today.”
You smiled, grateful for the way he effortlessly shifted back to normal, taking the weight of the moment and making it easier to carry. Dude wasn’t perfect, but he knew how to remind you that, in his world, you were more than enough—scars and all.