Xisuma POV-

I slump back in my work chair as I stare at the screens in front of me. I'd spent most of the day working out a couple bugs and glitches from our server and now that I was done, I noticed how hungry I am. I stand shakily and stumble to a fridge, pulling it open to be met with nothing but a piece of stale cake and a piece of uncooked steak.

I slump to the floor, not in the mood to cook when I hear a couple rockets and I glance up from the floor to see Scar glide in. I groan and sit up as Scar walks over to me holding a container with a delicious smelling meal. He lightly pads towards me and kneels beside me.

"You're working yourself to death."

I smile tiredly at him as he pushes the food into my hands and I open the lid to the full smell of rabbit stew. I took a sip to test the temperature; it was perfect. I quickly gulped down the rest of it and began picking out the leftover chunks of rabbit meat and carrots. Once I finished, Scar took the container back and I wiped my fingers on my tee-shirt. I had ditched my armour in the early afternoon.

Still kneeling beside me, Scar carefully lifted a hand to the scars I knew where there. He traced his finger over my eye, forcing me to close my eye as I reached a hand to his face to rub my thumb over the scars adorning his cheek.

"X? Will you tell me where these came from?"

I sighed, not knowing where to start. I wanted to tell him as he deserved to know, being my new boyfriend and all, but how was I supposed to make the words appear. I made eye contact with him as he gives me a half smile before moving the hand on my face to cover the hand on his face. He shifts to sit in front of me, cross legged as I copy him. I let him carefully remove my hand from his face as he carefully removes his shirt.

I glance down his exposed torso and I'm shocked by number of scars accenting his otherwise perfect skin. The scars on his cheek trace white lines from his cheek, down his neck, and harshly in front of his shoulder. I large angry white scar falls vertically down his side, appearing like a badly stitched sword wound. Lots of dark scars make a distracting pattern down his arms that I assume to be cat scratches. Others similar to this littered his skin over his stomach and ribs. And most concerning of all, was a large, round scar highlighting his stomach area and down into the area still covered by his pants.

I reach a hand to trace a finger down one of the lines coming from his face to his chest as he smiles sadly at me, "that was one of the first bad scar I got. I was 18 years old and had just begun my schooling to become an architect. I was bullied for my braces but one decided to assault me, and began trailing a knife down my cheek, saying how much of a weakling I was. How I'd never be able to be a builder do to my inability to walk. I cried for weeks after and I tried everything I could to remove the scar, but it had become infected during the healing process and the scar stays. The nicknames began and I began to hate myself." He paused, and moved my hand to his arm, "I hurt myself and covered it with my cat. No one suspected a thing but then one day, as I stared at myself in a mirror, I decided that I would never do it again."

I ran my hand up to his arms and looked him in the eyes as he slowly continues, "I accepted the nicknames, making them apart of me so they no one could use them against me. I worked to heal and once I graduated, I tried joining a couple servers. They rarely accepted me and in one they even tried to kill me." He moved my hand to the large scar at his stomach, "they built a small TNT contraption and rigged it up to my leggings. I was lucky that I did not go as they planned, it is seriously burnt me. I ran and started my own server to build as I saw fit."

He was crying as he moved my hand to the last scar, the sword wound, "being alone did nothing for my mental health. I began falling back into old fears and I thought that maybe I wasn't enough. I thought my builds were dumb and I worried that I took too long to build due to the fact that I had to rest often. One day, I tried to end it, but as I felt the blade enter my body, I knew it was the wrong thing. I hastily sewed it up, praying that I hadn't done irreparable damage.

"That was about a month before I joined Hermitcraft." Scar gently intertwined his fingers in mine as I rested my hand on his scar. I leaned forward, gently placing a kiss on each scar on his cheek, tasting the saltiness of his tears. He in turn kissed over my eye and I pull back.

I had never known any of this and I find myself trusting and loving him all the more for it. I grab his discarded shirt and help him slide it back on to block out the cooling evening air as I search for the words.

"My scars were given to me from my brother," Scar looks up at me and when I pause, he gives me a reassuring smile. I grab his hand and run it up my shirt to the left side of my ribs where a raised scar breaks the pattern of my skin. I feel him rub across the scar, mapping it out with his fingers while he keeps my gaze, "This was the first time he tried to kill me. He stabbed my while I was asleep and I had to physically drag myself bleeding to the hospital. My brother had always hated me, jealous that I had been given a seat in admin school."

Scar moved his hand out of my shirt and up to my eyes, "where'd these come from?"

"They- they came- f-from..." I couldn't make the words form. How was I supposed to say that my parents hated me and my brother as children and drew x's in our faces so that we would hate ourselves and each other. How was I supposed to tell Scar of the abuse?

He moved his hand to my cheek and rubbed away the tears that spilled from my eyes, "It's okay X. You can tell me I your own time."

"Thank you Scar. I love you."

Scar leaned into me to plant a firm kiss on my lips before pulling back and whispering against my lips.

"I love you too."